“Chased out of station. Two men. Wire cut. Something wrong. Help!—V.”
“OK. But we are three miles from the train. Hunting. Will we come, or go back for help?” signalled Alex.
There was a pause, and the red light blinked, “Come! Quick!”
“OK. Coming.” Only pausing to stamp out the fire, the two boys were away at a run, heading directly for the light, which at intervals Wilson continued to show, as a guide.
Their open-air experience of a month had put the two boys in the best of condition, and keeping on at a smart pace, within half an hour the light showed just ahead, and a few minutes after Wilson ran forward to greet them.
“I don’t know what’s in the air, but certainly something,” he announced. “As you fellows are armed too, suppose we go back and get the two men in the station car, and see if we can’t make them tell?” he suggested.
“Lead ahead,” agreed the others.
Stealthily they made their way amid the intervening cars, and emerged opposite the little depot.
In the window was the shadow of a man smoking.
They stole across to the door, and Wilson, leading, cautiously glanced within. He turned and held up one finger. Revolver in hand, he tiptoed up the steps, and with a cry sprang inside and toward the man in the chair. The intruder was so taken by surprise that he tumbled over backward. In a jiffy the three boys were upon him, and had pinned him to the floor; and while Alex closely clutched his mouth, to prevent him calling out, the others speedily bound his hands and feet with some convenient pieces of wire.