As they neared the house a woman knitting on its steps arose hurriedly, ran into the house and shut every door and window about the place.

"Acts sort of scared, eh?" suggested Zeph, as they approached the front of the house.

"Or suspicious," remarked Ralph.

"Stop right there. Who are you, and what do you want?"

The boys paused summarily, a bit taken off their balance. Very suddenly the barrel of a long shotgun was thrust through the slats of one of the wooden shutters, and the voice which challenged them showed no timidity or nonsense.

"We want to see Mrs. Hannah Clifton," replied Ralph politely, revealing himself.

"What for?" demanded the uncompromising invisible challenger.

"Why--er--that is--" began the rattled Zeph stammeringly.

"Shut up," whispered Ralph unceremoniously. "In behalf of Mr. Rivers,"

added Ralph ahead.

"He sent you, did he?"

"We just came from him."

"On business, I suppose?"

"Yes, madam."

"All right, then he gave you a word."

"Pa.s.sword!" whispered Zeph desperately.

"Sun and Moon," ventured Ralph recklessly.

"Wrong!" cried the woman as quick as lightning. "I see your game. You're guessing. If you don't make yourselves scarce in two minutes, I'll fire."

She did not wait the limit. The fowling piece scattered skithering bird shot with a flare just as the intruders got out of range.

"She's too keen for us--get to the barn, Ralph," suggested Zeph breathlessly.

"Yes, run," ordered Ralph.

They reached it, ran to cover and peered out. The woman, gun in hand, dashed from the house in the direction of a nest of small huts in the vicinity.

"She is going to rouse up some of her friends, I have not the least doubt," observed Ralph. "Quick action, Zeph. That telegram said 'barn loft!'"

"Whoo-oop!"

Already the impetuous Zeph had acted on the impulse of the moment. He was up in the loft already. Mingled with his chucklings were the rustlings of hay, a dragging sound. Down on Ralph's head came a bulky object as he started up the cleated side of the barn.

"Bags--two of them! Money! Pay envelopes!" gasped the young road officer in a transport of wild excitement. "Rivers hid them here. The woman don't know. Hustle, get out. She may bring a mob after us. Oh, I'm a--I'm a great detective at last!"

"You are, and always were," cheered Ralph with a happy smile. He felt well satisfied. The very feeling of the stuffed bags, a mere glance at their contents, told the young railroader that they were lugging to safety a fortune probably amounting to over two hundred thousand dollars.

They lost no time in cutting across the fields towards the town, each bearing a share of the precious burden.

At the local bank Ralph amazed the proprietor by demanding that the bags be locked up in his strongest vaults as the property of the Great Northern railroad.

Then he hurried to the office of the company railroad operator at Dunbar Station.

There was a brief explanation, a quick call for headquarters, the urgency signal, 25, and Ralph could fancy loyal old John Glidden at headquarters throwing open the entire lines for final orders in the great pay car mystery case.

East, west, south the messages flew: to the general superintendent, to Bob Adair, to the marshal, to the paymaster at Stanley Junction.

The un.o.btrusive station operator stared in bewilderment at the quick, natty stranger, who seemed to have no trouble in keeping track of a dozen different messages at once. It took Ralph fully an hour, with details, repeats and clean up. He arose from the instrument with a satisfied face.

"I've done my work, Zeph," he said, "and I'm going back to headquarters.

You are to wait here for instructions from Mr. Adair. They will come sharp and brisk, don't be afraid. We have started the ball rolling, the rest will be easy."

CHAPTER x.x.xII

CONCLUSION

"What are you doing here, Fairbanks?"

Ralph had just entered the train dispatcher's office after a good night's sleep and sat down at his usual post of duty.

He felt pretty good, for he was rested up, and Glidden had spared a minute from some rush business to tell him that Adair had coralled the whole crowd of conspirators, bank bullion and all.

The general superintendent of the Great Northern, however, seemed to feel even better than Ralph himself. He had swung into the office with bright eyes and a beaming face, and while his challenge might sound to the uninitiated like a conventional call down, the head official looked as if he would like to grab the hand of his loyal, useful young a.s.sistant and hurrah at him.

"Getting back to routine, sir," said Ralph with a pleasant laugh.

"Wrong box."

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand," began Ralph.

"Don't. Then I'll show you," announced the official with a forcible chuckle. "Can't have insubordination and men out of place in this service. There's your desk," and seizing Ralph by the arm the superintendent led him past the counter into the little office rarely occupied, and marked on its door "Chief Dispatcher--Private."

"I will need your signature to get some autograph pads made," continued the official, picking up the stand containing the various rubber stamps in use. "What are you staring at, Fairbanks?"

"You don't mean--"

"Promotion? oh, yes, I do. That was settled on after the fruit special affair, but so many rushing things came along since we couldn't get around to you. Just make out a list of your new office requirements and changes in men and routine, and I'll O. K. them."

There was a suspicious sound in the open doorway. It was half between a sniffle and a chuckle.