Jack hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. "What are you men doing here?" he demanded.

"Oh, hello, kiddo! We are the new operators," said one of them with tipsy humor. "You're discharged, see? And you git, too!" he suddenly shouted, catching up the pistol. And promptly Jack "got." A few yards distant, however, he halted. Now what was he to do?

"Oh here you are, eh? Where have you been?" It was West, the "Star" man, and he spoke angrily. "I was here ten minutes ago, and found the office empty, and if the other company could have handled my stuff yours would have lost it. I've just been—"

Interrupting, Jack hastily explained, telling of the severed wire, and his plan to bridge the break. The reporter uttered an indignant exclamation. "It's Raub's work, sure as you're born," he said hotly.

"But say, youngster, we can't permit ourselves to be beaten this way. Can't we do something?"

"We might get some help, and drive the roughs out," suggested Jack.

"No; we haven't time. And then they might put up a drunken fight and shoot somebody. Come, think of something else. You surely can get over this new difficulty, after your clever idea for getting around the cut in the wire."

"I don't know," replied Jack doubtfully, glancing toward the office window. "If there was any way of getting the instruments—"

"What could you do with them?"

"We could turn the barn there into an office. I'd run connections out through the back to the fence. It's just behind."

"Say—I've an idea then! If it wouldn't take you long to remove the instruments from the table?"

"Only a couple of minutes."

"Come on," said West. Leading the way back toward the office, he explained, "I'll get these beggars out, you hide round the corner, and soon as the way is clear rush in and get your instruments, and duck for the barn. I'll join you later."

"How are you going to get them out?" whispered Jack.

"Watch," said the reporter.

As Jack drew out of sight about the rear of the building his mystification was added to when he saw West pause before the door, stoop and pick up a handful of gravel. But immediately the reporter entered the doorway and spoke his purpose was explained.

"Hello, you two big rummies," he said in his most offensive tones. "What are you doing here?"

The two men were in a momentarily genial mood, however, and missed the insult. "Why, hello pard, ol' man," responded one of them cordially. "Come in an' make 'self t' home. Wanta buy a telegraph office? Cheap?"

"Cheap! You are the cheapest article I see here," replied West, yet more insultingly. "What do you mean by sitting down in respectable chairs? You ought to be tied up in a cow-stable. That's where you belong."

There was an angry growl as the two men scrambled to their feet, and peering about the corner Jack saw West back into the door.

"Come on out, you big, overgrown cowards," shouted the reporter. "I'll thrash the both of you, with one hand tied behind me!

"And take that!"

With his last words West suddenly threw the gravel full in the faces of the now enraged men, and spinning about, raced off down the road. They stumbled forth, shouting with rage, and one of them fired. The bullet went yards wide, and West ran on. Without further wait Jack darted into the office, in a few minutes had the relay and key from the table, secured some spare ends of wire for connections, and sped for the barn.



There all was darkness. Entering, a search with matches soon produced a lantern, however. Lighting it, Jack stepped without to discover whether its glimmer could be seen from the direction of the office. As he closed the door West appeared, panting and laughing.

"Well, what do you think of that stunt, youngster?" he chuckled. "Did you get the instruments?"

"Yes. I was out here to learn whether the light of a lantern I found could be seen."

"Good head! No; it doesn't show.

"And come on! Here the beggars are again!" West led the way inside, and closed the door behind them.

"Now what, my boy?"

"A table first. Here, the very thing," said Jack, making towards a long feed-box at the rear of the barn.

As they cleared its top of a pile of harness West asked, "Just what is the scheme here, youngster? I don't think I understand it."

"Oh, simple enough. I'll just run the wires out through that knot-hole, and connect one to the fence and the other to the ground."

"Simple! It looks different to me," declared the reporter admiringly. "All right, go ahead. I'll get down on this box and grind out the rest of my story."

Already Jack was at work sorting over the odd pieces of wire he had brought. Finding two suitable lengths, and straightening them out, he quickly connected them to the instruments, placed the instruments in a convenient position on the top of the box, and thrust the wire ends through the knot-hole. Then, hastening outside to the rear of the barn, he proceeded to connect one of them to the same strand of the fence wire to which the telegraph line was secured a mile distant. The other he drove deep into the damp earth beneath the edge of the building. And, theoretically, the circuit was complete.

Hurriedly he re-entered the barn to learn the result.

"Well?" said West anxiously.

"There is current, but it's too weak." Jack's voice quavered with his disappointment. "I suppose the rusty splices of that old fence offer too much resistance.

"But I'm not beaten yet," he exclaimed, suddenly recovering his determination. Turning from the box, he began pacing up and down the floor. "I'll figure it out somehow if I—oh!" With the cry Jack darted for the door, out, and toward the office.

The intoxicated roughs were again in possession. Quietly he made his way to a dark window adjoining the lighted window of the operating room—the window of a little store-room, where, the local operator had told him, the batteries were located.

The window was unlocked, and with little difficulty he succeeded in raising it. Cautiously he climbed within, and feeling about, found the row of glass jars. Quickly disconnecting two of them, he carried them to the window-sill, clambered out, and hastened with them to the barn.

"Now I've got it, Mr. West!" he cried. "I'll have H again in fifteen minutes!"

West started to his feet. "Can't I help you?"

"All right. Come on," said Jack. And ten minutes later, working like beavers, they had transferred to the barn the entire office battery of twenty cells.

In nervous haste Jack connected the cells in series, then to the wire. Instantly the instrument closed with a solid click.

"Hurrah! We win! We win!" cried West, and Jack, springing to the key, whirled off a succession of H's. "H, H, H, ON! Rush! H, H—"

"I, I, H! Where have you been? What's the matter?" It was the chief, and the words came sharply and angrily.

"The wire was cut both sides of the village," shot back Jack. "I think it was Raub and Simpson's work. And two roughs chased me out of the office with a revolver. Hired by them, I suppose. I've fixed up an office in the barn, and am sending for a mile through a wire fence, to bridge the cut. Orr."

For a moment the chief was too amazed to reply. Then rapidly he said: "Orr, you are a trump! But come ahead with that report now. And make the best time you ever made in your life. I'll copy you myself."

And there, in a corner of the big barn, by the dim light of the lantern, and to the strange accompaniment of munching cattle and restlessly stamping horses, West wrote as though his life depended upon it, and Jack sent as he had never sent before. And exactly an hour later the young operator sent "30" (the end) to one of the speediest feats of press work on that year's records of the Hammerton office.

Though it was 3 A. M. when Jack got back to Hammerton, he found the chief operator at the station to meet him. "I had to come down, to congratulate you," said the chief. "That was one of the brightest bits of work all-round that I've heard of for years."

"But did we beat them?" asked Jack.

"We assuredly did. For didn't you know? Those two roughs later went up and cleaned out the other office—the very men who had hired them to disable us! And what with having had a slow-working wire previously, the 'Bulletin' didn't get in more than five hundred words. We gave the 'Star' over three solid columns."

The manager's congratulation the following morning was as enthusiastic as that of the chief. "And as a practical appreciation, Jack," he added, "we are going to give you a full month's vacation, with salary. We think you earned it."

When Jack returned to his wire one of the first remarks he heard was from Alex Ward, at Bixton.

"Well, old boy," clicked Alex, "your adventure came, didn't it. And it has me beaten to a standstill."



"Nonsense. It was your stunt at Hadley Corners that suggested the trick that got me out of it," declared Jack. "But say, the manager has given me a month's vacation. What do you think of that?"

"He did! Look here," sent Alex quickly, "come to Bixton and spend some of it with me. I'll promise you all kinds of a good time. Though I am not sure I can guarantee anything as exciting as last night's work," he added.

Jack readily accepted the invitation. And, as it turned out, Alex might as well have made his promise. He could have kept it.



VII

A RACE THROUGH THE FLAMES

The fall had been an exceptionally dry one in that section of the middle west, and in consequence several forest fires had occurred, several not far from Bixton. Thus, when a few mornings following Jack's arrival he and Alex proposed a visit to the old house in the woods where Alex had had his thrilling experience with the foreign trackmen, Mrs. Ward objected.

"You know there was a fire but five miles west yesterday, Alex," she said.

"But that was only in the grass along the track, Mother, and the section-men soon had it out. They are watching everywhere. And on the first sign of smoke we will light for home like good fellows—won't we, Jack?" he promised. Somewhat reluctantly Mrs. Ward finally consented, and gave the boys a lunch, and they set off to make a day of it.

Paying a visit first to the abandoned brick-yard, it was noon when Jack and Alex emerged from the woods at the rear of the deserted old cabin.

"So that's it!" exclaimed Jack with keen interest as they went forward. "And up there is the very door you dropped from, I suppose?"

"Yes, that is it. Still half open, too—just as I left it. And over there is the barn and cow-stable. But let us have lunch first, and I'll explain everything afterward," Alex said, leading the way toward the house. "I am as hollow as a bass-drum."

Ten minutes later, sitting on the cabin floor just within the doorway, eating and chatting, the two boys became suddenly silent, and sniffed at the air. With an exclamation both leaped to their feet, and to the door.

Rolling from the trees at the southern border of the clearing was a white bank of smoke. The woods were on fire!

"Which way?" cried Jack, as they sprang forth. "The railroad?"

Alex darted to the corner of the house and glanced about. "No! The wind has swung to the southwest! We'd never make it! North, for the brick-yard! Come on!

"If we are cornered there, we can swim the river," he explained as they ran. "The fire isn't likely to cross the water."

They reached the trees, and immediately found themselves in a madly frightened procession. At their feet scurried rabbits, squirrels, chipmunks. A fox flashed by within a yard of them. Overhead, birds screamed and called in terror.

On they dashed, and a ghostly yellow light began to envelop them. "The smoke overhead," said Alex. "It will soon be down here, too."

"I smell it," panted Jack a moment later. Soon they began to feel it in their eyes.

Jack began to lag. "How much farther, Alex?" he gasped.

"Only a short distance, now. Yes, here we are," announced Alex, as brighter light appeared ahead of them. A moment after they broke into the clearing.

