"That wild Irishman? The governor says he'd as soon ride behind the devil."
"Callahan will get you there," said the train-master, with deliberate emphasis. Then he asked a question of his own. "Is Mr. Callafield going with you?"
"No. He came down to see us off. How is the fast mail to-night?"
"She's just in—an hour and thirty-five minutes late."
The major swore pathetically. He was of the generation of railway officials, happily fast passing, which cursed and swore itself into authority.
"That's another five hundred dollars' forfeit to the Post-office Department! Who's taking it west?"
"Tischer."
"Give him orders to cut out all the stops. If he is more than fifty-five minutes late at Bighorn, he can come in and get his time."
Tischer had just got the word to go, and was pulling out on the yard main line.
"I'll catch him with the wire at yard limits," said M'Tosh. Then: "Would you mind hurrying your people a little, Major? The express is due to leave."