"Young man, I think I told you once before that your legs were altogether too active. I want you to light right out of here—skip!"
"Not for a million dollars. Our meeting is highly opportune, Cookie. It's not for me to fly in the face of Providence. I'm going to see what's doing down here."
"All right," replied Cooke. "Take it all in and enjoy yourself; but you're my prisoner."
"Oh, that will be all right! So long as I'm with you I can't lose out."
"March!" called Cooke, dropping behind; and thus the two came in a few minutes to the engine, the cars and the caboose. From the locomotive a slight smoke still trailed hazily upward.
Thomas Ardmore, coatless and hatless, sat on the caboose steps writing messages on a broad pad, while a telegraph instrument clicked busily within. One of his men had qualified as operator and a pile of messages at his elbow testified to Ardmore's industry. Ardmore clutched in his left hand a message recently caught from the wire which he re-read from time to time with increasing satisfaction. It had been sent from Ardsley and ran:
I shall ride to-night on the road that leads south beyond the red bungalow, and on the bridle-path that climbs the ridge on the west, called Sunset Trail. A certain English gentleman will accompany me. It will be perfectly agreeable to me to come back alone.
G. D.
Ardmore was still writing when Cooke stood beneath him under the caboose platform.