“Not on the Preston branch.”
“That’s right. We can splice ’em up again after two o’clock. Things will do their happening between now and then, and we leave no trace.”
“See here, Grizzly,” pleaded Mason in a spasmodic outburst of agitation; “what’s the deal?”
“What good will it do you to know?”
“Well, I want to.”
“All right; there’s to be a runaway. There’s an old junk engine down beyond Wellsville doing some dredging work, with a construction crew. She’s to be fired along.”
“What for?” inquired Mason, his eyes as big as saucers.
“For instance,” jeered Grizzly, with a disagreeable laugh.
“Where’s she to run to?”
The operator went to a map tacked to the wall. He ran his finger so rapidly over it that, the intent Mason standing between, Ralph could not clearly make out the route indicated.