“You are probably more than a match for me physically, Mr. Wentworth,” he said, “but if you undertake anything of that kind you will meet with a determined resistance.”
And as Wentworth looked into the boy’s resolute face he quite understood that he spoke only the truth.
“No,” he said, after a brief pause, “I will bide my time. You may repent of your folly and decide to come to terms with me. If you don’t——”
He did not finish the sentence, for a man on horseback came galloping up to the cabin. He checked his horse, and said inquiringly, “Is this Mr. Bradley Wentworth?”
“I am he,” answered Wentworth, rising.
“Then here is a telegram for you. It came to Denver, and I have ridden seventy miles to bring it to you.”
Wentworth tore open the message. It contained these words:
“Come home at once. The men are on strike. I can do nothing without your authority.
“Morgan.”