had not been waiting very long, though they did not know it.

"It must be getting near. I'll listen again," said Whitey.

Whitey again placed his ear to the track, then looked up blankly. "It's
stopped," he said, "Mebbe there's been an accident."

Injun knew a good deal about plains and woods, and animals and birds,
but was rather in awe of trains. He gazed at Whitey's face, which wore
the same blank look as his own, and ventured no opinion. Two sharp,
faint sounds came from the east--something between the crack of whips
and the popping of corks. They were followed by three more.

Injun knew about these. "Him shoot," he said.

The startled expression on Whitey's face gradually gave way to one of
understanding and disgust. "They came from the water tank," he said.
"Don't you see? We're late, and what I heard was the train going the
other way. Then it stopped, and they're holding it up." And Whitey sat
down on one of the rails, thoroughly disgusted.

For a while nothing was said. The disappointment was too great for
words. The boys' chance for heroism had melted in the fog, which the
mist had now become. Injun slowly put on his shirt. It was nothing but a
garment now, no heroic rescue signal.

"I'll bet that clock at the ranch was wrong. It always is. I might have
known it," Whitey said dejectedly. The thought of the loss of the gold
was forgotten in his disappointment at failure. "I hope no one was
hurt--I mean none of the trainmen or passengers," he added. "But I