That was the way it was left when Leckhard went back to his telegraph den at ten o’clock; and some six hours later, Adair, sleepily conscious of disturbances, wakened sufficiently to hear the wheels once more trundling monotonously under the “01.”

XX

THE CONSPIRATORS

“How far do we go, and what do we do when we get there?” asked Frisbie of his chief, when the two buckboards, heaving and lurching over the rock-strewn talus at the foot of the canyon cliff, had passed beyond sight and sound of the headquarters camp at the mouth of Horse Creek.

“I’m not guessing any more,” said Ford crustily.  He was finding that his temper deteriorated as the square of his distance from Alicia Adair increased.  “The president said he wanted to drive over this short-cut, and he’s doing it.”

“Humph!” growled Frisbie.  “If he wanted to rub salt into your bruises, why didn’t he take you in the cart with him?  And where do I come in?”

“You are ‘implicated’ with me; that was his word.”

Another mile passed in discomforting plungings.  The trail had become all but impassable for the staggering horses; yet the leading buckboard held on doggedly.  There were places where both drivers had to get out and lead; bad bits where all save the president descended to walk.  But through the worst as well as the best, Mr. Colbrith clung to his seat like a man determined to ride.  It was well past noon when the two vehicles reached the western portal of the canyon, and the dottings of the Copah mine workings came in sight on the hillsides to the southward.  Ford’s driver had fallen a little behind in the final half-mile, and when the gap was closed up, the president was waiting.

“Well, Mr. Ford,” he began, somewhat breathless but triumphant, “are you fully satisfied?”

“I have learned nothing that I did not know before we began to build the extension,” was the non-committal rejoinder.

“Oh, you haven’t?  You reported that canyon impracticable for a railroad, and yet I have just driven through it without once dismounting from this buckboard.  Moreover, we shall find in Copah to-morrow a re-survey of the line showing its entire practicability, Mr. Ford—­a report not made by your engineers.”

Ford and Frisbie exchanged swift glances of intelligence.  The presence of the strange engineering party in the canyon was sufficiently explained.  At first sight the president’s expedient seemed childishly puerile to Ford.  Then suddenly in a flash of revealment he saw beyond the puerilities—­beyond the stubborn old man who, with all his narrow self-will and obstinacy was merely playing the game for others.

“We can discuss these matters later, if you wish,” he said placably.  “I think you will find our ground well taken.  Do you want to drive back as we came?  Or will you let me find you an easier road to the mouth of Horse Creek?”