"Why?" asked Frank.
"Because a telegraph company regards a message entrusted to it just as sacred as Uncle Sam does the mail. No one but the persons directly interested are allowed to know of it."
"Then there's no chance for me to find out about it?" remarked Billy.
"I'm afraid not," answered the operator. "But why are you so anxious?"
Then the Western lad told something of the trouble he and his uncle had been experiencing, and how he had been followed by a man who wanted to get possession of certain papers. Then he told of the wreck, and of this man being injured.
"I think that message you overheard, as being sent to Sageville, was from him," said Billy. "Maybe he recovered enough to tell that he was laid up, and to put some of his confederates on my track. In that case I'd like to know about it."
"Well, I don't blame you for wanting to know," commented the agent; "but, as I said, I can't tell you anything. The company forces me to remain quiet. I couldn't give out any information about your message if some one should ask me," and he tapped the paper on which Billy had written his telegram.
"No, I suppose not," agreed the western lad, "and yet if I knew whether that message was from Shackmiller, and to whom it went, I might save my uncle a lot of future trouble. But if I can't—I can't—that's all."
"Sorry, but that's the way it is," concluded the agent, and the three boys went out.
"I believe it was from Shackmiller!" declared Andy, who often drew impulsive conclusions.