"Much obliged, Gus." Carhart started to resume his mending, then lowered his needle. "And all for the want of a horseshoe nail," he hummed softly.

Young Van, more puzzled than before, looked up from a heap of papers which had drawn his attention. Carhart smiled a little.

"You remember?" he said,--

"For the want of a nail the shoe was lost; For the want of the shoe the horse was lost; For the want of the horse the rider was lost; For the want of the rider the battle was lost; And all--"

He stopped and looked out. A partly clad figure was hurrying by toward the shelter that covered the telegraph instruments.

"There he goes now. I'm a little bothered, Gus. It would be a humorous sort of a joke on me if I should be held up now for a little firewood."

"I suppose we couldn't cut up ties?" suggested Young Van.

"Can't spare 'em. I've ordered wood from Red Hills, but we shan't be able to pick up enough there. And if we don't get some pretty soon, the engines will have to stop."

Young Van took down a letter file and glanced through it. In a moment he had drawn out a recent message from Peet. "Here," he said, "Mr.

Peet promised to have a big lot of wood on the way by to-day. That leaves some margin for delays."

Carhart rose, and nodded. "Yes," he replied, "but not margin enough."

"You expect something to happen right off?"

"Couldn't say to that. But my bones feel queer to-night--have felt queer all day. Tiffany writes that Bourke, who is in charge of the H.

D. & W. construction, was in Sherman the other day. And Commodore Durfee was expected at Red Hills a week ago. Well,--" He shrugged his shoulders and went out and over to join the operator.

"We'll try to get the man on the next division," said Carhart. "Ask him if the line is clear all the way."

The operator extended his hand to send the message, but checked it in midair. "Why," he exclaimed, "he is calling us!" He looked up prepared to see surprise equal to his own on Carhart's face. But what he did see there mystified him. The chief was slowly nodding. He could not say that he had expected this call,--the thing was a coincidence,--and yet he was not at all surprised.

"'Trouble on Barker Hills division--'" The operator was repeating as the instrument clicked.

"That's a hundred miles or so back--"

"Hundred and thirty-eight. 'Operator on middle division,' he says, 'wires fifty men trying to seize station--has notified Sherman--a.s.sistance promised. Big armed force Barker Hills led by large man with red mustache--'"

"That's Bourke himself," muttered Carhart.

The operator's hand shook a little. His eyes were shining. "Here's some more, Mr. Carhart,--'Have tried to hold my station, but--'"

"Wait," cried the chief, sharply. "Quick--say this: 'Has supply train pa.s.sed west to-day?'"

"'Has--supply--train--'" the operator repeated after a moment--"'pa.s.sed--west-to-day?'"

"Now what does he answer?"

"Just a moment--Here he is!--'Not--not--' Hold on there, what's the matter?"

"Has he stopped?"

"Stopped short. That's queer."

"Do you think so?" said Carhart, looking down into the white face of the operator. The effect of the young man's excitement was hardly lessened by the shock of rumpled hair about his forehead and by the white collar of a nightgown which appeared above his hastily b.u.t.toned coat.

"You mean--?"

"Wait a little longer." For several minutes they were silent, the operator leaning his elbows on the table, Carhart bending over him.

Then, "Try him again," said Carhart.

The operator obeyed. There was no response. Carhart drew up an empty cracker box and sat down. Twenty minutes pa.s.sed.

"Click--clickety--click--click," said the instrument. The operator, in a husky voice, translated the message as it came in: "'P. Carhart, chief west'n ext. S. & W.: On receipt of this you will stop all construction work until further instructions, by order of Vice-Pres.

Chambers--H. L. Tiffany.'"

"That's funny!" said the operator.

Carhart did not seem to hear the exclamation. He was frowning slightly, and his lips were moving. At length he said, "Take this:--

"To C. O'F. BOURKE,

Barker Hills Station:--

"Have another try, old chap. You haven't quite caught Hen Tiffany's style yet.

"P. CARHART."

The operator laughed softly and nervously as his deft fingers transmitted this personal communication.

"Got it all through?" asked the chief.

"Yes, sir; all through."

"All right, then, go back to bed. Good night."

"Good night, Mr. Carhart."

For several days now no word had come through from Flint, on "mile 109." But twenty hours after the trouble at Barker Hills--just before supper time of the following day--a party of plainsmen came galloping into camp. One of these, a wizened little man with a kindly smile and shrewd eyes, dismounted before the headquarters tent and peered in between the flaps. "Mr. Carhart here?"

"He will be in two minutes," replied Young Van, rising from the table.

"Come in, sir!"

"Your Mr. Flint asked me to hand him this." The wizened one produced a letter, and dropped into the chair which Young Van had brought forward. "Having quite a time up there, isn't he?"

"How so?" asked Young Van. It was well to speak guardedly.

"Oh, he's in it, deep," was the reply. "Commodore Durfee's at the Frisco Hotel in Red Hills. They say he came out over the 'Wobbly' on a construction train and rode through. Pretty spry yet, the Old Commodore. He's hired a bad man named Flagg--Jack Flagg--and sent him out with a hundred or so men to seize your bridge at La Paz. Sorry I couldn't stay there to see the excitement, but I'm hurrying east. Mr.

Flint thought maybe I could pick up one of your trains running back to Sherman. If I can't do that, I'll strike off south for Pierrepont, and get through that way."