“Take care you don’t get in line for any bullets,” laughed the operator as he left. “It’s your weakness, you know, to get mixed up in any excitement that’s going on within a mile of you.”
To Alex’s disappointment hour after hour passed, however, and brought no further word, either of the pursued, or the pursuers. Finally, just before midnight, hearing Zeisler “come in” on the wire to report the passing of a freight, Alex reached for the key, determined to inquire.
As he did so footsteps sounded on the silent platform without, the waiting-room door opened, and two strangers appeared at the ticket-window. Glancing in, they turned to the office door, and entered.
“Hello, youngster,” said the taller of the two, cordially, leaning over the parcel-counter. “What’s the news from the man-hunt?”
“I was going to ask Zeisler just as you came in,” replied Alex, turning again to the key.
“Well, never mind, then. Just tell them they were captured here, instead.”
“What! Captured here?” exclaimed Alex.
“That’s it. About an hour ago, just north, by the Bloomsbury posse. Sheriff O’Brien sent us down with the news, so you could send word up and down the line and call in the other posses. No need of them plugging around all night.”
But, instead of complying, Alex suddenly turned more fully toward the two men. “What posse did you say you were with?”
“Bloomsbury! Bloomsbury!” said the smaller man, impatiently.