"No, Colonel," returned Silk, "not exactly. My broncho is in the horse box at the rear. I'm going on by this train."
"Have a cigar, Sergeant," urged Sir George.
Silk took one, biting off the end with his sharp, even teeth, as cleanly as if he had cut it with a knife.
"Won't you come in along with us?" the millionaire invited.
Silk shook his head.
"No, thank you, sir. I go third-class, and I may have to jump off between stations." He glanced at the Colonel. "I'm going west to see if I can find out something of the affair that happened along the line last night," he explained. "Perhaps you heard of it? No? Well, you see, the 7.42 was held up by a gang of train robbers, who managed to board her while she was side-tracked, waiting for the limited express to pass. The engine-driver was killed in the scuffle, and the conductor was badly hurt. I'm going as far as Hill Crest to have a word with the conductor, if he is well enough to be examined."
"It is to be hoped there's no danger of those train thieves paying us a visit to-night," said the millionaire anxiously. "I should hardly have expected to meet such gentry in Canada."
Sergeant Silk shook his head and smiled as he struck a match to light his cigar.
"They were caught, sir," he said, enjoying the aroma. "We happened—my broncho and I—to drop on them as they were escaping with the swag; and they are here in Macleod, safe under lock and key."
"What?" exclaimed the millionaire. "A gang of armed desperadoes, you say, caught—arrested—by you and your horse alone?"