Part 3

But at the farther border of the mesa she halted abruptly. The distant edge dropped precipitately, broken by a deep coulee. At the edge of this her startled eyes caught the twinkle of a light almost directly below her. A momentary glimpse proved the light to come from a camp fire built of dry mesquite boughs and sagebrush. Its glow revealed the rough, unshaven faces of three men squatted in grotesque poses close around. They wore the garb, with slouched hats and leather chaps, of plainsmen. Behind them, dimly outlined, were three horses, saddled and bridled as if ready at any moment for instant service.

Nevada, afraid that the men had heard her, dodged behind a mesquite clump and lay quietly. Her heart pounded like a trip-hammer. Her breathing seemed loud enough to betray her. From her position under the bush she tried to solve the mystery of the strange trio. Why were they there? Why had they made a long ride across the desert, miles from the main-traveled roads? Why were they hiding, and what were they waiting for? These questions repeated themselves over and over in her baffled mind.

Though she had no definite reason for thinking so, she believed the men were connected in some way with the night prowler at the station-house, and the appearance of head and shoulders she had seen above the sand ridge while she and Debue had stood on the “lookout.” With these thoughts came the dreadful fear that it was the presence of the magnate’s daughter that had brought them there. Almost unbelievable as it was, the possibility that Debue might be down there, bound helplessly, ran through Nevada’s mind. She had heard of the daughters of rich men being carried off and held for ransom. That such an evil plot should not be carried out with her friend, she resolved she would risk her own life, if necessary.

Discreetly Nevada decided to learn first if Debue were really down there, held captive by the trio. Crawling and using intervening clumps of mesquite to screen her approach, she moved quietly as a cat down the steep slope. Within twenty feet of the men a dry twig under her snapped with a loud, startling sound.

“What was that?” she heard one of the men exclaim in a coarse voice of alarm.

“Sounded like a mesquite a-poppin’,” another replied.

“Then there must be somethin’ comin’ down into the draw!” declared the man who had first spoken.

“Don’t get excited, Bill,” said the third man, assuringly. “You’ll need steady nerves if we put this job through.”

“Just the same, it pays to be careful,” the nervous one said.

The creak of leather chaps and the jingle of spurs conveyed to Nevada the information that the trio had lifted themselves from their squatting position.

She knew that those peering eyes were searching the surrounding growth, and that the ears of the three were listening intently. Her heart almost stopped beating, when from a distant ridge a long-drawn, tremulous cry came shrill and far-reaching.

“Now you ought to know what got on your nerves, Bill,” spoke one of the men with a low chuckle.

“A coyote, eh?”

“Yes, nothin’ but a coyote!” the other two declared positively.

“Them critters have mighty queer voices. Sometimes they sound almost human,” one of the three added knowingly. “Most of the time, on nights like this, they sound howlishly inhuman.”

Once more the girl under the mesquite heard the jingle of spurs. She took a long breath of relief, for she knew the men were again squatted round the fire. Her ears were strained tensely to catch every word spoken.

_CHAPTER SIX_

While Nevada listened, she again heard that long-drawn, tremulous cry. It seemed nearer this time.

“I tell you that doesn’t sound like a coyote to me!” persisted the nervous one of the trio squatted round the fire.

“Easy, Bill, easy!” one of the other two cautioned. “Keep your boots on. You ought to know that with the exception of that woman and the two girls over at the station-house, there ain’t another human being within fifty miles o’ here.”

Nevada took a quick breath. Debue was not held a captive, because the men believed that she was at that moment in the station-house at Silver Thistle. Her ears caught the words that followed.

“The superintendent’s girl is over there all right. I’ve seen her off and on for the past week. She and that desert girl have been scamperin’ about like a couple of young yearlin’s. I had to hang around purdy close in order to get the information I wanted. I know for sure that the ‘Special’ will come through tonight. And it’ll stop at Silver Thistle to git water and pick up the girl of the big boss.”

So it was the coming of the “Special” that caused the men to be there. But why were they waiting? What interest could they have in the private train of the superintendent?

“I was hid behind the pump-house when the Limited came through,” the same voice of the trio went on to relate. “I saw the engineer hand the girls a letter. It was from the big boss. Later on I heard the girls talkin’ about it. I know from what they said that the ‘Special’ is due here at nine-forty-five!”

Nevada now understood why that midnight prowler had been sneaking about the station-house, and why he had been spying upon them during the days that followed. The mystery was further explained by words that floated up to her from around the camp fire.

