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And all these chapters it has taken to tell how it came about that Second Lieutenant George Montrose Graham was quite a celebrity in the th Cavalry before ever he reported for duty with his troop. Several weeks the Silver Shield Mining Company spent in a squabble among themselves that ended in the smothering of "the Breifogle interest," and came near to sending "the Boss of Argenta" to jail.
"The pilot hit it a lick that tossed it into the ditch," No. 4's crew had explained, and beside it they had found this. And "this" it was now Geordie's task and duty to keep alive until they could turn it over to competent hands at Argenta. "This," which others failed to know, he had recognized.
With the sheriff and some friends he had driven down in the wake of No. 4, found plenty of men who could tell of the mobbing, but none who could tell of his son. The miners had scattered; the few passengers also, glad that they were not "wanted" by that infuriated crowd. It was then after sunrise, and, almost crazed by anxiety and wrath, Breifogle had hurried back to Argenta.
"Yes," he said, loudly, so that Cullin could hear "yes, I understand.... Don't worry.... You're with friends.... Tell us your name and home.... What? Try once again.... Bry what? Oh, Breifogle?... Yes. Argenta? That's just where we're going. We'll be there very soon. Don't try to talk more now."
Once before, five years back, Geordie Graham had led a little cavalry command on a swift and successful chase after a gang of frontier desperadoes who had robbed the bank at Argenta. Now, for the first time in his life, he was both guide and commander.
Twice, thrice, indeed, since the cavalry had been sent from Fort Reynolds, the overland express had been flagged between Argenta and Summit Siding, and masked men had boarded the train, despoiled the passengers and Pullmans; and once old Shiner had come under suspicion because certain plunder was found at his place.
They had a boat to take you into the town of Argenta then, and when the trains came through, the same boat would carry the cars across. An engine would be on the other side to finish the journey with them. "There is one engineer living now who was active in that time, Charlie Seymour, retired, of Little Rock.
He was raving when they threw him out of the gate, and swore he would get even with Breifogle, and when it comes to trial there'll be a dozen witnesses to swear that he did. What kind of a trial do you think he'd have here at Argenta, with half the town owned by Breifogle & Co.?"
First it was Hank Brodrick, who misread his orders and piled two freights in a mountain of wreckage in the deep cut between Long Pine and Argenta. Next it was an overworked night man who lost his head and cranked a switch over in front of the west-bound Flyer, laying the 1020 on her side in the ditch, with the postal and the baggage-car neatly telescoped on top to hold her down.
And yet, though he had taken precaution to send his letter from a village post-office, and his message from a railway station ten miles east of Argenta, the spies of Silver Shield had heard of one or both, and now their watcher knew that two at least of the enemy were in their camp. For what else was young Breifogle there? For what but to give warning had he so suddenly vanished?
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