To think was to act. Dragging the telegraph wire to the fence, Jack looped it over the topmost strand near one of the posts, and wound it about several times, to ensure a good contact. Then on the run he started back for the telegraph office.
As he neared the little building Jack saw a figure within. Thinking the “Star” reporter had returned with further copy, he quickened his steps. At the doorway he halted in consternation. Instead of the reporter were two desperate-looking characters, and on the table beside them a half-emptied bottle and a large revolver.
Jack hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. “What are you men doing here?” he demanded.
“Oh, hello, kiddo! We are the new operators,” said one of them with tipsy humor. “You’re discharged, see? And you git, too!” he suddenly shouted, catching up the pistol. And promptly Jack “got.” A few yards distant, however, he halted. Now what was he to do?
“Oh here you are, eh? Where have you been?” It was West, the “Star” man, and he spoke angrily. “I was here ten minutes ago, and found the office empty, and if the other company could have handled my stuff yours would have lost it. I’ve just been—”
Interrupting, Jack hastily explained, telling of the severed wire, and his plan to bridge the break. The reporter uttered an indignant exclamation. “It’s Raub’s work, sure as you’re born,” he said hotly.
“But say, youngster, we can’t permit ourselves to be beaten this way. Can’t we do something?”
“We might get some help, and drive the roughs out,” suggested Jack.
“No; we haven’t time. And then they might put up a drunken fight and shoot somebody. Come, think of something else. You surely can get over this new difficulty, after your clever idea for getting around the cut in the wire.”
“I don’t know,” replied Jack doubtfully, glancing toward the office window. “If there was any way of getting the instruments—”