The utterly insignificant telegraph operator at an equally insignificant
railway station in Mexico loomed a person of colossal importance to
Ogden Van Lennop, who had calculated that the reply to his telegram was
considerably more than a week overdue. As he went once more to the
telegraph office, the only reason of which he could think for being glad
that he was the principal owner in the only paying mine in the vicinity
was that the operator did not dare laugh in his face.
"Anything for me?"
"Nothing; not yet, sir."
The operator's voice and manner were respectful, but Van Lennop saw his
teeth gleam beneath his dark mustache. He had found it quite useless to
assure Van Lennop that he need not trouble himself to call as any
telegram would be delivered immediately upon its receipt, also he had
been long enough in the service to know that young Americans of Van
Lennop's type did not ordinarily become so intense over a matter of
business.
"Could it have gone astray--this infernal name--it looks like a piece of
barbed wire when it's spelled out--is there another place of the same
name in Mexico?"
"Not in the world, sir."
"I didn't think so," returned Van Lennop grimly. He continued: "I want
you to telegraph the operator in Crowheart and find out positively if
the message was delivered to the person to whom it was sent."
"I'll get it off at once, sir."
So this was being "in love?"--this frenzy of impatience, this unceasing
anxiety which would not let him sleep! It seemed to Van Lennop that he
had nearly run the emotional gamut since leaving Crowheart and all that
remained to be experienced was further depths of doubt and dark despair.
Had he been too sure of her, he asked himself; had something in his
letter or the sending of his telegram displeased her? Was she ill?
He reproached himself bitterly for not telling her before he left, and
thought with angry impatience of the caution which had kept him silent
because he wanted to be sure of himself.
"Sure of myself!" he repeated it contemptuously. "I should have been
making sure of her! The veriest yokel would have known that he was
completely--desperately in love with her, but I, like the spineless
mollusk that I am, must needs wait a little longer--'to be sure of
myself'!"
To shorten the long hours which must intervene before he could expect a
reply from Crowheart, Van Lennop ordered his saddle horse and rode to
the mine, where a rascally superintendent had stripped the ore shoot and
departed with everything but the machinery. Van Lennop had the tangled
affairs of the mine fairly well straightened out and the new
superintendent was due that day, so the end of his enforced stay was in
sight in a day or two more--three at the most.
As his horse picked its way over the mountain trail the fresh air seemed
to clear his brain of the jumble of doubts and misgivings and replace
them with a growing conviction that something had gone wrong--that all
was not well with Essie Tisdale. His unanswered letter and telegram was
entirely at variance with her sweet good-nature. What if she were
needing him, calling upon him now, this very minute? He urged his horse
unconsciously at the thought. Some accident--he could think of nothing
else--unless a serious illness.
The employees at the mine observed that the young American owner was
singularly inattentive that day to the complaints and grievances to
which heretofore he had lent a patient ear.
His horse was sweating when upon his return he threw the reins to an
idle Mexican in front of his hotel and hurried into the office.
Yes; there was a telegram for Senor Van Lennop--two, in fact.
He tore open the envelope of one with fingers which were awkward in
their haste. The telegram read:
Message addressed to Miss Essie Tisdale received and delivered.