“I understand, Nick, and will be governed accordingly,” Chick assured him. “But what are your own designs?”
“I’m going to board that express car at North Dayton,” said Nick, with rather grim intonation. “I’ll contrive to do so in a way that will occasion no misgivings, even if I am seen by some of the gang.”
“And then?”
“Predictions beyond that point would be speculative. I will make only one. If Cady proves to be the man of nerve and courage ascribed to him by President Burdick—well, in that case, Chick, if this bunch of bandits gets away with the money, I’ll chuck my vocation and open an old man’s home.”
Chick Carter laughed.
CHAPTER IV.
THE REAL SUBSTITUTE.
It was a clear night with a myriad of stars in the sky. The silver crescent of a quarter moon had sunk below the wooded hills in the west. A chill from the distant mountains was in the air, though but little wind was stirring.
The midnight stillness of the rural country south of North Dayton, where the lofty signal tower loomed up at the junction of the western division of the S. & O. Railway, was broken only by the frequent croakings of frogs in a swamp east of the tracks, or the occasional cry of some night bird circling overhead.
The N. D. tower, as it was known on the wire, was in a lonely locality. Trains stopped there only for water, or in response to the signal lights, which changed from green and red to white when the night operator, Tom Denny, worked the huge levers in the tower chamber.
He was seated at his telegraph stand shortly before twelve on that eventful night, a compact, muscular man of middle age. A revolver was lying near the instrument.