"Where _is_ he? Over at the company's office waiting for the directors, when he ought to be making tracks for Mexico." Graham's heart had been beating harder with every word. It bounded with wrath as he listened to this, yet listened in silence and stern self-control. But Toomey got a dig in the ribs that plainly said, "Make him say why." "'Twouldn't be like Long Nolan to be skipping when he's needed by his friends," growled Toomey. "He's no quitter, if he _was_ at Powder River," whereby it was Cullin's turn to get a dig, and little did he relish it. "That's another I owe you, Toomey," said he, "and we'll settle it by-and-by. Just now I'm thinking for your friend, if you are not. I knew him before ever you did, and would go ten miles to your one to help him. What you haven't sense enough to see is, that it won't be an hour before the sheriff's after him with a warrant, and if Breifogle dies he'll swing, sure as death. He was raving when they threw him out of the gate, and swore he would get even with Breifogle, and when it comes to trial there'll be a dozen witnesses to swear that he _did_. What kind of a trial do you think he'd have here at Argenta, with half the town owned by Breifogle & Co.?" This was, indeed, putting a new face on it, and still Graham listened in silence, trying to control the quiver and tingle of his nerves. There came a sudden call from the office. Shoving his way through the little mass of miners on the platform, the station-agent stepped to the edge and waved a hand to Cullin, but the hand was empty. The release order had not come. The big Mogul and the freight were still held, and now it was much after seven, and Argenta all astir. Cullin turned doggedly away. He seemed to know what was coming and did not half like it. Leaping down from the platform and striding over the cinder-blackened ties, the agent met him before he crossed the second track--met him and spoke in tone so low even Big Ben could not hear. All three men at the cab, they could not help it, were listening eagerly. It was easy to see, however, that the station-master was seeking information Cullin could not or dared not give. Every gesture, the upheaved shoulders, the sideward droop of the head, the forward toss of the hands, palms to the front, all as much as said, "Don't ask me." Then the agent turned slowly away, walked a dozen steps, looked back, and called: "I'll tell 'em what you say, but you'd better come yourself. Narrow Gauge'll get 'the Old Man' on the wire presently, then you'll have to. I'm betting they hold you here till you do." "Not if I know myself or--my orders," growled Cullin, as he returned, black-browed, to the cab. "What's up?" asked Big Ben, presently, seeing that the conductor waited to be asked.