Grizzly came over and gave him a push in the ribs.
“You keep quiet, or I’ll find a way to make you,” he said, with a fierce scowl.
Ralph became passive again. As the conspirators resumed their conversation, however, he began to telegraph softly on the west main line, which was clear. His objective point was Tipton.
It was here, within the next hour, that the Limited mail would arrive and, farther on, take the Preston cut-off for twenty miles, unless stopped. The relay being shut off by his weight, there was no noise from the sounder, and he sent so slowly that the key was noiseless. Ralph did not know on whom he was breaking in, but he kept on. He told the exact state of affairs, repeated the message twice, and trusted to luck. Then his last clickings went over the wire:
“T.B.I. T.I.S.--Hold the Limited Mail. Answer quick.”
[CHAPTER XIV—OLD 93]
The west wire was open, sure enough, and Ralph had accomplished his purpose. He knew it, and he felt a thrill of satisfaction as he heard the sharp tic-tac that announced the receipt of his message. He had raised up off the sounder.
“L. M. due at 11:53. Will hold--9,” and 9, Ralph well knew, meant train orders. He had stirred up a hornet’s nest for the conspirators, present and absent, and headquarters would soon get busy in running down the plot of the night.
“He’s done it!” almost shrieked Grizzly, as the return message conveyed to his expert ear the sure token that Ralph had shrewdly, secretly out-rivaled him. “Did you send a message?” he yelled, jumping at Ralph, both fists raised warningly, while his eyes glared with baffled fury.
“That is what I am here for,” replied the young railroader tranquilly. “You had better try and undo what you have already done.”