Winded and leg-weary as he was, Judson’s first impulse prompted him to seek for the path to the end that he might dash down the hill and give chase.  But if he would have yielded, another pursuer was before him to show him the futility of that expedient.  While the clicking of the hand-car wheels was still faintly audible, a man—­the door-hammering madman, Judson thought it must be—­materialized suddenly from somewhere in the under-shadows to run down the track after the disappearing conspirators.  The engineer saw the racing foot-pursuer left behind so quickly that his own hope of overtaking the car died almost before it had taken shape.

“That puts it up to me again,” he groaned, rising stiffly.  Then he faced once more toward the western valley and the point of the great triangle, where the lights of Little Butte station and bridge twinkled uncertainly in the distance.  “If I can get down yonder to Goodloe’s wire in time to catch the super’s special before it passes Timanyoni”—­he went on, only to drop his jaw and gasp when he held the face of his watch up to the moonlight.  Then, brokenly, “My God!  I couldn’t begin to do it unless I had wings:  he said eleven o’clock, and it’s ten-ten right now!”

There was the beginning of a frenzied outburst of despairing curses upbubbling to Judson’s lips when he realized his utter helplessness and the consequences menacing the superintendent’s special.  True, he did not know what the consequences were to be, but he had overheard enough to be sure that Lidgerwood’s life was threatened.  Then, at the climax of despairing helplessness he remembered that there was a telephone in the mine-owner’s office—­a telephone that connected with Goodloe’s station at Little Butte.  Here was a last slender chance of getting a warning to Goodloe, and through him, by means of the railroad wire, to the superintendent’s special.  Instantly Judson forgot his weariness, and raced away down the western slope of the mountain, prepared to fight his way to the telephone if the entire night shift of the Wire-Silver should try to stop him.

It cost ten of the precious fifty minutes to retrace his steps down the mountain-side, and five more, were lost in dodging the mine watchman, who, having recovered from the effects of Judson’s savage blow, was prowling about the mine buildings, revolver in hand, in search of his mysterious assailant.  After the watchman was out of the way, five other minutes went to the cautious prying open of the window least likely to attract attention—­the window upon whose drawn shade the convincing profile had been projected.  Judson’s lips were dry and his hands were shaking again when he crept through the opening, and dropped into the unfamiliar interior, where the darkness was but thinly diluted by the moonlight filtering through the small, dingy squares of the opposite window.  To have the courage of a house-breaker, one must be a burglar in fact; and the ex-engineer knew how swiftly and certainly he would pay the penalty if any one had seen him climbing in at the forced window, or should chance to discover him now that he was in.