They had been digging some ten minutes when suddenly Billy paused. “Listen,” he said. “There’s a horse coming, on the run.” His father and Alex also ceased shoveling, and a moment later the quick pounding of horse’s hoofs was plainly discernible.
“It must be something urgent to make a man drive like that in the dark,” said Mr. Moore.
The racing hoofs drew nearer, and placing his hands to his mouth he cried: “Hello! What’s up?”
There was a sound of scrambling and plunging, and out of the darkness came a man’s excited voice: “How near am I to the station?”
“Thank God! Run quick and tell the operator there has been a landslip in the big cutting just beyond the river! My son discovered it when coming home by the track from a party! I thought I could get here quicker than do anything else!”
For a moment Alex stood speechless at this further calamity, then once more dashed for the station. To reach Zeisler, two miles west of the cut, was the only hope for the Mail.
Rushing in to the instruments, he in feverish haste began calling “Z. Z, Z,” he whirled. “Qk! Z, Z, WS!”
There was no answer. Z heard him no more than did the despatcher.
A feeling of despair settled upon the boy. But again returned the old spirit of determination and contriving, and spinning about in his chair, he cast his eyes around the room for some suggestion. They halted at the big stoneware water-cooler. With a cry he was on his feet, thinking rapidly.