"I was wise when I suggested that lantern," said Whitey. "I never
thought that it would be daylight, and its light wouldn't show."

Injun almost smiled.

"What we ought to have is a red flag," Whitey continued. "That's the
proper thing to signal a train with in daytime."

Injun grunted, and Whitey considered the matter. "I have it! Your
shirt!" he cried. "It's pink, close enough to red. We'll wave that."

Injun grunted again and looked doubtful. "Me get 'im back?" he asked.
Injun didn't care any less for that shirt than he did for his pinto or
his rifle--and he cared more for it than for his interest in the gold
mine.

"Sure, you'll get it back," said Whitey, and without a word Injun took
off the shirt and handed it to Whitey.

The boys gazed anxiously toward the west. Whitey thought of the three
armed men, who now probably had handkerchiefs tied over their faces, and
were lying in wait in the gully. Then of the oncoming train, with its
unsuspecting passengers, and in the express car the bags of ore that
were said to assay forty thousand dollars a ton. It wouldn't take much
of _that_ to make it worth while for the bandits to hold up the
shipment.

Although the mist was getting thicker, it seemed singular that the train
did not appear. The inaction of waiting was beginning to get on Whitey's
nerves--and would have affected Injun's if he'd had any. At that, they