Without slackening pace Alex headed for the old semaphore. "From up there we can see just how we stand," he explained. Almost exhausted, they reached it, and Alex ran up the ladder. Scrambling onto the little platform, he turned toward the river, two hundred yards distant. A cry broke from him.

"We are cut off! The fire has crossed the river!"

Jack hastily clambered up beside him, and above the tree-tops beyond the river he beheld a gray-white cloud.

The boys gazed at one another with paling faces. "What shall we do?" asked Jack.

Alex shook his head. "We might swim the river, and try a dash for it. It is two miles out of the woods, but there might be a chance."

"We couldn't do it. We're too nearly exhausted.

"How about staying right in the river, by the bank?" Jack suggested. "I've heard of people doing that."

"It is too deep here, and it's awfully cold. We would chill and cramp in no time.

"No; I tell you," went on Alex suddenly. "We'll try one of the old tile ovens on the other side of the yard. Perhaps we can box ourselves up in one of them."

There was no time to lose, for the clearing was now blue with smoke, and climbing hastily to the ground, the boys were again off on the run. They reached the group of round-topped ovens.

A glance showed that their hope was futile. All about the furnaces were thickets of dead weeds, and a short distance away, and directly to windward, was a huge pile of light brushwood.

Promptly Alex turned back. "We would be smothered or roasted in five minutes," he declared. "No. It is the water, or nothing. Perhaps we can work it by floating on a log."

As they approached the river, the boys crossed the old yard siding. Stumbling over the rails, partially blinded with the now stinging smoke, both suddenly ran into something, and fell in a heap. Scrambling to their feet, they found an old push-car, with low sides.

Alex uttered a cry. "Jack, why can't we make a dash down the spur with this old car—pushing it? And say, couldn't we lift it onto the main-line rails, and run all the way home?"

Jack hesitated. "Look there," he said, pointing to the wall of smoke into which the track disappeared a hundred yards away. "And wouldn't there be burned-down trees across the rails?"

"No; not yet. The fire hasn't been burning long enough. And as to the smoke, it'll soon be just as bad on the river," Alex declared.

"All right. Let us try it. But first, let us jump in the river and get good and wet," suggested Jack.

"Good idea! Come on!

"Or; wait!" exclaimed Alex. "Another idea. There is an old rubbish pile just over here, and a lot of tin cans. Let us get some, and fill them with water—to keep our handkerchiefs wet, to breathe through."

They turned aside, quickly found and secured several empty cans each, and ran on. Reaching the water, they dropped the cans on the bank, and plunged in bodily.

As Alex had said, the water was intensely cold, and despite the relief to their eyes from the smoke, they clambered out again immediately, hastily filled the tins, and only pausing to tie their dripping handkerchiefs over their mouths, dashed back for the siding.

"You help me start her, Jack," directed Alex as they placed the cans of water in the forward end of the car, "and when we reach the edge of the woods, jump in. I'll run it the first spell, then you can relieve me. That way we can keep it going at a good clip.

"All ready? Let her go!" With bowed heads they threw themselves against the little car, the rusty wheels began to screech; rapidly they gained headway, and soon were on the run.

They neared the smoke-hidden border of the clearing.



"Jump in, Jack!" cried Alex. Jack sprang over the tail-board and threw himself flat on his face, and with a rush they dashed into the wall of smoke.

Rumbling and screeching, the car sped onward. Alex began to feel the heat. Suddenly it swept over them like the breath of a furnace, and there came a mighty roar.

They were in the midst of the flames.

"Are you all right, Alex?" cried Jack.

"Yes." A moment later, however, Alex too sprang into the car, as he did so tearing off his handkerchief and stuffing it into one of the water-cans. "I couldn't have held on another minute," he choked. "I believe the handkerchief was burning."

Jack prepared to climb out to take Alex's place.

"No! Lay still!" interposed Alex. "The car will run by itself here. There's a down grade."

Jack dropped back thankfully. "Isn't it awful," he gasped. "My eyes are paining as though they would burst."

On rushed the car down the roaring, crackling tunnel of flames, groaning and screeching like a mad thing. Tongues of fire began to lick over the sides of the car at the cringing boys within.

Faster the car went. Presently it began to rock. "She'll be off the track!" cried Jack at last.

"Lie farther over!" directed Alex above the roar, himself moving in the opposite direction. The rearrangement steadied the car slightly, but still it rocked and plunged on the long unused track so that at times the boys' hearts leaped into their throats.

The heat was now terrific. The floor and sides of the car began to blister and crack.

"We can't stand it much longer! We'll be cooked!" coughed Jack.

"Empty one of the cans over your head," Alex shouted. "Keep up a few minutes longer, and we will be over the worst. It is the leaves and brush that are making the heat, and we'll soon be where they have burned out.

"I think we are over the worst of it now," he announced a moment later. "There's not so much crackling; and I don't think it is so hot."

Simultaneously the car began to leap less wildly, then perceptibly to slow up. Alex at once prepared to climb out again. "I'll give her another run," he said. But promptly Jack pressed him back. "No you don't! I'm going to take my turn." And in another moment he was out in the full glare of the still shrivelling heat, rushing the car on at the top of his speed. A hundred yards he drove it, and scrambled back within, gasping for breath. Emptying one of the remaining cans over Jack's head, Alex sprang out and took his place.

A moment after, they struck a slight up grade. Alex uttered a joyful shout. "Only a short run farther, Jack, and we're out of the woods!"

But immediately he followed this glad announcement with one of new alarm.

"The washout! I'd forgotten it! It's just ahead! The rails there almost hang in the air!"

In a panic Alex slowed up. Jack climbed out beside him. "Let us rush it," he suggested. "The rails may hold—like a bridge. We're not heavy. And we may as well take one more chance."

Alex debated. "All right! Come on! And jump quick when I say! I think I can tell when we are near it."

Once more the car was flying onward through the haze.

"Here we come! Now!"

With a bound Jack was back in the car. Alex made a final rush, and sprang after. The car dipped forward and sideways, a breathless instant seemed to hang in mid-air, then righted, and shot forward smoothly. Uttering a hoarse shout of joy, the boys leaped out, and were again running the car ahead, and a moment later gave vent to a second and louder cry.

In their faces blew the cooler air of a clearing.

A few yards farther they halted.

"I can't see a thing. Can't open them," declared Jack, as they stood rubbing their eyes, and recovering their breath.

"Neither can I. Give me your hand, and we'll soon fix it. There is a path here down to the water." Feeling with his foot, Alex found it, and pulling Jack after, hastened down, and in another moment both were on their stomachs on the river-bank, their faces deep in the cooling water.

Ten minutes later, greatly revived, but with faces and hands intensely smarting from their burns, the boys replenished the cans of water—for they still had a two miles' run through the smother of smoke—and lifted the car onto the main-line rails.

As they did so, from far to the west came a whistle.

"A train! Can't we stop her?" suggested Jack.

"They'd never see us in the smoke."

"Then, say, let us throw the old car across the tracks, so they'll strike it. They would probably stop to see what it was."

"It might derail her. No. I've got it. Come on, and get the car started so she'll cross the bridge, and I'll explain."

"Now," said Jack, as they rolled out on the trestle.

"You remember the steep grade just over the bridge? Well, we'll stop about fifty yards this side, wait till the train whistles the last crossing, then hit it up for all we are worth, and—"

"And let the train catch us?" cried Jack. "But, gracious! won't that be taking an awful chance?"

"No, for she won't be going very fast, on account of the curve at the bottom, and we'll be going like a house afire," declared Alex, confidently. "And when she bunts us, we'll jump for her cow-catcher, and five minutes later we'll be out in the glorious fresh air again."



"Well, all right. If you are willing to take the risk, I am," said Jack.

They reached the spot designated by Alex, and brought the car to a stand.

Again came the whistle of the train. "Ready!" cried Alex. "The next time!"

It came. Like sprinters they threw themselves at the car, and in a few strides were racing down the rails at full speed; reached the head of the grade, and sprang over the tail-board just as the train rumbled onto the bridge.

Downward they shot, gaining momentum at every turn of the wheels.

"Whe-ew! But we're taking an awful chance," said Jack, nervously.

"No. Listen to her brakes," said Alex.

Despite his assurance, when, a moment later, the great engine suddenly appeared out of the smoke and came thundering down upon them, Alex faltered, and, with Jack, nervously clutched the sides of the little car. But dashing on unrestrained, they yet further increased their mad speed, and for a few seconds seemed even to be holding their own with the mighty mogul.

Then the great engine began eating up the distance between them, and the boys gathered themselves together for the supreme moment.

Closer came the roaring monster. "Now, don't jump," cautioned Alex, who had regained his nerve. "Wait until she is just going to hit us, then fall forward and grab the brace—that rod there.

"Here she comes! Ready! Now!"

With a jolt the engine hit the car, and in an instant the boys fell forward, grasped a smoke-box brace, and in another moment had scrambled to the top of the cow-catcher.

And they were safe!

When, ten minutes later, the train came to a standstill at Bixton, the engineer suddenly felt his hair rise on end as two wildly unkempt and blackened figures appeared slowly dismounting from the front of his engine, and stumbled across the station platform. But the shout of joy which greeted them told they were no ghosts.

"Although I think we weren't far from it, were we, Jack?" said Alex, at home a few minutes after, when his mother made a similar comparison.

"I hope I'll not be as near it again for a long time to come," said Jack, earnestly.



VIII

THE SECRET TELEGRAM

"Alex, will you work for me three or four hours to-night?" requested the Bixton night operator of Alex one evening late in October. "I have just had an invitation to a surprise party at Brodies', and wouldn't care to miss it."

Alex agreed willingly. "I'll be right in line then for the latest news of the chase," he declared. For an attempt had been made that morning to rob the Farmers' Savings Bank at Zeisler, a posse had been sent from Bixton to aid in the pursuit of the robbers, and reports from the hunt were being anxiously looked for.

"Take care you don't get in line for any bullets," laughed the operator as he left. "It's your weakness, you know, to get mixed up in any excitement that's going on within a mile of you."

