Thanks to the termination of the interference from the opposition road,
the work on the extension progressed rapidly, and two weeks later found
the rail-head seven miles beyond the Antelope viaduct, in the lower
slopes of the Dog Rib Mountains. The coveted pass to the Yellow Creek
gold-field lay but eight miles distant, and as the K. & Z. was still
twenty miles east, it appeared certain that the Middle Western would win
the great race.
The time had passed uneventfully with the three young telegraphers, the
end of the second week finding Alex and Jack together with the
construction-train at the rail-head, and Wilson Jennings back at the
temporary station and material-sidings at the viaduct.
Perhaps the last few days had passed least interestingly with Wilson,
alone in his little box-car station, not far from the old river-bed.
Saturday had seemed particularly slow, for some reason, and shortly after
8 o'clock Wilson threw aside a book he had been reading, and catching up
his hat, made for the door, for a brief stroll, previous to retiring.
The moon was momentarily showing through a break in the cloudy sky, and
looking to the west, Wilson was somewhat surprised to discover the
figures of two men approaching. When as he watched they reached the first
of a train of tie-cars, and leaving the rails, continued forward in the
shadows, Wilson stepped back, in disquiet.
The strangers came opposite, and paused, looking toward the station
window and speaking in subdued voices. Convinced that something was
afoot, the young operator turned quickly, and stooping low, that his
shadow might not be seen on the window, crept to the little instrument
table and reached for the telegraph key. He opened, and pressed it down.
The sounder did not respond. He tried again, adjusting the relay, and
turned about in genuine alarm.
The wire had been cut! Some mischief was surely afoot.
From without came the crunch of stealthy footsteps. Springing to his
bunk, Wilson secured his revolver and belt--the same taken from the
would-be bullion thief he had captured at Bonepile--and stealing to the
rear door, slipped out and to the ground just as the strangers approached
the opposite side of the little car-depot.
The car was raised on a foundation of ties, and as the two men entered,
Wilson crept beneath.
"No one here," said a gruff voice. "Say, do you s'pose he saw us, and
sneaked?"
"Like as not. I told you to keep to the rails and come straight up,"
chided the other.
"Perhaps he will come back. We're in charge of the station anyway. That
was the real thing."
Wilson waited to hear no more. Creeping forth, he stole off toward the
ravine, intending to get out of sight in its shadows.
A short distance from the head of the viaduct was the green light of a
small target-switch. The head of the downward path lay just beyond, and
Wilson headed for the light. He reached it, and passed on.
Abruptly he halted and turned about. Like an inspiration had come the
remembrance of Alex Ward's signalling feat two years before at Bixton, of
which he had heard from Jack Orr. Could he not do the same? Try and
signal Alex or Jack, at the construction-train? Say, from one of the
box-cars at the farther corner of the yard?
Casting a glance toward the little station to assure himself that all was
quiet there, Wilson retraced his steps to the switch, removed the
lantern, and tucking it under his coat, was off between the material-cars
for the farthermost corner of the sidings.
The outermost car was a box-car. Climbing the ladder, with his
handkerchief Wilson tied the lantern to the topmost rung, the red light
out, and using his hat just as Alex had done, began flashing the call of
the construction-train,
"KX, KX, V! KX, KX, V!"
* * * * *
Since the construction-train had started from Yellow Creek Junction it
had been a center of attraction to coyotes for fifty miles around, and
one of the few recreations enjoyed by the men of the train had been
hunting them at night.
This Saturday night Alex and Jack, borrowing Winchesters from other
members of the telegraph-car party, had set out for a "couple of good
rugs," as they put it, and on leaving the train had headed east, toward
the aqueduct, in which direction they had heard barks of the midnight
prowlers.
They had gone perhaps three miles, and had fired on several of the wily
animals, without success, when suddenly Jack caught Alex by the arm and
pointed away to the east.
"Look, Al! What's that?"
"Why, it looks like--It is! It's a signal light!
"And calling us--KX!" cried Alex. "Something must be wrong with Wilson!"
"What'll we do? Back to the train?"
"Have you a match and some paper?" said Alex, going hurriedly through his
own pockets.
"Some matches."
"Here's a couple of letters. Come on back to the rails, find some chips,
and make a fire. See if we can't answer him, and learn what the trouble
is."
They were already racing for the track, reached it, and quickly gathering
together a little pile of dry bark and chips knocked from the ties, made
a fire at the track-side, and lit it.
As the flames burst up Alex threw off his coat, and using it as a
curtain, raised and lowered it in a flashed "I, I, KX!"
The call twinkled on. Wilson had not seen it. But the next moment, before
Alex had completed a second answer, the red light disappeared. Alex again
shot forth the gleaming "I, I, KX!" and in blinking response they read:
"Chased out of station. Two men. Wire cut. Something wrong. Help!--V."
"OK. But we are three miles from the train. Hunting. Will we come, or go
back for help?" signalled Alex.