“I know positively that the paymaster’s car will be hitched on to the ‘Special,’” said another one of the trio. “I learned this by hangin’ around the telegraph office down at Sand Ridge siding last night. The division crews want real money for their pay, and there’ll sure be a big pile of cash in the safe. The job ought to be easy, once we get on the train. None of ’em will be lookin’ for trouble at Silver Thistle.”

Crouched under the mesquite, Nevada became tense as she learned why the men were there. They were highwaymen, lying in wait to rob the paymaster’s car. Theirs was a daring plot, artfully planned. She could see that all three of them wore leather belts, heavy with cartridges; all carried revolvers, and against a mesquite bush near the fire, leaned three rifles, their polished barrels glistening in the light.

## Action, instant action, she knew would be necessary if the plot were

to be frustrated. She guessed it was eight o’clock. In a little more than an hour the “Special” would arrive. The dreadful possibility that it would be met by a band of desperadoes, while the daughter of the magnate wandered, lost on the desert, drove the girl into a frenzy. With lightning speed she reviewed the various possibilities.

Could she, alone and unaided, within three-quarters of an hour, find Debue, and warn the approaching “Special” of its danger? It seemed utterly impossible, a task too great for one like her to accomplish in so short a time, but in her ears echoed the words of the superintendent, “I’m going to trust you!”

Her courage rose quickly. She would not fail in the trust that had been placed in her. Quietly, but swiftly, she crept away from the bush and up the slope to the mesa. Beyond the hearing of the men in the ravine, she got to her feet and started forward. But a little distance from the coulee she heard, for the third time, the long-drawn, tremulous cry. She knew now it was not the wail of a coyote. It was the cry of a human being in distress. It must be--yes, it must be the voice of Debue!

Nevada was driven frantic with the truth that it would be unsafe for her to answer the cry, and thus alarm the men in the coulee. All she could do was to rush onward in the direction of the sound. Several times she fell headlong. Her dress was torn by the thorny brush of the chaparral that grew along the rocks. Her arms, hands and face were scratched by thistles and pointed shale, but to these Nevada paid no heed. Her only thought was that ahead of her, in the darkness, wandered her friend, and she had to find her.

Finally she heard just ahead of her that long-drawn call, and standing on the crest of the ridge, a slender figure was plainly outlined in the starlight.

Joyfully she called as loudly as she could, “Oh, Debue! Debue!”

Down the ridge rushed the girl. For a time the reunited pair, laughing and crying, and speaking wild, incoherent things, remained locked in a fond embrace. Weak and exhausted they settled upon the sand still clinging to each other.

“What a silly girl I’ve been!” Debue said finally.

“It was all my fault. I should not have let you go out alone,” Nevada protested.

“But I should not be such a helpless creature,” Debue returned. “I kept wandering around,” she continued. “Finally I heard a train. Listen! I hear another one, away off yonder!”

“It’s the ‘Special’!” cried Nevada, leaping up. Instantly a course of

## action took form in her mind.

“It’s bringing father!” Debue said excitedly. “I had almost forgotten. What will he think if I’m not there to meet him?”

“We are going to meet him, Debue!” Nevada said. “We must meet the ‘Special’ before it reaches Silver Thistle--”

“Before it reaches Silver Thistle?” interrupted Debue in a tone of amazement. “I do not understand: What do you mean?”

“I mean just this,” Nevada answered, dropping her voice and looking around cautiously as if afraid of being heard. “In my search for you, I accidentally ran across some men who were in hiding down in a deep coulee. They have saddle horses and are heavily armed. They have planned to hold up the ‘Special’ when it stops at Silver Thistle. The paymaster’s car is attached to the train, and it is the money in that car they intend to get!”

“Oh!” cried Debue.

“But it must not happen!” Nevada added intensely.

“How can we prevent it, just two against a band of armed men?” Debue asked in tones of incredulity.

“We can do it and we must!” Nevada cried. “It is only a quarter of a mile to the railroad! We must run over there quickly--and warn the ‘Special’! Will you come with me?” Nevada put her face close to her friend’s. And Debue could feel the tenseness of her gaze--feel the warmth of glowing cheeks close to her own. The purpose and determination of Nevada renewed her courage. She felt at once more strong, more capable. A week before, she would have shrunk from the mere thought of such a thing. But a week on the desert, in the company of this courageous, red-blooded girl, had taught her many things. She lifted herself erect, filled with a new purpose. “If you go, I go!” she cried tensely.

