“She’s getting in among the bad mountain cuts,” observed Glidden, as Ralph crossed off the station on his check card. “If the pull isn’t too hard, I reckon she’ll make her first switch nearly on time.”
There was now in the dispatcher’s room a dead calm of some duration. Glidden sat figuring up some details from the business of the night. Ralph rested back in his chair, thinking seriously of Glen Palmer, and wondering what mystery surrounded him and his grandfather.
The silence was broken finally with a sharp tanging challenge, always stimulating and startling to the operator. It was the manager’s call:
“25--25--25.”
Ralph swept his key in prompt response.
“Hello!” said the aroused Glidden, listening keenly, “thought Tipton was off for the night after 83 had passed. What’s--that!”
Ralph, deeply intent, took in the rapid tickings eagerly. The message was from the station which had reported No. 83 passed in good shape three-quarters of an hour before.
Here was the hurry message that came over the wire:
“83 something wrong. Just found brakeman of train lying in snow at side of track. Hurt or drugged. Mumbled about foul play. Catch Maddox and advise conductor of 83.”
“I say!” exclaimed Glidden, jumping to his feet. “Get Maddox, Fairbanks. 83 is due or passed.”