"The robbers are discharged soldiers," swore the sheriff of Yampah; "their haunt is at Shiner's." Yet not so much as a scrap of other evidence was there found. Shiner threw open his doors to the officers, bade them search high and low, declared upon honor as he would upon oath that he himself had found the damaging evidence--two pocket-books and some valueless papers--on the open prairie a mile from his place the day after the third of the "hold-ups." There had long been bad blood betwixt him and the sheriff, and this time the man of the law gave the lie, and but for prompt work of bystanders--deputy Shiners and sheriffs both--there would have been cause for a coroner's inquest on the spot. Before that day it had been avowed hostility between them; now it was war to the knife. Much of this was known to the men of the railway, who sided according to their lights. Few of them knew Shiner; many knew the sheriff. It was patent at a glance that Big Ben held to the views of the latter and looked upon Shiner's hand, or Shiner's hands, as the cause of the hold-up. Nor was he entirely wrong. Even as Cullin came running up the track from the rear of the train, and brakemen running atop of it, eager to learn the cause of the stop, two men with saddle-bags slung over the left arm stepped out from behind the passenger depot and met the conductor half-way. Glancing back, Ben caught sight of them and, pistol in hand, started to swing from the engine, crying "Come on!" to Toomey. Springing to his feet, Toomey gave one look back to the platform. His keen eyes danced with excitement and joy. "Hold on!" he shouted to Ben. "It's all right. Lay low," he whispered to Geordie. "It's Shiner himself!" And old Shiner it was, cool, quiet, pale, resolute in face of a furious conductor and a threatening crew--Shiner, presently backed by a sergeant of regulars and two of his men, who had come running over the foot-bridge at the stop of the train, and now silently ranged themselves in tacit support. What Cullin had demanded was how Shiner dared tamper with the signals--how, in fact, he had managed to, since they had been carefully locked--and who was he, anyhow. And Shiner had simply answered: "I've a boy shot and dying at Silver Shield. I only heard it late in the night. There's no other way to get to him. I pay full fare and all damages"--but he got no further, for Toomey came atrot from the engine, threw himself upon him, and grasped his hand. "What's the trouble, old man?" was the instant question. And Shiner, turning, saw an old friend and beneficiary, and should have taken heart at the sight. Instead of which, at sound of a sympathetic voice, he who had been firm and fearless in the face of abuse and opposition now wellnigh broke down. "They've killed--little Jack!" he almost sobbed. "Thank God _you're_ here, Toomey!" "Of course you'll take him!" cried Toomey, turning sharp on Cullin.