“Up there? What do you mean?” exclaimed the foreman.
“Signalling father at the station, with the telegraph code,” said Alex as he replaced the lantern on the semaphore arm. “Come on up.”
“Al,” said the incredulous foreman as he reached the platform, “can you really do it?”
“I had it going when that Italian stopped me. Watch.”
But Alex was doomed again to interruption. Scarcely had he begun once more flashing forth the telegraph call of the station when from the direction of the woods came a shout, several answers, then a rush of feet.
“Some of the Poles!” exclaimed the foreman. “But you go ahead, Al, and I’ll see that they don’t get up to interfere,” he added, determinedly.
The running figures came dimly into view below. “If any of you idiots come up here I’ll crack your heads!” shouted Hennessy, warningly.
“I’ve got the station again,” announced Alex. “Now it will take only a few minutes.”
One of the men below reached the ladder, and, looking up, shouted threateningly: “Stop dat! Stop dat, or I shoot!”
“Go ahead, Al,” said the foreman, looking down. “He hasn’t a gun.” But even as he spoke there was a flash and a report, and a thud just over Alex’s head.