“No,” was the instant objection. “That is where you’re wrong. A man does his best work as an amateur—in any line. As long as the man-hunting comes in the way of a recreation, I enjoy it keenly. But if I had to make a business of it, it would be different.” Then he changed the subject by asking about Tarbell, Maxwell’s ex-cowboy division detective, who had served as his understudy in the “wire-devil” case a few weeks earlier.
“Archer is all right,” was the reply; “only he’d like to break away from me and go with you. He thinks you are about the one only top-notcher; says he’d like to take lessons of you for a year or so.”
Sprague was gazing absently out of the near-by window. “Speaking of angels,” he broke in, “there is Tarbell, right now; coming down your office stair three steps at a jump,” and a moment later the young man in question had dashed across to the service-car and was thrusting his face in at the open window.
“Trouble, Mr. Maxwell!” he blurted out. “The ‘Plainsman’s’ just been held up and robbed at Cromarty Gulch! Connolly’s getting the wire from Corona, and he started me out to see if I could find you.”
The superintendent leaped up as if his easy-chair had been suddenly electrified.
“What’s that you say?” he demanded; “a hold-up?” Then he went into action promptly, as a trained emergency captain should. “Call Sheriff Harding on the ’phone, and tell him to rustle up a posse and report here, quick! Then get the yard office and turn me out an engine and a coach for Harding’s men. Hustle it!”
While he was closing his desk he made hurried explanation to Sprague. “It’s probably the Scott Weber gang. They held up a train on the main line over in Utah ten days ago. Come on upstairs with me and we’ll get the facts.”
When the superintendent, accompanied by his broad-shouldered guest, climbed the stair and entered the despatched office, fat, round-faced Daniel Connolly was rattling the key at the train-sheet table. He glanced up at the door opening.
“I’m mighty glad Tarbell found you,” he broke out, with a gasp of relief. “I was afraid you’d gone home.” And then he recognized the square-shouldered one: “How are you, Mr. Sprague? Glad to see you again.”
Maxwell went quickly around to the wire-table.