As I’ve already said, I haven’t a good temper, and when he told me that I couldn’t help retorting,—
“That’s quite on a par with most G. S. methods.”
“I’m not speaking for the G. S., young man,” roared Mr. Camp. “I speak as a director of the Kansas & Arizona. What is more, I will have those letters inside of twenty-four hours.”
He made an angry exit, and I said to Fred, “I wish you would stroll about and spy out the proceedings of the enemy’s camp. He may telegraph to Washington, and if there’s any chance of the Postmaster-General revoking his order I must go back to Flagstaff on No. 4 this afternoon.”
“He sha’n’t do anything that I don’t know about till he goes to bed,” Fred promised. “But how the deuce did he know that you had those letters?”
That was just what we were all puzzling over, for only the occupants of No. 218 and myself, so far as I knew, were in a position to let Mr. Camp hear of that fact.
As Fred made his exit he said, “Don’t tell Madge that there is a new complication, for the dear girl has had worries enough already.”
Miss Cullen not rejoining us, and Lord Ralles presently doing so, I went to my own car, for he and I were not good furniture for the same room. Before I had been there long, Fred came rushing in.
“Camp and Baldwin have been in consultation with a lawyer,” he said, “and now the three have just boarded those cars,” pointing out the window at the branch-line train that was to leave for Phœnix in two minutes.
“You must go with them,” I urged, “and keep us informed as to what they do, for they evidently are going to set the law on us, and the G. S. has always owned the Territorial judges, so they’ll stretch a point to oblige them.”