rush of wind. He fumbled, and finally passed a scrap of the paper into
the hand of the brakie.

"My heavens," drawled the latter. "D'you think you can fix me with a
buck for a job like this? You can't bribe me to stand around while you
bump off Donnegan. Can't be done, Lefty!"

"One buck, did you say?"

Lefty Joe expertly lighted a match in spite of the roaring wind, and by
this wild light the brakie read the denomination of the bill with a
gasp. He rolled up his face and was in time to catch the sneer on the
face of Lefty before a gust snatched away the light of the match.

They had topped the highest point in Jericho Pass and now the long train
dropped into the down grade with terrific speed. The wind became a
hurricane. But to the brakie all this was no more than a calm night. His
thoughts were raging in him, and if he looked back far enough he
remembered the dollar which Donnegan had given him; and how he had
promised Donnegan to give the warning before anything went wrong. He
thought of this, but rustling against the palm of his right hand was
the bill whose denomination he had read, and that figure ate into his
memory, ate into his brain.

After all what was Donnegan to him? What was Donnegan but a worthless
tramp? Without any answer to that last monosyllabic query, the brakie
hunched forward, and began to work his way up the train.

The tramp watched him go with laughter. It was silent laughter. In the
most quiet room it would not have sounded louder than a continual, light