To Alex's disappointment hour after hour passed, however, and brought no further word, either of the pursued, or the pursuers. Finally, just before midnight, hearing Zeisler "come in" on the wire to report the passing of a freight, Alex reached for the key, determined to inquire.

As he did so footsteps sounded on the silent platform without, the waiting-room door opened, and two strangers appeared at the ticket-window. Glancing in, they turned to the office door, and entered.

"Hello, youngster," said the taller of the two, cordially, leaning over the parcel-counter. "What's the news from the man-hunt?"

"I was going to ask Zeisler just as you came in," replied Alex, turning again to the key.

"Well, never mind, then. Just tell them they were captured here, instead."

"What! Captured here?" exclaimed Alex.

"That's it. About an hour ago, just north, by the Bloomsbury posse. Sheriff O'Brien sent us down with the news, so you could send word up and down the line and call in the other posses. No need of them plugging around all night."

But, instead of complying, Alex suddenly turned more fully toward the two men. "What posse did you say you were with?"

"Bloomsbury! Bloomsbury!" said the smaller man, impatiently.

"Bloomsbury! Don't you mean Bloomsburg?"

"Well, what thundering difference—" The taller man flashed a warning gesture, and in an instant Alex understood.

He was face to face with the bank robbers themselves!

For a moment he stared from one to the other in consternation. Then, sharply recovering himself, he turned quickly back to the key. But he was too late. He had betrayed his discovery.

Both men laughed. "Your surmise is correct, my young friend," said the taller man, lightly. "We are the gentlemen who were forced to leave Zeisler so hurriedly this morning.

"But don't let that make any difference," he continued, producing a revolver and placing it significantly on the counter before him. "Go right ahead with the message.

"Or wait, give me a blank, and I'll write it, so you will be sure to have it right."

"Oh, hold on," interposed his companion. "Now that he knows who we are, how do you know he will send the message as you write it, and not just the other thing—give us away?"

The first speaker threw down his pen. "Well, I'm an idiot. That's so."

He thought a moment, then, turning toward Alex, eyed him sharply an instant, and said: "Youngster, I'll give you a dollar a word if you will give me your solemn promise to send this message just as I write it."

A bare instant Alex hesitated, while the tempter whispered that it would mean thirty or forty dollars for a few minutes' work, and that everyone would take it for granted he had been compelled to send it. Then abruptly he leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I couldn't do it," he said quietly but positively.

"Oh, you couldn't, eh, Goody-goody?" exclaimed the smaller man, with a snarl, catching up the revolver and pointing it at Alex's head. "Now could you do it?"

The taller man caught his arm. "Don't be a fool, Jake. After all, we couldn't be sure he wasn't fooling us even if he took the money.

"Look here, I have a scheme."

They stepped back and spoke together in low tones for a moment; then the taller turned again to Alex, who meantime had remained quiet in his chair, futilely endeavoring to think of some means of spreading the alarm.

"I suppose you are not the only operator at this station, kid?"

"No; there is a day and a night operator. I am only 'subbing' for the night man," responded Alex, wondering.

"Where is he?"

"At a party."

"Where is the day man?"

"At his boarding-house. But you couldn't get either of them to do it," Alex declared confidently, thinking he had caught the drift of their purpose.

"Never mind what we could or what we couldn't. Where does the day operator board? Is it far?"

Momentarily Alex had a mind to refuse to tell; then, on the thought that suspicion might be aroused if one of the robbers went to rout the day man out, he replied, "About a quarter of a mile," and described how the house could be reached.

Again the two men held a whispered consultation, and at its conclusion the smaller man hurriedly left.

"Now I suppose you are wondering what we propose doing with the day operator," said the tall man, with a grin, when they were alone. "Well, it's so good I think I'll tell you. One of the cleverest getaway schemes you ever heard of, and my own idea. Can you guess?"

Alex shook his head. "If it's not to send the message—and which I know he won't—I don't know."

The robber laughed. "You are going to send the message, and he is going to stand just outside the door here and tell us letter by letter just what you make the instruments say. See?"

Alex uttered an exclamation. And, strange as it may seem, it was not entirely of chagrin, for the striking originality and ingenuity of the plan immediately appealed to his own peculiar genius for getting over difficulties.

"And then," continued the talkative safe-breaker, "we will tie you both in your chairs, cut the wires, then flag the night express, and depart for the East like respectable citizens, and by the time you have been found and the wires restored we will be well out of danger.

"Now, I claim there is some class to that scheme. What?"

Despite himself, Alex could not forbear a smile, even while he at once saw that to defeat the plan would be almost an impossibility. Nevertheless, as the bank robber turned his attention to a time-table, Alex determinedly addressed his wits to the problem.

Presently, as he sat looking at the telegraph instruments for an inspiration, he started. That last First of April joke he had played on his father! The cut-off arrangement of wires was still in place beneath the instrument table! Could he not use it?

He determined to see whether the connections were still in order. Fortunately he was sitting close to the table, with his feet beneath. Making a move as though tired of his position, he crossed one foot over the other, and sank a little lower in the chair. Then, the change having brought no comment from the man at the counter, he carefully reached out the upper foot, found the two wires and pressed them together. Immediately came a click from the instruments.

It was in working order! With hope Alex at once addressed himself to its possibilities, and soon a suggestion came. "Yes, I believe I could do it," he told himself with satisfaction. "I'll make a try anyway. So much for never giving up."

At that moment the footfalls of the returning robber and those of another sounded on the platform without. Both men were talking, and as they entered the waiting-room Alex heard the evidently still unsuspecting Jones say: "Funny, though. I never heard of the boy being troubled with his heart before."



The next moment Jones's casual tones changed to a sharp cry of fright, and Alex knew that the robber had revealed himself. "Now you keep your tongue between your teeth, and do exactly what you are told, young man, or you get this! You understand?

"Now turn about—your back toward the office door—so." The door was flung open, and the robber appeared standing sideways, his gun in his hand, pointing at the day operator, who was just out of Alex's sight.

"Now what you are to do is to read off letter by letter what this young shaver in here sends on the wire. You are a tab on him. You understand?"

In a trembling voice Jones responded in the affirmative.

"And the first one of you who appears to do anything not straight and aboveboard gets daylight through his head," he added, raising his voice for Alex's benefit. Then, addressing his partner, he said: "Give the kid the message, Bill."

The tall man leaned over the counter and tossed the blank on the table before Alex.

"Who will I send it to first?" asked Alex.

"The sheriff, Watson Siding."

"All right. But first, you know, I have to call him," explained Alex, somewhat nervously, now that the critical moment had come. "His call is WS."

Therewith he began slowly calling, that Jones might read off each letter as he sent it, "WS, WS, WS, BX."

"WS, WS—"

"I, I," answered WS.

"WS answers," interpreted Jones.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, Alex proceeded to carry out his plan. Carefully reaching forth with his foot beneath the table, he pressed the two wires together, then loudly clicked his key. The instruments, thus "cut out," of course failed to respond.

"The wire appears to have opened," announced Jones. "Probably the man at WS has opened his key while getting a blank or a pen."

Again Alex clicked the key as though in a futile effort to send, then leaving it open, thus holding the instruments on the table "dead," began ticking his foot against the impromptu key beneath the table.

And while the instruments at Bixton remained momentarily silent, the surprised operator at Watson Siding read in draggy but decipherable signals the words:

"Read every other word."

"Come on! Come on!" exclaimed the man in the doorway, turning suspiciously. Immediately Alex withdrew his foot and closed the key, and at the resulting audible click Jones announced: "The wire has closed. He can send now."

"All right. Come ahead," commanded the short man, impatiently.

Then very deliberately, with a pause after each word, seemingly to enable Jones to interpret, but really to give himself time to send another word, unheard, beneath the table, Alex sent on the key, and Jones read aloud, the following message:

"Sheriff,

"Watson Siding:

"Safe-blowers have been captured near here. Call in your posse.

"(Signed) O'Brien,

"Sheriff Quigg County."

What the at first puzzled and then thunderstruck operator at Watson Siding read off his instrument ran very differently. It read:

"Safe THEY blowers ARE have HERE been IN captured STATION near INTEND here. GOING call OUT in BY your NIGHT posse. EXPRESS.

"(Signed) 'PHONE O'Brien, "BACK Sheriff HERE Quigg QUICK County."

A moment after giving his "OK" the Watson Siding operator was at the telephone calling for Bixton central.

Meantime, having thus sent the message to WS to the bank-breakers' satisfaction, Alex proceeded to call and send it by turns to Zeisler, Hammerton, and other stations on the line. Sending slowly, to make the most of his time, it was within fifteen minutes of the hour the express was due when Alex had sent the last of the messages.

"Now you can step in and see your friend," said the man in the doorway, addressing Jones, who appeared, white and trembling, and coming behind the counter, dropped into a chair facing Alex. The speaker then once more disappeared, and presently an opening click of the instruments told the nature of his errand. The wires had been cut.

He soon returned, and rummaging about, while the taller man stood guard over them, he found some ropes, and proceeded to bind Alex and the day operator tightly in their chairs.

Just as the task was completed there came a long-drawn whistle from the west. Both robbers promptly turned to the door. "Well, good night, gentlemen," said the smaller, grimly. "Much obliged for your kind services."

"And I would just pause to repeat," said the taller, jocosely, "that there is some class to this getaway scheme, should any one ask you. Good night."

"Yes, there is class—but it isn't first!"

Uttering a cry the two bank robbers staggered back from the door, and with a bound the deputy sheriff and a constable were upon them, bore them to the floor, and after a brief but terrific struggle disarmed and handcuffed them.

"Yes," said the sheriff, rising, and with his knife quickly freeing the two prisoners, "there was class to it, but it was second.

"Our young friend here takes 'first.'"



The robbers turned upon Alex with furiously flashing eyes. "How did you do it, smarty?" snapped the shorter man.

Alex laughed, kicked one foot beneath the table, and the instrument responded with a click. "A little First of April trick. What do you think of it?"

Whatever the two renegades might have said through their gritting teeth, there was no doubt as to what the sheriff and the others thought. Nor the bank officials at Zeisler, when, a day later, there came to Alex a highly commendatory letter and a check for two hundred dollars.

