The two private cars were on a siding, but the Cullens had left for the Grand Canon the moment they had arrived, and were about reaching there by this time.  I went to 218 and questioned the cook and waiter, but they had either seen nothing or else had been primed, for not a fact did I get from them.  Going to my own car, I ordered a quick supper, and while I was eating it I questioned my boy.  He told me that he had heard the shots, and had bolted the front door of my car, as I had ordered when I went out; that as he turned to go to a safer place, he had seen a man, revolver in hand, climb over the off-side gate of Mr. Cullen’s car, and for a moment he had supposed it a road agent, till he saw that it was Albert Cullen.

“That was just after I had got off?” I asked.

“Yis, sah.

“Then it couldn’t have been Mr. Cullen, Jim,” I declared, “for I found him up at the other end of the car.”

“Tell you it wuz, Mr. Gordon,” Jim insisted.  “I done seen his face clar in de light, and he done go into Mr. Cullen’s car whar de old gentleman wuz sittin’.”

That set me whistling to myself, and I laughed to think how near I had come to giving nitroglycerin to a fellow who was only shamming heart-failure; for that it was Frederic Cullen who had climbed on the car I hadn’t the slightest doubt, the resemblance between the two brothers being quite strong enough to deceive any one who had never seen them together.  I smiled a little, and remarked to myself, “I think I can make good my boast that I would catch the robbers; but whether the Cullens will like my doing it, I question.  What is more, Lord Ralles will owe me a bottle.”  Then I thought of Madge, and didn’t feel as pleased over my success as I had felt a moment before.

By nine o’clock the posse and I were in the saddle and skirting the San Francisco peaks.  There was no use of pressing the ponies, for our game wasn’t trying to escape, and, for that matter, couldn’t, as the Colorado River wasn’t passable within fifty miles.  It was a lovely moonlight night, and the ride through the pines was as pretty a one as I remember ever to have made.  It set me thinking of Madge and of our talk the evening before, and of what a change twenty-four hours had brought.  It was lucky I was riding an Indian pony, or I should probably have landed in a heap.  I don’t know that I should have cared particularly if a prairie-dog burrow had made me dash my brains out, for I wasn’t happy over the job that lay before me.

We watered at Silver Spring at quarter-past twelve.  From that point we were clear of the pines and out on the plain, so we could go a better pace.  This brought us to the half-way ranch by two, where we gave the ponies a feed and an hour’s rest.  We reached the last relay station just as the moon set, about three-forty; and, as all the rest of the ride was through coconino forest, we held up there for daylight, getting a little sleep meanwhile.