The long patrol

by Albert M. Treynor

Dexter continued his investigations, and at the bottom of the chimney he jarred loose two other stones, revealing a second and larger opening. From the compartment within he pulled forth a strand of new wire and a group of six heavy jars, which proved to be electric batteries.

"A simple form of telephone set, such as they use for private rural lines," he remarked after an examination of the apparatus he had brought to light. "Not good for a range of much more than ten miles, I imagine. But the terminals are connected and the batteries seem to be alive." He touched the colonel's elbow. "You can see where the wires run down to meet the old telegraph cable under the ground."

"The signal system of Stark's underground railway!" he remarked as Devreaux bent forward to look. "He found out in some way where the old cable ran, and put up a chain of trappers' shacks along the line of the wire. The telephones are hooked on in sections, I suppose, at about ten-mile intervals. A series of local circuits, with each set of batteries providing current for its own short stretch of line. But a message might be relayed from station to station, through the wilderness. So Stark was able to provide himself with means of long distance communication, with practically no labor and at very little expense."

Devreaux was impressed in spite of himself. "A stroke of genius," he mused. "But for a bit of luck on our side this Stark might have kept us guessing for years. We would have been groping around blindly, while Stark's innocent-appearing trappers could keep tabs on our movements, sending the word ahead, blocking us at every turn, laughing at us. It would have been like a deaf and sightless man chasing shadows." The colonel grinned in uncomfortable recollection. "In fact, for a while last fall it seemed that that was just what we were doing."

Devreaux was reaching forward to examine the arrangement of telephone wires, when Alison and Sergeant Brunswick appeared in the doorway. The girl advanced with a wan little smile. "You wondered how I happened to know about things that were taking place miles away in the forest," she said, glancing up at Dexter. "You tried to make me tell, and I wouldn't. It was a secret on which my brother's safety might have depended, and I had to keep it. But you've found out for yourself, and now it doesn't matter."

"I suppose all the cabins along the route are equipped with phones such as this one, concealed in the chimneys," Dexter remarked. "The cabin on the other side of the pass, for instance—where I spent a night with your brother, heard him call your name in the darkness, warning you to flee to Saddle Mountain: he was talking to you over one of these phones."

"There's no need to keep anything back now." Alison nodded quietly, and cast a quick glance towards the colonel. "That was the night I escaped from Colonel Devreaux. I had made my way back to the burned cabin. The chimney was still intact, the phone in it. I rang up my brother, and he answered. He told me you were with him, warned me of the danger of returning. He had heard that Mr. Stark was on his way across Saddle Mountain, and advised me to meet him there. And—well, you went too, and saved my life on the cliff—and afterwards—"

"And the time you found me pinned under the tree in the lower valley?" interrupted Dexter. "How did you get the news?"

The girl looked across the room towards the group of prisoners seated in the shadow. She indicated the red-bearded man, who shifted uneasily as the officers turned his direction. "He told me," she said. "He happened that day to come to the cabin where my brother and I were spending the winter. Mr. Stark had telephoned him at one of the other stations—about how a policeman was caught under an avalanche. I guessed it might be you, and I got the facts from him, and learned where you were to be found. So I waited my chance, and as soon as I could leave unobserved, I hurried from the cabin to go to you."

Dexter regarded her for a moment with eyes half closed. "It was a brave and generous thing to do," he said, but even as he spoke the inflexible line of his jaw reasserted itself, and he fixed her once more with a keenly inquiring gaze. "What about the night we were camping at the head of the pass, and you ran away from me?" he asked. "You came to this cabin—six or seven miles from the place you had left me—and you called to me for help, and I heard you."