“Wal, son, I like the way you’re makin’ yourself responsible fer thet kid,” replied the trapper.  “I never had no wife nor daughter.  But I’m thinkin’—­wouldn’t it jest be hell to be a girl—­tender an’ young an’ like Neale said—­an’ sudden hev all you loved butchered before your eyes?”

“It shore would,” said Red, feelingly.  “An’ thet’s what she sees all the time.”

“Slingerland, do we run any chance of meeting Indians?” queried Neale.

“I reckon not.  Them Sioux will git fur away from hyar after thet massacre.  But you want to keep sharp eyes out, an’ if you do meet any, jest ride an’ shoot your way through.  You’ve the best horses I’ve seen.  Whar’d you git them?”

“They belong to King.  He’s a cowboy.”

“Hosses was my job.  An’ we can shore ride away from any redskins,” replied King.

“Wal, good luck, an’ come back soon,” was Slingerland’s last word.

So they parted.  The cowboy led the way with the steady, easy, trotting walk that saved a horse yet covered distance; in three hours they were hailed by a trooper outpost, and soon they were in camp.

Shortly after their arrival the engineers returned, tired, dusty, work-stained, and yet in unusually good spirits.  They had run the line up over Sherman Pass, and now it seemed their difficulties were to lessen as the line began to descend from the summit of the divide.  Neale’s absence had been noticed, for his services were in demand.  But all the men rejoiced in his rescue of the little girl, and were sympathetic and kind in their inquiries.  It seemed to Neale that his chief looked searchingly at him, as if somehow the short absence had made a change in him.  Neale himself grew conscious of a strange difference in his inner nature; he could not forget the girl, her helplessness, her pathetic plight.

“Well, it’s curious,” he soliloquized.  “But—­it’s not so, either.  I’m sorry for her.”

And he remembered the strange change in her eyes when he had watched the shadow of horror and death and blood fade away before the natural emotions of youth and life and hope.

Next day Neale showed more than ever his value to the engineering corps, and again won a word of quiet praise from his chief.  He liked the commendation of his superiors.  He began to believe heart and soul in the coming greatness of the railroad.  And that strenuous week drove his faithful lineman, King, to unwonted complaint.

Larry tugged at his boots and groaned as he finally pulled them off.  They were full of holes, at which he gazed ruefully.  “Shore I’ll be done with this heah job when they’re gone,” he said.

“Why do you work in high-heeled boots?” inquired Neale.  “You can’t walk or climb in them.  No wonder they’re full of holes.”

“Wal, I couldn’t wear no boots like yours,” declared Red.

“You’ll have to.  Another day will about finish them, and your feet, too.”