Already the pursued were through the ford and, with dripping flanks, were scrambling up the opposite shore. Already big 705 was almost abreast of them, and in another moment would be swiftly speeding by. It was two years since Geordie last set eyes on Nolan, but there was no mistaking, even at that distance, the tall, gaunt figure and the practised seat in saddle. Behind him trailed three comrades, two of whom, at least, were tyros in the art of horsemanship. They were hanging on for dear life as their steeds labored on after the leader. The object of all four was obviously to get beyond easy rifle range of the rushing train before drawing rein to reconnoitre, and now, probably noting that the engine was driving on full speed, with no sign of stopping, the tall horseman in the lead circled swiftly to his right, along the crest of a low ridge perhaps three hundred yards away, then peered from under his broad hatbrim at the supposed enemy.
And then it was that Graham and Toomey, both, sprang back to the coal-pile in the tender, clambered high as possible on the shifting slope, and, balancing as best they could, whipped off their caps, swung them joyously about their heads, and eagerly gave the old-time, well-known cavalry signal, "Forward!" "Forward!" They saw Nolan and his friends seated on their panting horses, staring after them in amaze and wonderment, then resolutely following.
A mile now would bring them whistling by the site of old Fort Reynolds, and a lump rose in Geordie's throat, for the weather-beaten, ramshackle stables came in view as the Mogul rounded a long, easy curve, and there, beyond them and on the level bench before them, stood the trim rows of officers' quarters, now deserted and tenantless, yet guarded by the single sergeant and his little squad of men. To the right, afar up the track near the foot-bridge and ford, lay the station building, wellnigh useless now since the greater interests and industries, that had made the railway possible and forced the Indian farther back, had also fouled the mountain stream and spoiled the site for a cavalry post.
There stood the freight sheds; there were the chutes for horses and mules; there, beyond them, the now abandoned office and waiting-room; and there, still glistening white and towering, the semaphore signal-mast of the railway; and then and there, sure and sudden, there dropped the black arm straight across and above their glistening path in the never-to-be-neglected order—Stop!
Big Ben's lined face went swiftly gray through its coat of grime, but the firm hand did its instant work with the throttle. Then, swinging from his seat, he grasped the glistening lever and, peering intently forward, stood ready to throw it in reverse. Toomey sprang for the cord and jerked one fierce toot out of the whistle, the old-time signal for down-brakes before Westinghouse and his science put everything at the touch of the engineer. Almost at the moment the swift rush of the train became jarring and rough. Two daring men scampered, monkey-like, along the top of the cars, twisting a brake on each, then darting to the next. A furious gust of steam tore from the escape-valve and streamed away overhead. Not a thing was in sight on the track, not a soul on the platform, to account for the alarming signal. A switch-target clanked as they tore over the points; a vagrant dog scurried away toward the once thriving saloon, and not until they drove in, hissing, grinding, and bumping, to the side of the dusty platform, did Ben's keen eyes catch sight of two herdsmen's horses—cow ponies—tethered back of the shanty beside the saloon, and up went the lid of his box at the instant, in went his right hand, and then out it came full grasp on a brown-barrelled six-shooter.