But better even than this, in Alex's estimation, a few mornings after the chief despatcher called him to the wire and announced his appointment as night operator at Foothills, a small town on the western division.



IX

JACK PLAYS REPORTER, WITH UNEXPECTED RESULTS

Not long after Alex left Bixton to take up his duties at Foothills, Jack, at Hammerton, also received an advancement. In itself it was not of particular note, beyond an encouraging increase in salary, and a transfer from the day to the night force; but indirectly it resulted in an experience more thrilling than any Jack's genius for tackling adventurous difficulties had yet brought him.

Wheeling by the office of the "Daily Star" one afternoon, he heard his name called, and turned his head to discover West, the reporter with whom he had made the memorable Oakton trip, hastening after him.

"Just the man I was looking for, Jack," declared West, as the young operator wheeled to the curb. "I have a job for you.

"How would you like to tackle a bit of Black Hand investigation?"

Jack laughed. "You don't mean it."

"I certainly do. It's this way," went on the reporter, lowering his voice. "A Black Hand letter demanding money was received last week by Tommy Spanelli, of the Italian restaurant. It was mailed here; and we have the tip that last evening two foreigners were seen stealing across the old quarry turnpike, and into the woods, as though not wishing to be seen. Of course they may not be connected with this at all, but again they may; and I was put on the job to find out. The difficulty is that I am too well known. If they caught sight of me, they would be suspicious immediately.

"But they would never suspect a lad like you," West proceeded; "and I know you could carry anything through that came along. So will you run out there and investigate for me?"

"Why, certainly. But just what shall I do?" Jack asked.

"Wheel up and down the quarry turnpike for an hour or so, then, if you have seen no one, beat around through the woods as far as the old stone quarry. And any foreigners you come upon, take a good look at. That's all. And drop in at the office here in the morning, and report."

"That's easy. All right," agreed Jack readily.

"Thank you. And keep the matter quiet, you know," West added. "We want an exclusive story for the 'Star' if anything comes of it."

"I understand. And, say," said Jack as he turned away, "I'll take my camera, too. I may be able to get a snap of them, if I see anyone."

"Good idea. A picture would help to land them, if they are the fellows we want; and we could run it in the paper with our story. Go ahead, Jack, and good luck."

Jack was not long in wheeling home and securing his folding Brownie; and a half hour later found him pedalling slowly along the quarry road near the point several miles from the city where the suspicious foreigners had been seen to enter the woods.

An hour passed, however, and he had seen no doubtful characters, and finally dismounting at the entrance to a path he knew to lead toward the old stone quarry, Jack concealed his wheel in a thicket, and set off to make an investigation in that direction.

A moment after he came to a halt with a sharp exclamation. In the path at his feet lay a murderous-looking stiletto. Picking it up, he examined it. Yes; it was of foreign make. And the still damp mud stains on the side of the blade which had lain uppermost showed it had been but recently dropped.

Apprehensively Jack cast a glance about him, almost immediately to utter a second suppressed exclamation. Emerging from the woods on the opposite side of the road was a short, dark man—undoubtedly an Italian.

With beating heart Jack watched him. Was he one of the men he was looking for?

In the middle of the road the stranger halted, looked sharply to right and left, and came quickly forward. Darting from the path Jack threw himself on the ground behind a bush, and the next moment the man hurriedly passed him. He was soon out of sight, and rising, Jack placed the dagger carefully in an inside pocket, and determinedly set off after.

Half a mile he followed the Italian amid the trees. Then there appeared the light of an opening, and going forward more carefully, Jack found himself on the edge of the quarry clearing. The foreigner was hurrying along the brink of the excavation, evidently heading for a small tumble-down cabin at its farther end.

The man reached the shanty, and knocked. To Jack's surprise the door was opened by a negro.

Wonder at this was quickly forgotten, however, for as the door closed from the woods behind Jack came the sound of voices, then an ejaculation in Italian. A moment Jack stood, in consternation, believing he had been seen. But a glance showed that the owners of the voices were yet out of sight beyond a rise, and recalling his wits, Jack ran for a nearby clump of elders.

The voices came quickly nearer. Suddenly then, for the first time Jack recalled the camera. At once came the suggestion to get a snap of the newcomers as they stepped into the clearing.

Jack glanced about him. A short distance away, and but a few feet from the path, was a low, tent-like spruce. With instant decision he made for it, drawing the camera from his pocket as he ran.

Dropping to his knees, he wormed his way beneath the tree, and through to the opposite side. Finding an aperture commanding the exit of the path, he opened and focused the camera upon it. The next moment the two Italians appeared. For the fraction of a second Jack hesitated, fearing the click of the shutter might betray him. But he took the chance, there was a crisp, low click—and he had them, and they had passed on.

Chuckling with delight, Jack crept forth. What next? Looking toward the shanty, he again saw the door opened by the negro. This decided him. Replacing the camera in his pocket, he set off on a circuit through the trees that would bring him back to the clearing immediately opposite the shanty, determined if possible to reach it, and learn what was going on inside.

Without incident he made the point desired, and gazing from the cover of a bush, discovered with satisfaction that the two hundred yards separating him from his goal was dotted with small bushy spruce. More important still, on that side of the cabin were no windows.

Stooping, Jack was about to steal forth, when he paused with a new idea. It came from a stray piece of wrapping-paper lying on the ground before him.

Why couldn't he conceal the camera in this paper, with a string tied to the shutter; approach the house, knock, ask some question, and secretly snap whoever opened the door?

To think was to decide, and at once he set about preparations. Finding some cord in a pocket, he first deadened the click of the shutter with a thread of the string, and secured a piece of it to the shutter trigger. Carefully then he wrapped the camera, open, in the paper, and with his knife cut a small hole opposite the lens, and a second and smaller hole beneath. Through the latter he fished out the trigger-string—and the detective camera was complete.

Without delay Jack adjusted the parcel under his arm, holding the trigger-string in his fingers, and strode boldly forward toward the shanty. He reached it, approached the door, and knocked. From within came the sound of voices, then a heavy step. Drawing the string taut Jack moved back several paces, and pointed the opening in the package at the door.

But success was not to come too easily. The latch lifted, and the door opened only a few inches, barely showing the eyes and flat nose of the negro.

"W'at yo' want?" he demanded.

"Would you please tell me the way out to the road?" said Jack steadily.

The negro regarded him sharply a moment, then opening the door barely sufficient to reach out a hand, pointed toward the woods, and said gruffly, "Yo' see dat broke tree? Right out dah."

"Which one? I see two," declared Jack, coolly.

Impatiently the negro threw the door wide, stepped out, and pointed again. In an instant Jack had pulled the string, and from the parcel had come a soft "thugk!" "Thank you, sir," said Jack, turning away, and inwardly chuckling at the double meaning of the words. "Thank you."

"But look aheah, boy," added the colored man threateningly, "doan yo' be prowlin' roun' heah! Un'stan'?"

"No fear. I'll be glad when I'm away," responded Jack, again secretly laughing, and headed for the woods, the negro watching him until he was half way across the clearing.

Once more in the shelter of the trees, Jack determined to follow up his success by endeavoring to discover just what was taking place at the cabin. Hiding the camera in a convenient brush-heap, he made sure all was quiet, and again stole forth. Slipping quickly from shrub to shrub, he safely made the crossing, and came to a halt at the rear of the shanty.

To his ears came the sound of voices in subdued discussion. They were so muffled, however, that he could distinguish nothing, and recalling a partly open window at the front, he went forward to the corner, peered cautiously about, and tiptoed to within a few feet of it.

At once the voices came to him plainly.

"You gotta dat?"

"Stan' in doo'way, hat in yo' han', upside down," responded the colored man's gruff voice.

Wondering, Jack drew nearer.

"At halfa da past two by da beeg clock," continued the first speaker.

There was a pause, and the negro repeated, "At half pas' two by dah city clock, shahp."

Suddenly it came to Jack. At the dictation of the Italian, the negro was writing a "Black Hand" letter—ordering one of their victims to display some signal to show that the demand for money would be complied with!

The Italian's next sentence left no further doubt. "If you no giva da sign, you deada man by seex clock."

At the words, and the fierceness with which they were uttered, Jack felt a chill run up his spine. Had he followed his immediate impulse he would have fled. But determining to learn if possible who the letter was for, he waited.

"What numbah?" asked the negro.

"Feefity-nine Main."

The Italian restaurant! Another letter to Spanelli! The men he was after!

Jack waited to hear no more, but tiptoeing back about the corner, was off for the woods, jubilant at his success.

Indeed Jack was over jubilant—so jubilant that he forgot the necessity of caution, made a short cut across an open space in full view of the shanty, and half way was brought to a sudden realization of his mistake by the creak of an opening door. In consternation he at once saw he could not reach cover before being seen, and also that did he run, the Black-Handers would understand they had been discovered.

With quick presence of mind he recognized and instantly did the one thing possible. Turning, he headed back boldly for the cabin. The next instant the three Italians came into view, immediately discovered him, and halted. Secretly trembling, but with a cool front, Jack approached them as they stood, excitedly whispering.

"Would you kindly tell me the time?" he asked.

The three men exchanged glances, then, as at a signal, stepped forward and surrounded him. "Now, whata you want?" demanded one of them sharply, thrusting his dark face close to Jack's. Before Jack could repeat his question the shanty door opened and the negro appeared. Exclaiming angrily, he ran toward them.

"W'at he want? W'at he want now?" he demanded.

"He say, whata da time," repeated one of the Italians.

"W'at de time? He am a spy! A spy!" cried the negro. "In de house with him!" Jack sprang back, and turned to run. With a rush the negro and one of the foreigners were upon him, and despite his terrified struggles he was dragged bodily into the shanty. There they flung him heavily into a chair, and gathered menacingly about him.

"Now boy, w'at yo' spyin' roun' heah fo'? Eh?" demanded the negro fiercely.

Instinctively Jack opened his lips to deny the charge, but closed them, and remained in dogged silence. Despite his peril, he felt he could not tell a deliberate falsehood. The negro repeated the question.

