“What has Allen got to do with it, that they mention his name in that way?” asked Myles of his friend.
“Why,” answered the operator, “didn’t you know that he was the grand mogul and recognized leader of all the strikers in these parts?”
“No, I had no idea of such a thing.”
“Well, he is; and if it hadn’t been for him we wouldn’t have got here to-night. He seems to know all about you, and he gave us permission to come out. It was only by using his name that we got through.”
At length Myles and the operator boarded their car to go back to town, to which they promised, in return for the favors shown them, to carry the news of the expected coming of the New York regiment. The return journey was a hard one. Both of them were sleepy and tired out. They were no longer borne up by the excitement that attended their outward trip, and their hands were blistered by the crank-handles. The car grew heavier and heavier as they forced it slowly up the long grades, while the miles seemed to stretch to infinity.
When they were half-way back they would have stopped for a while and taken an hour or two of sleep where they were, but, all at once, they caught sight of a dull glow overhanging the distant town that they knew must be caused by some great fire. They also thought they heard shots every now and then. Their anxiety to find out what was going on lent them new strength, and again their car hummed merrily over the rails.
As they approached the town they met several small parties of men, who shouted to them to stop, and once a pistol-bullet whizzed by unpleasantly close to them, but they dashed forward without paying any attention to these orders.
At last they rolled into the railroad yard and stepped wearily from their car, only to be arrested by two soldiers, who said they must appear before Lieutenant Easter and give an account of themselves.