Given leave to speak, Adair stated his needs succinctly.  He wanted a special train to Saint’s Rest; he wanted it suddenly, and he asked that it be given the right of the road.

“My dear sir!” protested the vice-president, “you mustn’t ask impossibilities!  You shall have the train at once, of course:  you shall have my private car.  But when it comes to the right of way, you’ll have to appeal to Mr. Ford.  Why, he doesn’t scruple to lay out the United States mails for his material trains!”

“Um,” said Adair.  “Where can I reach Ford?”

Mr. North did not equivocate; he never lied when the truth would answer the purpose equally well.

“He is out on the extension; or more correctly speaking, somewhere beyond the present end of the construction telegraph line.  I’m afraid you couldn’t reach him by wire.”

“And the president?” queried the visitor.

“Mr. Colbrith’s car is at the end-of-track.  You wished to join the party in the Nadia?”

“That is what I had in mind,” said Adair, not too anxiously.

Mr. North shook his head.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy the run over the construction track.  Mr. Colbrith went over it last night because—­well, because he believes it to be a presidential duty to inspect everything.  If you leave to-day, you will probably meet the Nadia coming out—­possibly at Saint’s Rest.”

Adair suddenly became wary.

“Perhaps that would be the easy thing to do,” he said.  “I suppose the engineers at Saint’s Rest could put me up if I have to stay over night?”

“You needn’t ask them.  You will have my car—­with the best cook this side of Louisiana.  Keep it, live in it, till Mr. Colbrith picks you up on his return.”

“All right.  But you’ll give me the special.  And let it make as good time as it can, Mr. North; I’m fierce when I have to ride a slow train.”

The vice-president’s promise was freely given; and to expedite matters, the division superintendent’s chief clerk went down to the station with Adair to see the special train properly equipped and started on the mountain-climbing run.  Adair left the details to this orderly from the general offices; not knowing how to compass them himself, he had to.  If he could have seen the broad grins on the faces of his train crew when Dobson, the clerk, gave them the despatcher’s order—­but at that moment he was lounging in Mr. North’s easiest chair in the central compartment of the “01,” reading for the twentieth time a crease-worn telegram.

The telegram was from Alicia, and it was dated at Denver, three days gone.  It was not very explicit; on the contrary, it was rather incoherent.

“You would better come on as fast as you can if you want to save your friend’s life.  He has been tried and found guilty—­of just what, I don’t know—­and will be hanged pretty soon—­within a few days, I think.”

“Now that’s a nice way to stir a fellow up, isn’t it?” soliloquized the pleasure-lover.  “Just as I was getting ready to go up to Mount Ptarmigan for the shooting.  She knew that, too.  I’ll bet a picayune it’s just a girl’s scare.  Ford’s plenty good and able to take care of himself.”