“I see,” said Brant, and forthwith he turned and fell upon the typewriter. When he had written to the break in the unfinished letter, Antrim dictated:
“Will reach Lone Pine Junction between nine and ten this P. M., and you will arrange to give it right of way to Denver over all other trains.”
Brant finished with a flourish and jerked the sheet out of the rolls. “Can you make out to sign it?” he asked.
“I guess so,” responded the chief clerk, and he dipped his pen and made the supposition good, though with no little difficulty. “Now, if you will copy it in that book and tell me how I’m to get it to Disbrow at this late hour without giving myself away, we’ll see what comes of it.”
Brant took an impression of the letter, laying his plans meanwhile.
“Can’t trust Disbrow, I suppose?” he asked.
“Yes; but he will hold it over me.”
“Then we won’t give him a chance. Let me have an envelope.”
When the letter was inclosed and addressed, Brant told the chief clerk to sit still and wait for him. He was back in a few minutes, and Antrim had not to ask if his errand had been successful.
“How did you manage it?” he queried.