Ten minutes later, when the train had gone storming on its way to Carbonate and the Rosemary party was at breakfast, the clank of steel and the chanteys of the hammermen on the other side of the canyon began again with renewed vigor. The Rajah threw up his head like a war-horse scenting the battle from afar and laid his commands upon the long-suffering secretary.
“Faveh me, Jastrow. Get out there and see what they are doing, seh.”
The secretary was back in the shortest possible interval, and his report was concise and business-like.
“Work under full headway again, in charge of a fellow who wears a billy-cock hat and smokes cigarettes.”
“Mr. Morton P. Adams,” said Virginia, recognizing the description. “Will you have him arrested too, Uncle Somerville?”
But the Rajah rose hastily without replying and went to his office state-room, followed, shadow-like, by the obsequious Jastrow.
It was some little time after breakfast, and Virginia and the Reverend Billy were doing a constitutional on the plank platform at the station, when the secretary came down from the car on his way to the telegraph office.
It was Virginia who stopped him. “What do we do next, Mr. Jastrow?” she said; “call in the United States Army?”
For reply he handed her a telegram, damp from the copying press. It was addressed to the superintendent of the C. G. R. at Carbonate, and she read it without scruple.
“Have the Sheriff of Ute County swear in a dozen deputies and come
with them by special train to Argentine. Revive all possible titles
to abandoned mining claims on line of the Utah Extension, and have
Sheriff Deckert bring blank warrants to cover any emergency.
“DARRAH V.-P.”