"I simply asked them the time," said Jack evasively.

With a snarl one of the foreigners caught him by the shoulders and yanked him upright. "Tie heem!" he directed, and roughly two of the others drew Jack's hands behind him, and bound them with a cord. As one of the Italians then proceeded to tie a handkerchief about his ankles, Jack barely suppressed a cry of fright. But grimly he clenched his teeth, and not a sound escaped him as the negro then caught him up, carried him across the room, kicked open a door, and threw him upon the floor within.

For a few minutes Jack lay dazed, then turning on his side, he looked about him. By the dim light of a dusty window he saw he was in a small, roughly furnished bedroom. Before he had taken in further particulars, however, a sound of heated discussion in the outer room drew his attention.

"No, no! We can't taka da chance!" came the voice of one of the Italians. "Not wid dat boy!"

Filled anew with terror Jack struggled to a sitting position and began straining desperately at his bonds. A moment's effort caused his heart to sink. The knots were as taut as though made of wire.

Determinedly he continued to strain and pull, however, and presently, losing his balance, he rolled over on his side, and something hard pressed into his chest.

The dagger he had picked up! Quickly he saw the possibility of using it. Working again into a sitting position, he bent low and sought to reach inside his coat and seize the hilt of the knife with his teeth. But as often as he reached, the coat swung, and the hilt evaded him.

Jack was not to be beaten, however. Getting to his knees, he bent far over, until his head almost touched the floor, and fell vigorously to shaking himself. At the second effort the dagger slipped out to the floor. Quickly then he got a firm hold on the end of the handle with his teeth, struggled again to a sitting position, drew his knees up as far as possible, and bending low between them, began stabbing at the handkerchief about his ankles with the point of the weapon.

At the first attempt the knife barely touched the handkerchief. He tried again, and just reached it. Throwing his head far back, to gain momentum, he lunged forward with all his strength. The keen point struck the linen squarely, there was a rip and tear—and his feet were free.

As the severed handkerchief fell from his ankles, the dagger, slipping from Jack's teeth, clattered to the floor. But the noisy discussion still going on without prevented its being heard; and promptly Jack turned to the problem of freeing his hands.

As they were tied behind him, this promised to be far more difficult. Indeed Jack's courage was beginning to fail him, when the method of freeing his ankles suggested a possibility. At once he essayed it. Rising to a kneeling position, he strained at his wrists for several minutes, then, bending far over, began working his hands down beneath him.

It seemed as though they would never come, and again and again he had to pause for breath. Desperately he continued, and suddenly at last they slipped, and were under him, directly below his knees.

Throwing himself over on his side, he once more grasped the dagger hilt in his teeth, and as he lay, carefully aimed the point between his legs at the cord about his wrists, and gave a quick, hard thrust. At the first blow he struck the cord fairly, but only half severed the strand. Again he lunged, and the next moment he was free.

The heated debate was still in progress in the outer room, and nearly exhausted though he was, Jack immediately scrambled to his feet and tiptoed to the window. To his joy he discovered it was made of a sliding frame, only fastened by a loosely-driven nail. It required but a few minutes' work to remove this, and very cautiously he began sliding the window back.

Half way it went easily, without noise. Then it stuck. Carefully Jack put his shoulder to it. Suddenly, without warning, it gave, then stopped with a jar, and to his horror a broken pane shot from the frame and fell clattering to the floor.

From the other room came a shout and a rush of feet. In desperation Jack stepped back, and with a run fairly dove at the opening. His head and shoulders passed through, then he stuck. Behind him the door flew open. With a desperate wriggle he struggled through, and fell in a heap to the ground just as the negro reached the window and made a wild lunge for him. The next moment Jack was on his feet and off across the clearing like a hare.

The four lawbreakers were quickly out of the house in full chase. Presently there was the report of a pistol, and a shrill "wheeeu" just over Jack's head. Ducking instinctively, but with grimly set lips, he rushed on. Again came the whine of a bullet, and again. With a final sprint Jack reached the cover of the woods in safety, darted to the brush-pile and recovered his camera, and on, straight through the trees for the spot at which he had hidden his wheel.

Love of outdoor life and sports now stood Jack in good stead. Despite the exhausting efforts of his escape, and the hard running amid the trees, over trunks and through undergrowth, he kept on at the top of his speed, and finally reached the road ahead of the nearest of his pursuers.

Rushing for his wheel, he dragged it forth, and quickly had it on the road. Not a moment too soon. As he sprang into the saddle there was a shout and a crash of bushes but a few feet from him. But throwing all his weight on the pedals, he shot away, and a moment after sped about a bend in the road—and was safe.

Jack would not have been a real boy had there not been considerable pride in his voice when, entering the "Star" office the following morning, he handed West, the reporter, two small photographs, neatly mounted, and said:

"Here are the pictures, Mr. West."

West sprang to his feet. "No! Great! Splendid!" he cried. "How did you do it, Jack?

"But here—" Pushing Jack into a chair, he dropped back into his own, and caught up a pencil. "Give me the whole story, from beginning to end. If the police round up these fellows this morning we will run it in to-day's edition."

This, with the aid of Jack's snap-shots, the police did, capturing the entire band; and that afternoon's edition of the "Star" carried a two-column story of Jack's adventure with the Black-Handers, which, with the pictures, made what West declared "the biggest story of a month of Sundays."



X

A RUNAWAY TRAIN

"Hurry in, Ward, or the lamp will be out!"

Alex, who had now been night operator at Foothills six months, closed the station door behind him, and laughingly flicked his rain-soaked cap toward the day operator, whom he had just come to relieve.

"Is it raining that hard? You look like a drowned rat for sure," said Saunders as he reached for his hat and coat. "Why didn't you stay at home, and 'phone down? I would have been glad to work for you—not."

"Wait until you are out in it, and you'll not laugh," declared Alex, struggling out of his dripping ulster. "It is the worst storm this spring."

"And wait until you see the fun you are going to have with the wire to-night, and you'll not indulge in an over-abundance of smiles. I haven't had a dot from the despatcher since six o'clock. Had to get clearance for Nineteen around by MQ, and now we've lost them."

"There is someone now," said Alex, as the instruments began clicking.

"It's somebody west. IC, I think. Yes; Indian Canyon," said Saunders, pausing as he turned to the door. "What is he after? He certainly can't make himself heard by X if we can't."

"X, X, X," rapidly repeated the sounder, calling Exeter, the despatching office. "X, X, X! Qk!"

Alex and Saunders looked at one another with a start. Several times the operator at Indian Canyon repeated the call, more urgently, then as hurriedly began calling Imken, the next station east of him.

"There must be something wrong," declared Alex, stepping to the instrument table. Saunders followed him.

"IM, IM, IC, Qk! Qk!" clicked the sounder.

"IM, IM—"

"I, I, IM," came the response, and the two operators at Foothills listened closely.

"A wild string of loaded ore cars just passed here," buzzed the instruments. "Were going forty miles an hour. They'll be down there in no time. If there's anything on the main line get it off. I can't raise X for orders."

The two listening operators exchanged glances of alarm, and anxiously awaited Imken's response. For a moment the sounder made a succession of inarticulate dots, then ticked excitedly, "Yes, yes! OK! OK!" and closed.

"What did he mean by that?" asked Saunders beneath his breath. "That there was something on the main track there?"

"Perhaps a switch engine cutting out ore empties. We'll know in a minute."

The wire again snapped open, and whirred, "I got it off—the yard engine! Just in time! Here they come now! Like thunder!

"There—they're by! Are ten of them. All loaded. Going like an avalanche. Lucky thing the yard engine was—"

Sharply the operator at Indian Canyon broke in to hurriedly call Terryville, the next station east.

"But the runaways won't pass Terryville, will they?" Alex exclaimed. "Won't the grades between there and Imken pull them up?"

Saunders shook his head. "Ten loaded ore cars travelling at that rate would climb those grades."

"Then they will be down here—and in twenty or thirty minutes! And there's the Accommodation coming from the east," said Alex rapidly, "and we can't reach anyone to stop her!"

Saunders stared. "That's so. I'd forgotten her. But what can we do?" he demanded helplessly.

Terryville answered, and in strained silence they awaited his report. "Yes, they are coming. I thought it was thunder.

"Here they are now," he added an instant after.

"They're past!"

"They'll reach us! What shall we do?" gasped Saunders.

Alex turned from the table, and as the Indian Canyon operator hastily called Jakes Creek, the last station intervening, began striding up and down the room, thinking rapidly.

If they only had more battery—could make the current in the wire stronger! Immediately on the thought came remembrance of the emergency battery he had made the previous year at Watson Siding. He spun about toward the office water-cooler. But only to utter an exclamation of disappointment. This cooler was of tin—of course useless for such a purpose.

Hurriedly he began casting about for a substitute. "Billy, think of something we can make a big battery jar of!" he cried. "To strengthen the wire!"

"A battery? But what would we do for bluestone? I used the last yesterday!"

Alex returned to the table, and threw himself hopelessly into the chair.

At the moment the Jakes Creek operator answered his call, and received the message of warning.

"Say," said Saunders, "perhaps some of the other fellows on the wire have bluestone and the other stuff, and could make a battery!"

Alex uttered a shout. "That's it!" he cried, and springing to the telegraph key, as soon as the wire closed, called Indian Canyon. "Have you any extra battery material there?" he sent quickly.

"No. Why—"

Abruptly Alex cut him off and called Imken. He also responded in the negative. But from Terryville came a prompt "Yes. Why—"

"Have you one of those big stoneware water-coolers there?"

"Yes, but wh—"

"Do you know how to make a battery?"

"No."

"Well, listen—"

The instruments had suddenly failed to respond. A minute passed, and another. Five went by, and Alex sank back in the chair in despair. Undoubtedly the storm had broken the wire somewhere.

"Everything against us!" he declared bitterly. "And the runaways will be down here now in fifteen or twenty minutes. What can we do?"

"I can't think of anything but throwing the west switch," said Saunders. "And loaded, and going at the speed they are, they'll make a mess of everything on the siding. But that's the only way I can think of stopping them."

