Gordon was sitting up. His cigar was removed from the corner of his mouth and held poised over an ash-tray. There was a sharp look of inquiry in his eyes.
"What's the President of the Union Grayling and Ukataw Railroad got to do with it?" he demanded quickly.
The rancher raised his heavy brows.
"This is a branch of his road, I guess."
"A—a branch?" Gordon's breath was coming rapidly.
"Sure. You see, it's a branch linking up with the Southern Trunk route. It runs into the Grayling line where it enters the Rockies. That's how you make the coast this way."
"And this—is part of the Union Grayling system?" Gordon persisted, his blue eyes getting bigger and bigger with excitement.
"Sure," nodded Mallinsbee, watching him closely.
Then the explosion came. Gordon could contain himself no longer. He flung his newly lit dollar-and-a-half cigar on the floor with all the force of pent feelings and leaped to his feet.
"Great Scott!" he cried. "The President of that road is my father!"