“Not much for me to do here, Lieutenant,” said he.  “That practice for Creedmoor is telling on the shooting.  Good thing for the gang, too.  Bullets are better than rope, and a Colorado jury will give them plenty of that.”

Sinclair had sent a man to tell his wife that all was over.  Then he ordered a fire lighted, and the rails relaid.  The flames lit a strange scene as the passengers flocked up.  The lieutenant posted men to keep them back.

“Is there a telegraph station not far ahead Sinclair?” asked he.  “Yes?  All right.”  He drew a small pad from his pocket, and wrote a despatch to the post commander.

“Be good enough to send that for me,” said he “and leave orders at Barker’s for the night express eastward to stop for us, and to bring a posse to take care of the wounded and prisoners.  And now, my dear Sinclair, I suggest that you get the passengers into the cars, and go on as soon as those rails are spiked.  When they realize the situation, some of them will feel precious ugly, and you know we can’t have any lynching.”

Sinclair glanced at the rails and gave the word at once to the conductor and brakemen, who began vociferating, “All aboard!” Just then Foster appeared, an expression of intense satisfaction showing clearly on his face, in the firelight.

“Major,” said he, “I didn’t use to take much stock in special Providence, or things being ordered; but I’m darned if I don’t believe in them from this day.  I was bound to stay where you put me, but I was uneasy, and wild to be in the scrimmage; and, if I had been there, I wouldn’t have taken notice of a little red light that wasn’t much behind the rear platform when we stopped.  When I saw there was no danger there, I ran back, and what do you think I found?  There was a woman, in a dead faint, and just clutching a lantern that she had tied up in a red scarf, poor little thing!  And, Major, it was Sally!  It was the little girl that loved me out at Barker’s, and has loved me and waited for me ever since!  And when she came to, and knew me, she was so glad she ’most fainted away again; and she let on as it was her that gave away the job.  And I took her into the sleeper, and the madam, God bless her!—­she knew Sally before and was good to her—­she took care of her, and is cheering her up.  And now, Major, I’m going to take her straight to Denver, and send for a parson and get her married to me, and she’ll brace up, sure pop.”

The whistle sounded, and the train started.  From the window of the “sleeper” Sinclair and his wife took their last look at the weird scene.  The lieutenant, standing at the side of the track, wrapped in his cloak, caught a glimpse of Mrs. Sinclair’s pretty face, and returned her bow.  Then, as the car passed out of sight, he tugged at his mustache and hummed: 

   “Why, boys, why,
     Should we be melancholy, boys,
   Whose business ’tis to die?”

In less than an hour, telegrams having in the mean time been sent in both directions, the train ran alongside the platform at Barker’s; and; Watkins, inperturbable as usual, met Sinclair, and gave him his letters.