he be called hereafter in all cases of emergency, made one in the crowded caboose of the wrecking train.

At first the men were inclined to let him ride in solitary state, so far as the narrow limits of the car would permit; indeed, a goodly number of them crowded into the tool-car and sat or sprawled on the toolboxes and coils of hawsers. But for once in a way the superintendent refused to be ignored. Out of Halsey, the conductor, he got the wire. story of the wreck, and in the hearing begged a filling of cut plug for his pipe from Simmons, the derrick-man. After that the crew tolerated him, suspiciously, since human nature, in the rough or otherwise, is wary of sudden. conversions.

Nevertheless, before the dawn breaking of the toilful night Upham had gained. something. Hitherto he had figured in wrecking mêlées merely as a silent and presumably contemptuous onlooker. But this night he displaced Grimmer, the master mechanic, and gave the crew an exhibition lesson in scientific track - clearing. Never in the short history of the D. & U. P.-short in months, but long in disasters -had the wrecking gang known what it meant to have a skilled engineer in command.

by this time there were volunteers who would have gone into worse places at his nod.

This was the beginning, to be taken for what it was worth. Round-house, freightyard, back-shop comment gave it a hearing, and waited for more. Bloodgood, who was posing as a boss-hater from principle, scoffed openly; but Jurgins, the round-house hos

Smashed boxes rose out of the ditch at the end of the derrick-fall, righted themselves in mid-air, and were swung deftly into the long line of "cripples" on the temporary siding. Loose wreckage, which would have been fished up by Grimmer a piece at a time, was gathered in ton masses by the grab-hooks and landed successfully on the waiting flats of the work train. And when it came to the overturned engine, it was "Little Millions" himself who waded into the stream where she weltered and made the critical hitches with his own hands-though

tler, counselled charity. "He ain't to blame for thinkin' his daddy's money makes a little tin gawd out o' him," was the form the charitable plea took. "Mebbe there's a man inside o' them store-clothes o' his'n, yetthere's a mighty fine wreck artist, anyhow; and don't you forgit it!"

It was Bostwick, engineer of the 1016, ore-puller, who brought the next word of

hope. Bostwick was a careful man, and a hot-tempered, and hitherto he had kept out of the way of laissez faire and the untoward happenings. But one night on the run down from Dolomite he had allowed himself to wink once when he should have winked twice, and an open switch had caught him. "Of course, 'Little Millions' sent for me before I could get off'm the relief engine," was his report of it to the round-house contin. gent, "and I went up, lookin' for the same kind o' cold hell he's been givin' the other boys-Um-hm, Mister Bostwick; been getting into the ditch, have you? Thirty days. Good morning.' But say, that little eejit was just jumpin', hollerin' mad when I went in! Blamed if I didn't think he was goin' to hit me! Minded me of

old times on the C. & G. R., when you could find your way 'round in the dark by the light of old man Targreaves's cussin'."

The grin went abroad, and Hollingsworth, who was one of the listeners, said, "Reckon you needed it, Mac, didn't ye?"

"Sure! It was on me right enough. When

to know is if you're going to do your part toward stopping it.' Natchelly, I said I would, after I'd wore out my lay-off. 'Humph!' says he, savage as a bear with a sore head, 'don't you be reminding me that I ought to lay you off. You go home and

he ran out o' breath I was gapin' like a chicken with the pip, an' he let out again, 'Why don't you talk back, you' Say, boys, it's worth a month's pay to hear that little cuss string out the pet names when he's right good and hot-it is, for a fact! I got action after a while, too, and when we both got tuned up you could 'a' heard the fireworks plum across to the Cliffs Hotel. Then we come down to business.

"This thing won't do, Mac'-called me Mac, by grabs!-'this thing has got to stop right here and now,' says he. 'What I want

sleep the clock 'round

once or twice, and see if you can't get over taking cat-naps on your engine.""

"My God!" said Jurgins. "Didn't hang you up?"

"No; he didn't hang me up."

Again the windstraw was taken for what it might indicate, and the expiring esprit du corps of the Dolomite Short Line began to show signs of returning animation. One black night Jerry Lafferty, on whose section the beautiful freight wreck had occurred, was moved to turn out of his comfortable. bunk shanty, after working hours, to have a look at a dangerous bit of bank in a rock cutting: result, the finding of a sizable land-slip on the track, and the saving of Number Four from a probable wreck.

A few nights later, Dolan, running a heavy ore train down from Dolomite, felt the surge and jerk betokening a broken coupling. He might have jumped. In similar straits other men had been saving themselves and letting things take their course. But Dolan yelled at his fireman and stuck to his engine; played touch-and-go with the runaway tail-end until he had brought all safely to a stand, and-but the sequel was in the superintendent's office.

"Want to see you, Mike? Of course I did. You're a man after my own heart; put it there"-namely, into the outstretched

tle Cliff, on a certain radiant October afternoon when disaster seemed afar off, and for Upham the world held nothing more alluring than the slim, lithe figure of a sweetfaced young woman who had been sitting out the glorious afternoon with him on the rear platform of the private car. But the fates were busy, just the same.

The private car, drawn by the hundredton eight-wheeler, 1026, Bloodgood, engineer, was running as second section of the day express, with fifteen minutes between.

esprit du corps had come on the road to recovery.

""Tis all safe; the slow-flag's out," said the trackman, with a fling of his hand toward the bit of green bunting fluttering between the rails a hundred yards up the line. Then he added: "There's plinty av time. It's the prisidint's privit', an' I'll be givin' her the new shteel for her christenin' av ut. Move, now! move now!"-to his men. "Out wid it, lively, boys!"

The rail replacement went on swiftly.

In a park-like opening of the canyon, on Pat Shannon's section, an east-bound freight lay on the blind siding which was its meeting-point with Number One. The orders were all straight. Johnson, conductor of the freight, read them a second time to Hollingsworth, his engineer. The first section of Train One had passed, carrying a flag for the second section, and Shannon and his men were replacing a worn rail in the main line just opposite the waiting freighttrain's engine.

"I wouldn't take chances on that, Pat, between trains, if I were you," called Johnson, from his post at the freight engine's step, thereby showing how far expiring

Hollingsworth, squatting in the gangway of his engine, glanced at his watch.

"Pat is taking chances," he remarked to Johnson. "Bloodgood 'll be due here in two minutes, making Number One's timewhich ain't a rod less than forty miles an hour. If he don't happen to see that green rag—"

The sentence was never finished. Out of the canyon portal stormed the 1026, working steam! Hollingsworth tumbled from his perch with a yell that dominated the roar of the oncoming train.

"Patsy, your flag's down!"

Simultaneously there was a frantic dash of three men up the track, with Hollings