And as the train pulled away, Mr. Schofield started slowly back toward the shanty. The task before him was about the most unpleasant that he had ever faced.
But his countenance was impassive and composed as he mounted the steps to the door.
[CHAPTER XIII]
PROBING THE MYSTERY
Allan had recovered somewhat from the nervous shock the threatened accident had given him, and was receiving a message as Mr. Schofield entered. The latter paused a moment to look at him—at the handsome, honest, boyish face; the broad and open brow bespeaking intelligence and character, the mouth firm beyond his years, the eyes steady and fearless; and as he looked, a weight seemed to drop from his heart. Whoever was to blame, he knew instinctively that it was not Allan West.
He sat down with an audible sigh of relief, and got out a cigar and lighted it. A moment later, Allan repeated the message, closed his key and looked up with a smile. Mr. Schofield had proved himself a friend tried and true, and one upon whom he knew he could rely.
“Well,” said the trainmaster, answering the smile, “I’ve come to find out how it all happened. Suppose you tell me the story.”
Allan passed his hand quickly across his eyes.