William Rosencamp.
The operator, with the telegram in his hand, went out at the door and looked up the canal. As he did so he saw bearing down upon him a gray horse ridden by a boy. It was Joe with Old Charlie.
Both boy and horse were splashed with mud, and bore evidence of having come far and fast through the night.
The operator stepped quickly out upon the tow-path, and threw up his hand, with the telegram still fluttering in it.
“Stop!” he shouted. “Hold up, there!”
Joe reined in Old Charlie, and the young man seized the improvised bridle.
“Where are you going with this horse?” he asked.
“Home,” replied Joe, promptly.
“Isn’t this Bill Rosencamp’s horse?”