"Whose—why?" inquired Ralph.
"The outcast gang. It's one of their scare tricks. Humph! I'd like to get sight of the fellow who thought he was doing a smart trick. The Black Hands are supposed to warn us that we're doomed by the gang, see? It's a notification that the trouncing I gave those fellows Hall and Wilson is a declaration of war to the knife."
"Well, let it come. Aren't we equal to it, Mr. Fogg?"
"You are, for they can't hit you hard. You've made your mark," said the fireman, somewhat gloomily. "I'm not in the same class. I've had my weak spots. Besides, it's me they'll be after. Dunno, Fairbanks, maybe I'd better not be the cause of getting you into any more trouble. Perhaps I'd better slide for a bit into some switchyard job."
"What—scared?" cried Ralph.
"No, not scared," responded Fogg soberly, "only worried about you."
"Well," said Ralph, "the master mechanic said we were a strong team?"
"Ye-es."
"Let's prove to him that we are. Good-by to the Black Hands, Mr. Fogg, they aren't worth thinking about."
So the young railroader rallied and cheered his
