Dixie dragged herself weakly out of the office and sat down for a moment. Grant was coming at six forty! It was six ten now. She jumped to her feet. There was no time for unnecessary rejoicing. There was too much to be done.
The station agent shuffled into the station again and seating himself at the table began to take the orders that were clattering in over the wire. Dixie waited no longer.
The town boasted one garage. The garage owner, industriously cleaning a thick veneer of dust from a car, started suddenly at a light touch on his shoulder. The boyish figure standing in the doorway was very business-like.
"I want every car you have got."
The garage owner stared, "What for?"
"There's a special train coming in at six forty with a lot of men and they will have to have cars." Dixie slipped a hand into a pocket and brought out her Secret Service Commission.
"Here's the reason," she said. "And listen to me, because I want you to get this straight." For a few moments she conversed with him in low tones.
"It's all right. I'll have them there," he assured her finally and Dixie hurried away on the road leading to the camp.
The special train bearing Grant and his men slid into the station and came to a smooth standstill, and as the first men jumped to the platform, the garage owner stepped up to them.
"I have a message for Harrison Grant." Grant was pointed out to him. "Mr. Grant," he said, stepping over to where the detective stood, "A Secret Service man gave me an order a little while ago, he wasn't any more'n a boy. He says to be sure to raid that undertaking shop across the way and then go on to the main camp in the gorge."