Mahon saw the idea. For some reason the bohunks were being driven temporarily to cover. Something—
The moon had moved a little over the top of the dark mass of trees. The grade was lit up. Mahon's eyes ran back and forward along the twin bands of dimly reflecting steel.
A man leaped to the top of the grade from the other side, swayed a little, and plunged forward toward the shack. With the moon full on him in that first moment he loomed unnaturally huge. In a bound Mahon reached the door and threw it open.
"Conrad!" he shouted. "Quick!"
Adrian Conrad stumbled over the doorstep, laughed, and fell to the floor.
"'S all right," he cheered with a mad laugh. "Haven't got Adrian Conrad yet. Easy—there, Mahon! They've chewed me up—a bit—that rifle at the trestle—saved me." Then he fainted.
A voice that jerked Mahon erect came grimly from the grade.
"Shut that door, durn yuh! I can't keep 'em down all night."
Mahon was obeying mechanically when the Indian dashed through.
"Gor-swizzle, if he ain't the spunkiest chap I ever set eyes on. Jes' swaggered up that path like he was out fer a walk. . . . But plumb loco'ed! An' whistlin'! Oh, gor!"