“Annything new at the shops, Dutchy?” he inquired.

“I was not somet’ings gehearing, nein.  You was dot Arkoos newsbaper dis evening schen?  He says nodings too, alretty, about dot strike.”

“Divil a worrd.  Ye might think Scotty’d handed the major a bit av blank paper f’r all the notice he’s taking.  More thin that, he’s lavin’ town, wid me to pull him.  The Naught-seven’s to run special to Gaston—­bad cess to ut!”

“Vell, I can’d hellup id,” said the phlegmatic Bavarian.  “I haf the mail and egspress got, and I go mit dem t’rough to Pighorn.  You haf der brivate car got, and you go mit dem t’rough to Gaston.  Den ve qvits, ain’d it?”

Callahan nodded and dropped to the platform.  But before he could mount to the foot-board of the 1010, M’Tosh collared him.

“Patsy, I have your orders, at last.  Your passengers will be down in a few minutes, and you are to pull out ahead of the express.”

“Is it to Gaston I’m goin’, Misther M’Tosh?”

The fireman was standing by with the oil can and torch, ready to Callahan’s hand, and the train-master drew the engineer aside.

“Shovel needn’t hear,” he said in explanation.  And then:  “Are you willing to stand with us, Patsy?  You’ve had time enough to think it over.”

Callahan stood with his arms folded and his cap drawn down over his eyes.

“‘Tis not f’r meself I’m thinkin’, Misther M’Tosh, as ye well know.  But I’m a widdy man; an’ there’s the bit colleen in the convint.”

“She’ll be well cared for, whatever happens to you,” was the quick reply.

“Thin I’m yer man,” said Callahan; and when the train-master was gone, he ordered Shovel to oil around while he did two or three things which, to an initiated onlooker, might have seemed fairly inexplicable.  First he disconnected the air-hose between the car and the engine, tying the ends up with a stout cord so that the connection would not seem to be broken.  Next he crawled under the Naught-seven and deliberately bled the air-tank, setting the cock open a mere hair’s-breadth so that it would leak slowly but surely until the pressure was entirely gone.

Then he got a hammer and sledge out of the engine tool-box, and after hooking up the safety-chain couplings between the private car and the 1010, he crippled the points of the hooks with the hammer so that they could not be disengaged without the use of force and the proper tools.

“There ye are, ye ould divil’s band-wagon,” he said, apostrophizing the private car when his work was done.  “Ye’ll ride this night where Patsy Callahan dhrives, an’ be dommed to ye.”

Meanwhile the train-master had reached the iron grille at the other end of the long track platform.  At a small wicket used by the station employees and trainmen, Kent was waiting for him.

“Is it all right, M’Tosh?  Will he do it?” he asked anxiously.