When, after school that afternoon, Alex Ward waved a good-by to hisfather, the Bixton station agent for the Middle Western, and set off upthe track on the spring's first fishing, he had little thought ofexciting experiences ahead of him. Likewise, when two hours later asudden heavy shower found him in the woods three miles from home, andwith but three small fish, it was only with feelings of disappointmentthat he wound up his line and ran for the shelter of an old log-cabin ahundred yards back from the stream.Scarcely had Alex reached the doorway of the deserted house when he wasstartled by a chorus of excited voices from the rear. He turned quicklyto a window, and with a cry sprang back out of sight. Emerging from thewoods, excitedly talking and gesticulating, was a party of foreigners whohad been working on the track near Bixton, and in their midst, his handsbound behind him, was Hennessy, their foreman.