“We must hurry! We haven’t a second to spare!” said Nevada starting down into the shale-strewn coulee, up onto the mesa, and across the sand, as fast as her feet could take her. Debue was but a few steps behind.

A mile west of the station-house a semaphore stood like a gaunt sentinel close by the track. At the end of its long drooping arm, as if grasped in a closed hand, reposed a muffled red light, which blinked its danger sign only at such times as the arm was raised. Nevada knew that that arm would not lift unless another train stood in the way. The thing she wanted was that red light.

On reaching the track, the girls were gasping as if their last breath were spent. Up the track a bright eye gleamed, and the growing thunder of the revolving wheels told that the “Special” was speeding across the desert.

“Quick, Debue, quick,” cried Nevada, as they halted at the semaphore. “Be ready to take the light when I hand it down!”

Nimbly, swiftly, Nevada climbed the rounds of the iron ladder, and then swinging out, reached and took the red lamp from its place in the lowered arm. The whistle of the “Special’s” engine sent a long call echoing across the desert. It was but a short mile away and coming on with a roar.

[Illustration: Nevada took the red lamp from its place in the lowered arm.]

“Here, Debue. Reach up. Take it!” said Nevada as she reached down and dropped the lamp into Debue’s upraised hand. Then she let go and fell in a heap at the foot of the semaphore, but was on her feet again in an instant, took the light from Debue, and swung it back and forth in regular movements across the track. The headlight of the swift-approaching train was blinding to the eyes of the pair that stood directly in the middle of the track. The “Special” charged toward them, its speed undiminished, until it seemed as if it would rush on, unheeding. But the girls held their place, and swung the red light--swung it, until the two sharp toots of the whistle told them their signal had been recognized.

“Jump, Debue! Get out of the way!” Nevada cried as she took her friend by the hand and leaped into the ditch.

They fell headlong. The red lamp was hurled forward, while the great locomotive, hissing like some monster of the night, roared close over them. In its wake, followed the long cars with sparks flying from the tracks as the steel brakes bit the wheels. The “Special” slipped to a halt with the railed platform of the superintendent’s car directly over the exhausted pair. In half a minute, Superintendent Foster, anxious and wondering, followed the conductor down the steps.

“Something is wrong!” said the conductor in a tone of alarm. “We’re a mile from Silver Thistle. The engineer must have been signaled, but there’s no train near us--”

“We signaled you!” cried Nevada as she scrambled to her feet. One more step and the conductor would have stumbled upon them, but turning the lantern he saw the two disheveled, exhausted girls. Fast in his wake came Mr. Foster.

“Why, it’s Debue! And the Little Doctor Lady!” cried the chief as he sprang forward and took his daughter in his arms. “Bless me--what has happened?” he asked.

“Some men--are at Silver Thistle--to hold up the train!” gasped Nevada between breaths.

“Well! Well--if you are not a plucky pair!” exclaimed the superintendent. “Help me--let’s get them into the car. Warn McKenzie. We must run past the station and come back later. The fellows will know then that we suspect them!” he ordered.

The two exhausted girls were helped to a big leather couch inside the car, the “Special” moved on, and passed Silver Thistle with a roar. The three men in hiding, outwitted and alarmed, fled into the night. When the “Special” backed into Silver Thistle half an hour later, an anxious woman stood on the platform, near the station-house, wondering why the two girls had not returned--wondering, too, why the “Special” had rushed by. But the arms of Nevada were soon clasped around her neck, and the season of anxiety came to a happy termination.

Again the superintendent’s “Special” tarried at Silver Thistle for a whole hour, while impatient trains were held at stations along the line. Inside the little station-house quick consultations and portentous decisions were made. Mr. Foster spoke warmly to the father and mother.

“Your daughter is just the medicine my daughter needs,” he declared. “I never saw her look so well or so happy. You let us take Nevada east with us, and for her companionship she shall study at the Highland Academy with Debue.”

The girls look at each other, too happy to speak. Glad, half-wistful glances passed between Mr. and Mrs. Buckley. “It is what we have always wanted to do for Nevada,” smilingly spoke the little woman. “We shall miss her, but of course she may go!”

The two girls, forgetting their recent exhaustion, jumped to their feet and dancing and whirling around the room they joyfully cried, “It’s too good to be true!”

THE END.

[Illustration]

Transcriber’s Notes

• Italics represented with surrounding _underscores_.

• Small caps converted to ALL CAPS.

• Illustrations relocated close to relevant content.

• Obvious typographic errors silently corrected.

• Table of Contents added by the transcriber for reader convenience.