"If there was any way a fellow could get aboard the runaways—"

Alex broke off sharply. Would it not be possible to board the runaway train as he and Jack had boarded the engine on the day of the forest fire? Say, from a hand-car?

He started to his feet. "Billy, get me a lantern, quick!

"I'm going for the section-boss, and see if we can't board the runaways from the hand-car," he explained as he caught up and began struggling into his coat. "I did that once at Bixton—boarded an engine."

"Board it! How?"

"Run ahead of it, and let it catch us."

Saunders sprang for the lantern, lit it, and catching it up, Alex was out the door, and off across the tracks through the still pouring rain for the lights of the section foreman's house. Darting through the gate, he ran about to the kitchen door, and without ceremony flung it open. The foreman was at the table, at his supper. He started to his feet.

"Joe, there is a wild ore train coming down from the Canyon," explained Alex breathlessly, "and the wire has failed east so we can't clear the line. Couldn't we get the jigger out and board the runaways by letting them catch us?"

An instant the section-boss stared, then with the promptitude of the old railroader seized his cap, exclaiming "Go ahead!" and together they dashed out to the gate, and across the tracks in the direction of the tool-house.

"Where did they start from? How many cars?" asked the foreman as they ran.

"Indian Canyon. Ten, and all loaded."

The section-man whistled. "They'll be going twenty-five or thirty miles an hour. We will be taking a big chance. But if we can catch them just over the grade beyond the sand-pits I guess we can do it. That will have slackened them.

"Here we are."

As they halted before the section-house door the boss uttered a cry. "I haven't the key!"

Alex swung the lantern about, and discovered a pile of ties. "Smash it in," he suggested, dropping the lantern. One on either side they caught up a tie, swayed back, and hurled it forward. There was a crash, and the door swung open.

Catching up the lantern, they dashed in, threw from the hand-car its collection of tools, placed the light upon it, ran it out, and swung it onto the rails.

"Do you hear them?" asked Alex as he threw off his coat. The foreman dropped to his knees and placed his ear to the rails, listened a moment, and sprang to his feet. "Yes, they're coming! Come on!

"Run her a ways first." They pushed the car ahead, quickly had it on the run, and springing aboard, seized the handles, and one on either side, began pumping up and down with all their strength.

As they neared the station the door opened and Saunders ran to the edge of the platform. "The wire came O K and I just heard Z pass Thirty-three," he shouted, "but couldn't make them hear me. He reported the superintendent's—"

They whirled by, and the rest was lost.

"Did you catch it?" shouted Alex above the roar of the car.

"I think he meant," shouted the foreman as he swung up and down, "superintendent's car ... attached to the Accommodation ... heard he was coming ... makes it bad.... We need every minute ... and Old Jerry ... the engineer ... 'll be breaking his neck ... to bring her ... through on time!

"Do you hear ... runaways yet?"

"No."



On they rushed through the darkness, bobbing up and down like jumping-jacks, the little car rumbling and screeching, and bounding forward like a live thing.

The terrific and unaccustomed strain began to tell on Alex. Perspiration broke out on his forehead, his muscles began to burn, and his breath to shorten.

"How much farther ... to the grade?" he panted.

"Here it is now. Six hundred yards to the top."

As they felt the resistance of the incline Alex began to weaken and gasp for breath. Grimly, however, he clenched his teeth, and fought on; and at last the section-man suddenly ceased working, and announced "Here we are. Let up." With a gasp of relief Alex dropped to a sitting position on the side of the car.

"There it comes," said the foreman a moment after, and listening Alex heard a sound as of distant thunder.

"How long before they'll be here?"

"Five minutes, perhaps. And now," said the section-boss, "just how are we going to work this thing?"

"Well, when we boarded the engine at Bixton," explained Alex, getting his breath, "we simply waited at the head of a grade until it was within about two hundred yards of us, then lit out just as hard as we could go, and as she bumped us, we jumped."

"All right. We'll do the same."

As the foreman spoke, the rain, which had decreased to a drizzle, entirely ceased, and a moment after the moon appeared. He and Alex at once turned toward the station.

Just beyond was a long, black, snake-like object, shooting along the rails toward them.

The runaway!

On it swept over the glistening irons, the rumble quickly increasing to a roar. With an echoing crash it flashed by the station, and on.

Nearer it came, the cars leaping and writhing; roaring, pounding, screeching.

"Ready!" warned the foreman, springing to the ground behind the hand-car. Alex joined him, and gazing over their shoulder, watching, they braced themselves for the shove.

The runaways reached the incline, and swept on upward. Anxiously the two watched as they waited. Would the incline check them?

"I don't see that they're slowing," Alex said somewhat nervously.

"It won't tell until they are half way up the grade," declared the section-man. "But, get ready. We can't wait to see.

"Go!" he cried. Running the car forward, they leaped aboard, and again were pumping with all their might.



For a few moments the roar behind them seemed to decrease. Then suddenly it broke on them afresh, and the head of the train swept over the rise.

"Now pull yourself together for an extra spurt when I give the word," shouted the foreman, who manned the forward handles, and faced the rear, "then turn about and get ready to jump."

Roaring, screaming, clanking, the runaways thundered down upon them.

"Hit it up!" cried the section-man. With every muscle tense they whirled the handles up and down like human engines.

"Let go! Turn about!"

Alex sprang back from the flying handles, and faced about. The foreman edged by them, and joined him.

Nearer, towering over them, rushed the leading ore car.

"Be sure and jump high and grab hard," shouted the foreman.

"Ready! Jump!"

With a bound they went into the air, and the great car flung itself at them. Both reached the top of the end-board with their outstretched hands, and gripped tenaciously. As they swung against it, it seemed the car would shake them off. But clinging desperately, they got their feet on the brake-beam, and in another moment had tumbled headlong within.

Alex sank down on the rough ore in a heap, gasping. The seasoned section-man, however, was on his feet and at the nearby hand-brake in a twinkle. Tightening it, he scrambled back over the bounding car to the next.

Ten minutes later, screeching and groaning as though in protest, the runaways came to a final stop.

Another ten minutes, and the engineer of the Accommodation suddenly threw on his air as he rounded a curve to discover a lantern swinging across the rails ahead of him.

"Hello there, Jerry! Say, you're not good enough for a passenger run," said the section foreman humorously as he approached the astonished engineer. "We're going to put you back pushing ore cars. There's a string here just ahead of you."

When he had explained the engineer stepped down from his cab to grasp Alex's hand. "Oh, it was more the foreman than I," Alex declared. "I couldn't have worked it alone."

A moment later the superintendent appeared. "Why, let me see," he exclaimed on seeing Alex. "Are you not the lad I helped fix up an emergency battery at Watson Siding last spring? And who has been responsible for two or three other similar clever affairs?

"My boy, young as you are, my name's not Cameron if I don't see that you have a try-out at the division office before the month is out," he announced decisively. "We need men there with a head like yours."



XI

THE HAUNTED STATION

True to the division superintendent's promise, a month following the incident of the runaway ore train, Alex was transferred to the despatching office at Exeter. It was the superintendent himself who on the evening of his arrival presented him for duty to the chief night despatcher; and a few minutes later, having been initiated into the mysteries of directing and recording the movements of trains, Alex was shown to his wire.

"It is a short line—only as far as the Midway freight junction," the chief explained; "but if you make good here, you will soon be given something bigger.

"And, by the way, take your time in sending to the operator at the Junction," he added. "He's a rather poor receiver, but was the only man we could get to go there, on account of that so-called 'haunting' business."

"Oh, has the 'ghost' appeared there again?" inquired Alex with interest. For the "haunting" of the Midway Junction station had been a subject of much discussion on the main-line wire a few weeks back.

"Yes, two nights ago. And like the four men there before him, the night man left next morning. It is a strange affair. But I think the man there now will stick."

At midnight Alex called Midway Junction, and sent the order starting north the last freight for the night. Fifteen minutes later the operator at MJ suddenly called, and clicked, "That 'Thing' is here again. It's walking up and down the platform just outside.

"There it is now!" he sent excitedly. "And twice I've jumped out, and the moment I opened the door it was gone!

"There it is again!

"Now it's on the roof!" he announced a few moments after. "Rolling something down—just like the other chaps said! Gee, I'm no coward, but this thing is getting my nerve."

Though himself now considerably excited, Alex sought to reassure the MJ man. "But you know there must be some simple explanation to it," he sent. "No one really believes in ghosts these days. Just don't allow yourself to be frightened."

"Yes, I know," ticked the sounder. "That's what I told myself before I came. It seems vastly different, though, right here on the spot, and all by yourself, and it dark as pitch outside. If there was only someone else—"

The wire abruptly closed, a moment remained so, then suddenly opened, and in signals so excitedly made that Alex could only guess at some of them, he read: "Did you hear that? Did you get that?"

"Hear what? The wire was closed to me."

"Clooossclosd! Goed 6eavns! Whiiieeeeee Whyyy—" By an effort the frightened operator at the other end of the wire pulled himself together, and sent more plainly:

"When I stopped that time someone broke in here and said: 'Ha ha! Hi hi! Look behind! Look beh—'"

Again the wire closed, again opened.

"Theeeereit waaawas again!"

Alex called the chief. "Mr. Allen, that 'ghost,' or whatever it is—"

Once more the instruments broke out in an almost inarticulate whirr, and with difficulty together they picked out the words: "... sounds in the next room ... yelling and groaning just other side partition ... whispering at me through a knot-hole ... an eye looking at me ... stand it any longer ... right now! G. B. (Good-by)!"

Grasping the key, the chief sent quickly, "Look here! Wait a moment! You there?"

There was no response. Again he called, and gave it up. "No use. He's off like the rest of them. Well, I'm not sure I blame him. There must be something wrong. But it beats me!"

As he was about to move away the chief turned back and handed Alex a letter. "I overlooked giving it to you when you came in," he explained.

"From Jack Orr!" said Alex with pleasure. A moment later he uttered a second exclamation, again read a paragraph, and with a delighted "The very thing!" hastened after the chief.

