still a moment, and then began to pace the room, rapidly clinching his
hands, his whole frame quivering, his eyes flashing fire--"for all the
world," Sinclair said, in telling the story afterward, "like a fierce
caged tiger."

"My God!" he muttered, with concentrated intensity, "to be _trapped_,
TRAPPED like this!"

Sinclair stepped quickly to the door of his bedroom, and motioned Foster
to enter. Then there came a knock at the outer door, and he opened it
and stood on the threshold, erect and firm. Half a dozen "toughs" faced
him.

"Major," said their spokesman, "we want that man."

"You cannot have him, boys."

"Major, we're a-goin' to take him."

"You had better not try," said Sinclair, with perfect ease and
self-possession, and in a pleasant voice. "I have given him shelter, and
you can only get him over my dead body. Of course you can kill me, but
you won't do even that without one or two of you going down; and then
you know perfectly well, boys, what will happen. You _know_ that if you
lay your finger on a railroad man it's all up with you. There are five
hundred men in the tie-camp, not five miles away, and you don't need to
be told that in less than one hour after they get word there won't be a
piece of one of you big enough to bury."

The men made no reply. They looked him straight in the eyes for a