"Yes, father. We happen to know where it is. The Japs were of course clever enough to lay it underground, but we have discovered it under the paving near Brown & Co.'s store. We dug through to it very carefully from the cellar, and so as to make quite sure in case they should notice anything out of the way at the waterworks, we attached a Morse apparatus to the wire in the cellar. In case they suspect anything at the works and begin to telegraph, I'm to work the keys a little so that they won't know the wire is cut. In addition we laid a wire to the station last night, which will give a loud bell-signal in case any danger threatens."
The young fellow had talked himself into a state of great excitement, and his two sisters, watching him proudly, began to be infected by his enthusiasm.
The shades of night were falling slowly as Richard Engelmann bade a touching farewell to his family and left the house, whistling a lively tune as he walked towards the town.
Chapter XVI
THROUGH FIRE AND SMOKE
A train was always kept in readiness at Centralia on the Northern Pacific Railway, which could get up full steam at a moment's notice in case of necessity. Two Japanese, the engineer and the fireman, were squatting on the floor of the tender in front of the glistening black heaps of coal, over which played the red reflections from the furnace. They had just made their tea with hot water from the boiler and eaten their modest supper. Then the engineer pulled out his pipe and stuffing its little metal bowl with a few crumbs of tobacco, took one or two puffs at it and said, "Akoki, it is time," whereupon the stoker seized his shovel, dug into the heap of coals and threw the black lumps with a sure aim into the open door of the furnace. With a hissing sound the draft rushed into the glowing fire, and the engine sent out masses of black smoke which, mixed with hundreds of tiny sparks, was driven like a pillar of fire over the dark row of cars. The engineer climbed down the little iron steps and examined the steel rods of his engine with clinking knocks from his hammer.
Up and down in front of the dark station walked a Japanese sentinel and each time that he passed beyond the ring of light thrown by the two dimly burning lamps he seemed to be swallowed up in the darkness. Only two little windows at one end of the station were lighted up; they belonged to the Japanese guard-room and had been walled up so that they were no wider than loop-holes. The train which inspected this district regularly between eight and nine o'clock each evening had passed by at 8.30 and proceeded in the direction of Portland. With the exception of the non-commissioned officer and the man in charge of the three arc-lamps on the roof that were to light up the surrounding country in case of a night-attack most of the soldiers had gone to sleep, although a few were engaged in a whispered conversation.
Suddenly the sergeant sprang up as a muffled cry was heard from the outside. "The lamps!" he yelled to the man at the electric instrument. The latter pushed the lever, but everything remained pitch dark outside.
The soldiers were up in a second. The sergeant took a few steps towards the door, but before he could reach it, it was torn open from the outside.