"Mr. Allen, this letter is from a friend of mine, a first class commercial operator, who wants to get into railroad telegraphing, and who would be just the man to send to MJ.

"He is a regular amateur detective, and has all kinds of pluck," Alex went on, and in a few words recounted Jack's clearing up of the cash-box mystery at Hammerton, the part he played in the breaking up of the band of Black-Handers, and his resourcefulness when the wires were cut at Oakton.

The chief smiled and reached for a message blank. "Thank you, Ward," he said. "That's the man we want exactly. How soon can he come?"

"He says he could take a place with us right away, sir."

"Good. We'll have him there if possible to-morrow evening," decided the chief, writing.

Needless to say Jack was delighted when early the following morning at Hammerton he received the telegraphed appointment to the station at Midway. At once resigning at the Hammerton commercial office, he hurried home, by noon was on the train, and arrived at Midway Junction at 7 o'clock.

Entering the telegraph room, he called Exeter. "Well, here I am, Al," he ticked, when Alex himself responded. "And I'm ever so much obliged to you, old boy, for getting me the position."

"Don't mention it. And anyway," responded Alex, "you had better save your thanks until you learn just what you are up against there. I didn't have time to write—but the former man left last night, simply on the run." And continuing, Alex explained.

"So you see, you were called in as a sort of expert."

"Hi," laughed Jack. "Well, I'll do the best I can. But probably the 'ghost' won't show up again now for a month or so?"

"On the contrary, it is more likely to return soon," clicked Alex. "That has been the way every time so far—three or four appearances in succession. So you had better prepare for business at once."

Alex's prediction was realized two nights later. A few minutes after the last freight had gone north, and Jack had been left entirely alone in the big station, he heard light footfalls outside on the platform. Going to the window, he peered out into the darkness, and seeing nothing, turned to the door. As he opened it the footsteps ceased.

Surprised, Jack returned and secured a lantern, and passed out and down the long platform. From end to end it was deserted and silent.

He returned to the office. Scarcely had he closed the door when again came the sound of footsteps.

Jack paused and listened. They were light and quick, like those of a woman—up and down, up and down, now pausing a moment, now briskly resuming, as though the walker was anxiously waiting for someone.

On tiptoe Jack went back to the door, suddenly flung it open and flashed the lantern. As quickly the steps had ceased. Not a moving object was to be seen.

Immensely puzzled, Jack withdrew, and stepped to the instrument table. As he reached toward the telegraph key from almost directly overhead broke out a thundering rumble, as of a heavy wooden ball bounding down the roof.

Catching up the lantern, he once more rushed forth. Immediately, as before, all was silence. Nervous at last, in spite of himself, Jack hesitated, then resolutely set forth on a complete round of the station and freight shed, throwing the lantern light upon the roof, through the dusty windows, and into every nook and corner. Nowhere was there a sign of life.

He returned. The moment he closed the office door the rumble broke out afresh.

Jack sprang to the instruments, called Exeter, and sent rapidly, "Al, that 'ghost' is here, and in spite of me, is beginning to get on my—"

The line opened, then sharply clicked: "Look behind! Look behind!"

With a cry Jack was on his feet, and had started for the door. Half way he pulled up, with a determined effort controlled his panic, and returned to the key. "I suppose you didn't hear that, Al?" he asked.

"Not a letter."

"Well, good gracious, what—Oh!"

A cold chill shot up Jack's back. The cause was a low, long-drawn moan, apparently from just the other side of the wooden partition, in the freight room. Again it came, then suddenly ceased to give place to a low, tense whispering immediately behind him. Jack sprang about, and leaped to his feet. Within touch of him was a large knot-hole.

And was there not an eye at it? Peering at him?

He sprang toward it.

No! Nothing! The whispering, too, had ceased.

Thoroughly shaken, Jack again turned for his hat—and again faltered between the chair and the door.

"You there, Jack?" clicked Alex. "Hang on, old boy. Keep your nerve."

Clenching his teeth and gripping his hands Jack regained control of himself, and returned to the instruments. "Thanks, Al," he sent. "I was about all in, sure enough. But I am OK again now, and going to stick it out unless 'they,' or 'it,' or whatever it is, lugs me off bodily."

"That's the talk," said Alex encouragingly. "I knew you'd make good. Just keep on telling yourself there must be some natural explanation somehow, and you'll win out OK."

* * * * *

"Yes, that's my cue—'a natural explanation somehow,'" Jack repeated to himself the following afternoon as he left the big railroad boarding-house, a half mile from the station, and set out for a walk, to think things over.

"And I believe the starting point is that talk on the wire. That certainly is the work of an operator.

"Now, why is it heard only at this office?

"Say! Could it be on the loop? A cut-off arrangement on the station loop?

"I'll go down and look into that right now," declared Jack, and turning about, headed for the station.

The platforms and the big freight shed were alive with the bustle of the freight handlers, loading and unloading cars, trundling boxes and bales from one part of the platform to another and in and out of the big shed; and unnoticed, Jack discovered where the wires from the pole passed in under the roof. Entering the shed, he proceeded carefully to follow their course along the beams toward the telegraph room. He had almost reached the partition, and was beginning to think his conclusion perhaps too hastily drawn, when a few feet from the wall, where the light from an opposite window struck the roof, he caught two unmistakable gleams of copper. With a suppressed cry he made his way directly beneath, and at once saw that the insulation of both wires of the loop had been cut through.

"Right! I was right!" exclaimed Jack jubilantly beneath his breath. "And I can see in a minute how it's done. Whoever it is, simply gets up there somehow, and ticks one wire against the other—and of course the instruments inside click as they are alternately cut off and cut on, and the rest of the line is not affected!

"Good! I'm on the trail.

"But what can be the object of it all?"

Jack turned to look about him, and as in answer the lettering of a nearby box caught his eye:

"VALUABLE! HANDLE WITH CARE!"

"Freight stealing! Could that be it?"

On reporting for duty that evening Jack called Alex on the wire and asked if any freight had recently been reported missing from the Midway depot.

"No, but I understand some valuable stuff has been mysteriously disappearing at Claxton and Eastfield," was the reply.

Jack was considerably disappointed; but before giving up this line of investigation he determined to study the freight records of the station, to discover whether any freight for the two places mentioned by Alex had passed through Midway. A few minutes' search produced the record of a valuable shipment of silk to Claxton. A moment later he found another.

When presently he found still others, and several to Eastfield, he hurried back to the wire and calling Alex asked the nature of the goods lost track of at those stations, and breathlessly awaited the reply.

"I'll ask," said Alex—"Silverware and silk. Mostly silk."

Jack uttered a shout. "Hurrah, Alex," he whirred, "I'm on the track of our friend the 'ghost.' But keep mum.

"And now the question is," he told himself, leaning back in his chair, "how do they work it?"

The answer to the query came very unexpectedly as Jack left the station office at daybreak. Strolling down the front platform, where several men already were at work unloading a car, he inadvertently got in the way of a loaded truck. On the sudden cry of the truckman he sprang aside, tripped, and fell headlong against a large, square packing-case. As he did so, he distinctly heard from within a sharp "Oh!"

Only with difficulty did Jack avoid crying out, and scrambling to his feet, hastened away, that his discovery might not be suspected by the man in the box.

The whole mystery was now clear. The "ghost" was a freight thief, who had himself shipped, in a box, to some point which would necessitate his being transferred and held over night at the freight junction. He played "ghost" either to frighten the operator away, or to lead to the belief that any noises overheard were caused by "spirits," then overhauled the valuable freight in the shed, took what he wanted with him into his own box (which supposedly he could open and close from the inside), and was shipped away with it the following morning. The rifled packages, carefully re-sealed, also went on to their several destinations, and the blame of the theft was laid elsewhere.

Jack was not long in deciding upon his next move. Coming down from the boarding-house before the sheds had been closed that afternoon, he noted where the box containing the unsuspected human freight had been placed, and selecting a window at the far end of the shed, seized a favorable moment to quietly loosen its catch.

It was near midnight, and Jack was once more the sole guardian of the station when he took the next step. And despite a certain nervousness, now that the exciting moment was at hand, he found considerable amusement in carrying it out.

It was nothing less than making up a dummy imitation of himself asleep on a cot in a corner of the telegraph room—as a precaution against the "ghost" peering within to learn the effect of his "haunting."

In making the dummy Jack used a brown fur cap for the head, a glimpse of which under an old hat looked remarkably like his own brown head. A collection of old overalls and record books carefully arranged formed the body, and his own shoes the feet.

When over the whole he threw his overcoat, the deception was complete. Chuckling at the subterfuge, Jack lost no time in slipping forth for the next step in his program.

Tiptoeing down the platform to the window whose latch he had loosened, he softly raised it, listened, and climbing through, dropped noiselessly to the floor. Feeling his way in the darkness amid the bales and boxes, he reached a nook behind a piano-case he had previously noted, and settling down, prepared to await the appearance of the "spectre."

The wait was not long. Scarcely had he made himself comfortable when from the direction of the big packing-case came the muffled sound of a screw-driver. Soon there followed a noise as of a board being softly shoved aside, then a step on the floor. Simultaneously there was the crackle of a match, and peering forth Jack momentarily made out a thin, clean-shaven face bending over a dark-lantern. But quickly he drew back with a start of fright as the man turned and came directly toward him.

A few feet away, however, the intruder halted, and again peering cautiously forth Jack discovered the lantern, closely muffled, on the floor, and beside it the dim figure of the man working with his hands at a plank. As Jack watched, wondering, the plank came up. Laying it aside carefully, the stranger stepped down into the opening, recovered the lantern, and disappeared.

"Now what under the sun is he up to?" exclaimed Jack to himself.

From the platform outside came the sound of footsteps. Jack started, listened a moment, and uttered a low cry of triumph. At last he understood.

"Well, what a dolt I am," he laughed. "Why didn't I think of that?

"The fellow is simply out beneath the platform, making sounds against the under side of the planking—probably with a stick!"



Jack was still chuckling delightedly over this simple explanation of the mysterious "walking" when the noise ceased, and the light of the lantern returned.

