Harding, the bull-donkey engineer, placidly smoking his pipe in the
cab. Bryce hailed him.

"That you, Jim?"

"You bet."

"Run up to Jabe Curtis's shanty, and tell him we're here. Have him
gather his gang and bring two pairs of overalls and two jumpers--
large size--with him when he comes."

Harding vanished into the darkness, and Buck Ogilvy climbed up into
the cab and glanced at the steam-gauge. "A hundred and forty," he
announced. "Good enough!"

Presently the woods-boss, accompanied by thirty of his best men, came
down to the log-landing. At Bryce's order they clambered aboard the
engine and tender, hanging on the steps, on the roof of the cab, on
the cowcatcher--anywhere they could find a toe-hold. Harding cast
aside the two old ties which the careful engine-crew had placed
across the tracks in front of the drivers as additional precaution;
Buck Ogilvy cut off the air, and the locomotive and tender began to
glide slowly down the almost imperceptible grade. With a slight click
it cleared the switch and slid out onto the Cardigan lateral, swiftly
gathering speed. A quarter of a mile down the line Buck Ogilvy
applied the brakes and eased her down to twenty miles per hour.

At the junction with the main line Buck backed briskly up into the
Laguna Grande woods, and coupled to the two loaded flat-cars. The
woods-gang scrambled aboard the flats, and the train pulled out for