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He had not a doubt that the horses belonged to men in the service of the K. & Z., and that something was on foot similar to the attempted burning of the bridge-car. What should he do? Return the three miles to the junction? or continue on to the track-machine? For undoubtedly the owners of the horses were there; and the machine, he knew, was in the sole charge of an oiler.

Immediately then he recalled the man he had seen from the track-machine tower, and pausing in his work, he counted the cars back. It was the same car. Yes; undoubtedly the fire was the careless work of the tramp he had seen running away.

"Yes; it's a first class machine the best on the market." The voice was that of the oiler. Apparently he had been showing the strangers over the track-machine. For a brief space Alex wondered whether after all his suspicions were justified. But at once came the thought, "Why had the strangers hidden their horses in the creek-bottom if they were genuine visitors?" and he remained quiet.

At a bend in the creek some two hundred yards from the track-machine and its string of flat-cars, Alex sharply paused. Two saddled ponies were hobbled together in the creek-bottom. Casting a glance toward the construction-train, Alex leaped into the gully, out of sight.

The stranger turned, and Alex drew back with a start, and then a smile. It was the second man of the two who on the previous Sunday had attempted to wreck the track-machine the one who had made his escape. As the man turned more fully, and he caught his words, Alex's jubilant smile vanished. "... enough to blow the whole thing to matchwood, if you place it right," he was saying.

Over the tops of the cars in the direction of the track-machine was a dancing glare. In alarm Alex joined the stream of men dropping to the ground all along the boarding-cars. Dodging through the intervening trains, he brought up with an expression of relief beside, not the track-machine, but a car of bridge material.