“Well?” said Adair.

Again the engineer waited until the negro was out of hearing.

“A little later, just as the Nadia was about to pull out, there came a rush call from Denver for Penfield.  I answered and said the car was on the point of leaving, but that I’d take the message and try to catch Penfield if I could.  It came, on the run, and it was signed by Eckstein, North’s chief clerk.  It wasn’t ciphered—­lack of time, I reckon—­and Eckstein took the chance that I wouldn’t catch on.”

“You kept a copy?” suggested Adair.

“I did.  I wasn’t able to deliver the original until the Nadia came back from the foot of the pass in the evening to fill the engine tank.  But I couldn’t make anything out of it.  It was an order to Penfield not to let anything interfere with the president’s buckboard trip—­whatever that might be—­with authority to incur any expense that might be necessary, using the telegram as his credential with the MacMorrogh Brothers if more money were needed.”

“To pay for the buckboards?” asked Adair.

“You may search me,” said Leckhard.  “Only it could hardly be that—­we have an open account at the Bank of Copah for legitimate expenses.  No; there’s a nigger in the woodpile, somewhere.  Penfield is only a clerk; but for some purpose he is given carte blanche to spend money.”

Adair was absently stirring his black coffee.

“All of which points to one conclusion, Mr. Leckhard.  They are plotting against Ford—­without the president’s connivance.  But the president is going to be made to swing the club.  I know rather more than you do about it—­which isn’t saying very much.  My—­a relative of mine who is with the party in the Nadia wired me three days ago from Denver that Ford had been tried and condemned, and was only waiting to be hanged.  That’s why I am here to-night.  You’ve got to get me to the end-of-track before it comes to blows between Mr. Colbrith and Stuart Ford.  I know both men, Mr. Leckhard.  If the iron comes to a certain heat, the past master of all the peacemakers won’t be able to patch things together.”

“Ford will resign,” said the engineer.

“That is what I’m afraid of; and we can’t let him resign.  That would mean Mr. North for everything in sight, and the ultimate ruin of the Pacific Southwestern.  On the other hand, I can’t have Ford fighting the family—­or my uncle—­which is just what he will do if he gets his blood up—­and doesn’t quit in a huff.  It’s up to you to trundle this car over to the seat of war, Mr. Leckhard.”

The division engineer was thinking hard.

“I can’t see how it’s to be done, right now, Mr. Adair.  But I’ll tell you what I will do.  Our empty material trains come back from the front in the night, as a rule.  When they get in, and I can be sure that the track’s clear, I’ll double one of the construction engines out with you.  It will be along toward morning, I’m afraid; but, with nothing in the way, you ought to make the run in four or five hours—­say by late breakfast time.”