On reappearing, the unknown dragged after him a long pole. As Jack watched, puzzling over its use, the "spectre" hoisted the pole to his shoulder, cautiously picked his way amid the freight to the telegraph-room partition, and mounted a large box.

And then, while Jack fairly shook with internal laughter, he laboriously raised the pole, and began bumping and scraping it up and down the under side of the roof.

"Natural explanations!" bubbled Jack through his handkerchief. "And imagine anyone being frightened at it—beating it for home!"

When the man on the box had concluded his second "demonstration," and descended, Jack had cause to thank himself for his precaution in leaving the dummy. Evidently puzzled at the silence in the operating-room, the man placed his eye to the knot-hole in the partition, and peered through. Muttering something in surprise, he listened closely, and looked again, while Jack looked on, shaking, and holding his mouth. Apparently at last satisfied that the "operator" within was asleep at his post, the intruder turned about and threw a shaft of light up toward the wires of the loop. Expectantly Jack waited. Had he also guessed right here?

But to his disappointment, after a brief debate with himself, the "ghost" muttered, "If he's asleep, what's the use?" And catching up the pole, he returned it to the hole in the floor, and replaced the plank.

Then, in final confirmation of Jack's deductions, the intruder turned his attention to the packages of merchandise about him, speedily selected a box, and proceeded to open it.

For several hours the unsuspecting freight robber worked, frequently returning to the crack in the partition to assure himself that the negligent "operator" there was still in the land of dreams, each time to Jack's great amusement. And finally, having secured all the booty he could handle, and having carefully closed the cases from which it had been taken, he moved the plunder into his own box, crept in after; again came the squeak of the screw-driver—and the robbery was complete.

At once Jack crept from his place of concealment, and back to the window; dropped out, and was off on the run for the boarding-house. And twenty minutes after he returned with the freight-house foreman and several freight hands, armed, and with lanterns.

Entering by the door, he led them directly to the robber's box.

Sharply the foreman kicked at it, and called, "Hello, in there! Your little game is up, my friend! Come out!"

There was no response, and he drew his revolver. "Open up quick, or I'll shoot!"

"Oh, all right! All right!" cried a muffled voice hurriedly.

The next moment the Midway Junction "ghost" stepped grimly from his box, and stood before them.

"But look here, youngster," ticked the chief despatcher, who some minutes later followed Alex Ward on the wire in congratulating Jack on the solution of the mystery, "don't you talk too much about this business, or first thing you know they'll be taking you from the telegraph force, and adding you to the detective department. We want you ourselves."

"No fear," laughed Jack. "I might try a matter like this once in a while, but I want to work up as an operator, not a detective."

"You'll work up OK," declared the chief.



XII

IN A BAD FIX, AND OUT

"Good evening, young man!"

With a start Jack turned toward the quietly opened door of the telegraph-room to discover a short, dark, heavily-bearded man, over whose eyes was pulled a soft gray hat.

"I suppose you don't have many visitors at the station at this time of night?" said the stranger, entering.

"No; but you are quite welcome. Have a chair," responded Jack courteously.

To the young operator's surprise, the stranger drew the chair immediately before him, and seating himself, leaned forward secretively. "My name is Watts," he began, in a low voice, "and I've come on business. For you are the lad who worked out that 'ghost' mystery here, and caused the capture of the freight robber, aren't you?"

"Yes," confirmed Jack, in further wonder.

"I thought so. I thought as much. I know a clever lad when I see one. And that was one of the cleverest bits of detective work I ever heard of," declared Mr. Watts, with a winning smile. "If the railroad detectives had done their work as well, the whole freight-stealing gang would have been landed. As it was none of the rest were caught, were they?"



Instead of being pleased, the man's flattery and ingratiating manner had ruffled Jack, and briefly he answered, "No, sir."

"No. I knew that already. I was one of them myself."

At this startling statement Jack stared. "I beg your pardon, sir?" he exclaimed.

"I was a member of that gang myself," repeated Jack's strange caller, again smiling broadly. "Don't you think I look the part?" So saying, he pushed his hat back from his face.

Jack had no doubt of it. The small dark eyes were repellent with low cunning and greed. Instinctively he half turned to cast a glance toward the door. At once the smile disappeared, and the self-confessed law-breaker threw open his coat and significantly tapped the butt of a revolver. "No. You just sit still and listen," he ordered sharply; but immediately again smiling, added, "though there needn't be anything of this kind between two who are going to be good friends.

"Listen. What I called for was this: We want another man in the gang in place of Joe Corry—that is the man you caught.

"And we decided to invite you."

Jack fairly caught his breath. "Why, you must be joking, or—"

"Or crazy, eh? Not quite. I was never more serious in my life. Listen!" The speaker leaned forward earnestly. "After your spoiling our little 'ghost' game here the railroad people would never look for us starting in again at the same place. Never in the world—would they? And likewise, after your causing the capture of Corry, they would never in the world suspect you of working with us. Do you see the point?

"And all you would have to do would be to keep your ears closed, and not hear any noises out in the freight-room at night."

"And for doing that," concluded the law-breaker, "we will give you a regular salary of $25 a month. We'll send it by mail, or bank it for you at any bank you name, and no one will know where it comes from.

"What do you say?"

Jack drew back indignantly. "Most certainly not," he began. Then suddenly he hesitated.

As the freight-robber had said, the authorities had been unable to obtain a single clue to the whereabouts or identity of the remainder of the freight-stealing gang. Should he accept the man's offer, came the thought, undoubtedly, sooner or later, he would be able to bring about the capture of every one of them.

Immediately following, however, there recurred to Jack one of his mother's warnings—"that even the appearance of evil is dangerous, always, as well as wrong."

But this would be quite different, Jack argued to himself—to cause the capture of criminals. And what possible danger could there be in it? No one would believe for an instant that I would go into such a thing seriously, he told himself.

"All right, Mr. Watts," he said aloud. "I'll do it."

"Good! It's a go!" The freight-stealer spoke with satisfaction, and rising, grasped Jack's hand. "I told you I knew a clever boy when I saw one—and that means a wise one.

"Well, that's all there is to it, excepting the money matter. Where will we send that? Here?"

Jack responded with an effort. "Yes, you may as well send it to me here."

"All right. Look for it at the end of the month," said Watts, proceeding to the door.

"Remember, you are dumb. That's all. Good night."

Jack's sense of honor was not long in convincing him that he had made a mistake in entering into such a bargain, even with a law-breaker. A dozen times during the days that followed he would have given anything to have been able to wipe out the agreement.

Unhappily this dissatisfaction with himself was to prove but a minor result of the misstep.

Shortly after he had relieved the day operator at the station a week later he was surprised by the appearance of one of the road detectives, and with him a stranger.

"Good evening, Orr," said the detective in a peculiar tone. "Let me make you acquainted with Sheriff Bates."

Jack started, and glanced from one to the other. "Is there anything wrong?" he asked.

"Very slightly. Your little game is up, that's all. Your older partner has given the thing away, and we have just found the watch in your room at the boarding-house," announced the detective.

"Given the thing away? The watch? Why, what do you mean?" exclaimed Jack in alarm.

"Oh, come! Watts has squealed, and we found the watch hidden, just as he said, in the mattress of your bed up at the house."

In a flash Jack saw it all. Watts' offer had been a trap! A mere trap to get him into trouble, probably in revenge!

He sprang to his feet. "It's not true! It's false! Whatever it is, it's false! I did see Watts, and he asked me to go in with them, but I only agreed so as to learn who they were, so we could capture them!"

To his utter dismay the two officers only laughed drily.

"No, no! That's quite too thin," declared the detective. "Read this."

Blankly Jack took the letter, and read:

"Chief Detective,

"Middle Western R. R.

"Dear Sir: The young night operator at Midway Junction has joined the freight-stealing gang that Corry belonged to, and if you will look under the mattress in his room at the railroad boarding-house you will find a watch and chain of the lot we stole at Claxton two weeks ago. I gave it to him last Friday night. I came to Midway by the Eastfield freight, and when I saw another operator in the station office, I started up towards the boarding-house, and met Orr coming down. I mention this to show my story is all straight.

"I heard he was going to give us away as soon as he had got enough loot himself, and claim he only went in with us to get us. That is why I am showing him up.

"Yours truly,

"W. Watts."

And the day operator had worked for him that Friday evening, while he was at the landlady's daughter's birthday party! And he had come down to the station at about the time the Eastfield night freight came in!

Jack sank back in the chair, completely crushed.

"Changed your mind, eh?" remarked the sheriff sarcastically.

Jack shook his head, but said nothing. What could he say!

"If it's 'false,' as you claim, how do you explain our finding the watch in your room?" demanded the detective.

"I don't know. Someone must have put it there."

"Very likely. It wouldn't have crept up stairs and got under the bed itself. And I suppose you will deny also that you saw Watts on the night of the party, despite the fact that he could not otherwise have known the unusual hour you came down to the station that night. Eh?"

"I never saw him after the night he called here," affirmed Jack earnestly, but hopelessly.

"Well, you will have to prove it," declared the sheriff. And to Jack's unspeakable horror he was informed he must be taken into custody.

* * * * *

Needless to say, the news of Jack's arrest, and of his early trial at Eastfield, the county seat, came as a tremendous shock to Alex, at Exeter. Of course he thoroughly disbelieved in Jack's guilt, despite the net of circumstantial evidence which, according to the newspapers, had been woven about his friend; and morning and afternoon he read and re-read the papers, in the hope of something more favorable to Jack developing.

It was through this close reading that Alex finally came upon the discovery that was to draw him into the case himself, and to have so important a bearing on the outcome of the trial.

Early in the evening preceding the day set for the hearing, Alex, before starting work on his wire, was studying the paper as usual. For the second time he was reading the letter from the man Watts that had had such serious results for Jack.

Suddenly as he read Alex started, again read a portion of the letter, a moment thought deeply, and with a cry sprang to his feet and hastened to the chief despatcher's desk.

"Mr. Allen," he said excitedly, "in this letter Watts says he reached Midway Junction that Friday night by the Eastfield freight, and that he met and gave Jack Orr the watch after that.