Suddenly remembrance came to Will.
"Isn't your aunt's uncle engaged in the administration?" he asked the station-master.
"My mother's cousin, señor. I was not aware that you knew it."
"Then please will you send a message to your mother's cousin and see whether he cannot bring us to the Jefe," said Will, stifling a temptation to shake the man.
"But he is a high official, señor; he may be displeased."
"Good heavens! Don't you see it's the chance of your life! You are the man who sent the warning telegram from Santa Marta. Get your mother's cousin to take you to the Jefe: he may make you superintendent of the line."
This vision of glory was sufficiently dazzling to overcome the station-master's reluctance to trouble his relative. Mentioning the official's name, he was led along a corridor and ushered into his presence. A few words explained his errand; then the assistant secretary said he would certainly introduce him to the Jefe as the man whose timely warning had been so valuable. Will accompanied them to the room in which the Jefe sat, among a throng of officers. The assistant secretary presented his relative, magnifying his promptitude and zeal for the State. The Jefe embraced him: then, recognizing Will, gave him a finger.
"The Republic thanks you, señor," he said to the station-master; "the President will reward you. Your warning gave us time to blow up the culvert, and if I can hold the rebel Colonel Orellana at bay, I may be able to vanquish General Carabaño himself. By a malign stroke of fate, scarcely an hour before I received your message, three hundred of my best troops left by steamer for Caracas, sadly reducing my garrison."
"Did you not receive a telegram from Caracas ordering the dispatch of these reinforcements, Excellency?" asked Will.
"That is true, señor," replied the Jefe, with a look of surprise.