“All the instruments cut out that way and we won’t have Wayne till six o’clock in the morning.”
“Won’t, eh? Well, you’ve got to, that’s all,” observed the man, coming nearer to the operating table.
“Come around in the morning and some of the day force will send the message for you.”
“No. I’ve got twenty-six cars of cattle out here that are going there tomorrow, and I want to notify my agents.”
Grizzly shook his head and turned to his table. The stranger bolted up against him with a savage face.
“Say,” he said, “you send this message or there is going to be trouble.”
“Not much, I won’t send your confounded old message; get out of this office.”
There was a swift movement on the part of the ranchman, then an ominous click, and Grizzly was looking down the barrel of a revolver.
“Give me your blamed old message and I’ll send it for you,” growled the scared operator, though there was not a wire anywhere near Wayne at the time, but Grizzly had a scheme to stave the fellow off. He took the paper from the man, went over to the switchboard, fumbled at a local instrument, and, as Ralph discerned, went through the form of sending a message.
The stranger watched him furtively, pistol in hand, swaying to and fro like a reed in the wind and grinning like a monkey.