"They'd spot you as you went through Argenta," said McCrea. "Breifogle will be watching every train."
"Every car of every train, perhaps; but I'll be firing by the time we get there, black with soot and coal-dust, and they wouldn't know me if they saw me. If the division superintendent doesn't give it away—and you—who's to know I've turned fireman on a freight? There's my chance, McCrea, and you know it!"
"By Jove, Geordie, but I believe you're right," was McCrea's answer, rising to his feet and facing the eager young fellow across the table. "You're a 'dandy,' as was said of you on graduation day, only it was meant in a different sense. Who's in charge at the station now, Warden?" he asked, with sudden resolution. "I knew most of their traffic men when I was quartermaster."
Warden whipped out a railway folder. "Colorado Transcontinental," he read, and began skimming down a long list of official titles and names. Traffic managers, freight and passenger agents, superintendents, division superintendents, and then, "Here we are, Mountain Division: W.B. Anthony."
"Know him well," cried McCrea. "He brought the first passengers up to Argenta in eighty-seven. He was freight conductor on the U.P. when I was a boy at Cheyenne. We'll nab him first thing in the morning."
"Can't we nab him to-night?" asked Geordie.
McCrea laughed. "You're keen as your father, Pops," said he. "Niver put off till t'-morrow what can be done the day."
"The laddie's right," said Ross. "I'm betting you'll find him at the yards till after No. 2 comes in—the Flyer—that's due at 12.40."
And so it happened that, as the clocks were pointing to the quarter after midnight, Lieutenant Ralph McCrea and the newly appointed subaltern, both in plain travelling dress, once more appeared at the Union Station, and presently learned that Mr. Anthony was about the yard. It was not long thereafter that they found him, busy, as such men must ever be, yet recognizing McCrea at a glance and giving him cordial welcome.
But when McCrea presented his friend, "Lieutenant Graham, whose father you probably knew as post surgeon at Reynolds," and then made his request, the official looked grave.