“Yes,” admitted Tom. “As far as it goes. That was a coward’s act—-to have a fellow’s hands tied before daring to hit him.”
Black’s face now turned livid with passion.
“Lift the fool to his feet, if he wants to stand,” ordered Black savagely. “He’s trying to make me waste my time talking to him. Operator, call up Brewster’s and ask if he held the train as ordered by wire.”
“Oho!” thought Tom. “So that’s your trick? You have the wire in your control, and you’re sending supposed train orders holding the train at a station so that it can’t get through You’re a worse scoundrel than I thought!”
Off at the edge of the brush, on the inner side, a telegraph instrument had been set up on a barrel. From the instrument a wire ran toward the track.
In another moment the sounder of the sender was clicking busily. There was a pause, then the answer came back: Click-click-click-clickety-click!
The operator, a seedy-looking fellow over whose whole appearance was written the word “worthless,” swung a lantern so that the light fell on a pad of paper before him. Pencil in hand, he took off the message as it came.
“Come over here and read it, sir?” inquired the operator.
Black crossed, bending over the sheet. Despite himself the scoundrel started. Then he moved so that the light should not fall across his face. Plainly Black was greatly disappointed. He swallowed hard, then strolled back to the main group, of which Tom was one.
“That’s the way to do business,” announced ’Gene Black, with a chuckle. “We sent fake train orders from the top of that barrel, and your own railroad operator handed the orders to the conductor of your through train. Therefore the train is switched off on to the side track at Brewster’s, and the engineer, under the false orders, is allowing his steam to cool. Now, do you believe you will get your train through tonight?”