Wilson waited to hear no more. Creeping forth, he stole off toward the ravine, intending to get out of sight in its shadows.
A short distance from the head of the viaduct was the green light of a small target-switch. The head of the downward path lay just beyond, and Wilson headed for the light. He reached it, and passed on.
Abruptly he halted and turned about. Like an inspiration had come the remembrance of Alex Ward’s signalling feat two years before at Bixton, of which he had heard from Jack Orr. Could he not do the same? Try and signal Alex or Jack, at the construction-train? Say, from one of the box-cars at the farther corner of the yard?
Casting a glance toward the little station to assure himself that all was quiet there, Wilson retraced his steps to the switch, removed the lantern, and tucking it under his coat, was off between the material-cars for the farthermost corner of the sidings.
The outermost car was a box-car. Climbing the ladder, with his handkerchief Wilson tied the lantern to the topmost rung, the red light out, and using his hat just as Alex had done, began flashing the call of the construction-train,
“KX, KX, V! KX, KX, V!”
Since the construction-train had started from Yellow Creek Junction it had been a center of attraction to coyotes for fifty miles around, and one of the few recreations enjoyed by the men of the train had been hunting them at night.
This Saturday night Alex and Jack, borrowing Winchesters from other members of the telegraph-car party, had set out for a “couple of good rugs,” as they put it, and on leaving the train had headed east, toward the aqueduct, in which direction they had heard barks of the midnight prowlers.
They had gone perhaps three miles, and had fired on several of the wily animals, without success, when suddenly Jack caught Alex by the arm and pointed away to the east.