over the young men, who would sooner have a crack at somebody than not. Tom Laylander tried to make his case again.
"Colonel Withers has come here to take these cattle away from me if he can, boys," he began.
"Sure thing—if he can," said a cheerful voice. This brought a laugh. It was quite an early morning lark for the railroad men.
"He's not the kind of a man that stops for anything in the road," said Tom, trying to impress them with the gravity of the situation, which they seemed to underrate in their confidence. Perhaps the sight of so many bulldogs had much to do with Tom's earnest solicitation. He shuddered at the innocent confidence of a man who would go into a fight with such an implement in his hand.
"He'll stop, all right all right," the conductor said, with bland assurance.
"If we can't stop him, what're you goin' to do alone?" one of the young engineers inquired, with a sort of friendly tenderness as if he considered a younger brother's plight.
"I'll do the best I can," Tom replied, "but I don't want you gentlemen to run any risk on account of me."
The conductor put his hand on Tom's shoulder and turned him to look him squarely in the eyes. He was a big man, with a little gray showing in his beard, old enough to be Laylander's elder brother, and wise in the experience of many a frontier fray.
"This has passed out of your hands, son," he said.
