Some time after darkness had fallen the young telegrapher, dozing in his chair at the instrument table, was startled into consciousness by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. With visions of Indians or robbers he sprang to the window, to discover a dim, tall figure dismounting on the platform. In alarm he turned to call the sleeping guard, but momentarily hesitating, looked again, the figure came into the light of the window, and with relief he recognized Iowa Burns, another of the Bar-O cowmen.
“Hello, kid,” said the newcomer, entering. “Where’s Old Muskoke?”
“Good evening. Over there, asleep, sir. I suppose you knew he was taking Mr. Smith’s place, guarding the gold until the train came in?”
“Sure, yes. I was there when Bill come up.” He crossed to the side of the snoring Jones, and kicked him sharply on the sole of his boots. “M’skoke! Git up!” he shouted. “Here’s something to keep out the chills.”
Again, and more sharply, he kicked the sleeping man, while the boy looked on, smiling.
Suddenly the smile disappeared, and the lad’s heart leaped into his throat. He was gazing into the black, round muzzle of a pistol, and beyond it was a face set with a deadly purpose. Instinctively his staring eyes flickered towards the box of bullion.
“Yep, that’s it. But wink an eye agin, an’ y’ git it!” said Burns coldly, advancing. “Now, git back there up agin the corner of the table, an’ stand, so ’f anyone comes along you’ll appear to be leanin’ there, conversin’. Go on, quick!”
Dazed, cold with fear, the boy obeyed, and Iowa, producing a sheaf of hide thongs, proceeded to bind his arms to his side.
As the renegade tightened a knot securing the boy’s left leg to the leg of the table, Muskoka’s snoring abruptly ceased, and the sleeper moved uneasily. In a flash Iowa was over him, pistol in hand. But the snoring presently resumed, and after watching him sharply for a moment, Iowa returned to the boy.
“Now move, remember, an’ I shoot,” he repeated warningly. “To make sure, I’m going to fix up that snoring idiot over there before I finish you. An’ don’t you as much as shuffle your hoof!” Recovering the bundle of thongs, he strode back to the sleeper.