“They are going to make it,” sighed Joe.  “Too bad!”

They continued to run, but before they could get anywhere near the tracks they saw Caven leap for the train and get between two of the cars.  Then Malone got aboard also, and the freight train passed out of sight through the cut.

“That ends the chase,” said Joe, halting.  “They were slick to get away.”

“If we only knew where they would get off we could send word ahead,” suggested his companion.

“Well, we don’t know, and after this they will probably keep their eyes wide open and keep out of sight as much as possible.  Anyway, I don’t think they’ll bother Mr. Vane any more.”

“It’s not likely.  I’m a witness to what they were up to,” answered the young westerner.

Both Joe and Bill Badger were soaked from the rain and resolved to strike out for the nearest farmhouse or village.  They kept along the railroad tracks, and presently came to a shanty where there was a track-walker.

“How far to the nearest village?” asked our hero.

“Half a mile.”

“Thank you.”

“How is it you are out here in the rain?” went on the track-walker.

“We got off our train and it went off without us.”

“Oh, I see.  Too bad.”

Again our hero and his companion hurried on, and soon came in sight of a small village.  They inquired their way to a tavern, and there dried their clothing and procured a good, hot meal, which made both feel much better.

“I am going to send a telegram to Mr. Vane,” said Joe, and did so without further delay.  He was careful of the satchel and did not leave it out of his sight.

They found they could get a train for the West that evening at seven o’clock and at the proper time hurried to the depot.

“I’m glad I met you,” said Joe, to his newly-made friend.  “Now, what do you think I owe you for what you did?”

“As we didn’t land the fellows in jail you don’t owe me anything,” said Bill Badger, promptly.

“Oh, yes, I do.”

“Well then, you can pay the extra expense, and let that fill the bill.”

“I’ll certainly do that,” said Joe, promptly.

As they rode along Bill Badger told something of himself and of the mine his father owned, and then Joe told something of his own story.

“Did you say your name is Joe Bodley?” asked the young westerner, with deep interest.

“Yes.”

“And you are looking for a man by the name of William A. Bodley?”

“I am.”

“It seems to me I know a man by that name, although the miners all call him Bill Bodley.”

“Where is this Bill Bodley?”

“Out in Montana somewhere.  He worked for my father once, about three years ago.  He was rather a strange man, about fifty years old.  He had white hair and a white beard, and acted as if he had great trouble on his mind.”

“You do not know where he is now?”