“For the first thing, to visit the telegraph office at once.”
The operator was just locking his little room in the station as we came up.
“No, sir, no telegrams,” he said; “none for anybody.”
“This is a new way of running trains,” I said with a show of indifference, nodding toward the empty car.
“Oh, there was a party came up,” said the agent; “a dozen fellows or more. Bill said they took a fancy to get off a mile or more down here, and as they were an ugly-looking crew he didn't say anything to stop them.”
“I don't see what they can be doing up in this part of the country,” I returned innocently.
“I guess they know their business—anyway, it's none of mine,” said the agent. “Do you go in here, sir? Well, it will save you from a wetting.”
We had been walking toward the hotel, and the chatty agent left us under its veranda just as the light drops began to patter down in the dust of the road, and to dim the outlines of the distant hills.
“I reckon that's the gang,” said Fitzhugh.
“I told you so,” said Abrams. “I knew it was one of Tom Terrill's sneaky tricks.”