“For the want of a nail the shoe was lost;
For the want of the shoe the horse was lost;
For the want of the horse the rider was lost;
For the want of the rider the battle was lost;
And all—”
He stopped and looked out. A partly clad figure was hurrying by toward the shelter that covered the telegraph instruments.
“There he goes now. I’m a little bothered, Gus. It would be a humorous sort of a joke on me if I should be held up now for a little firewood.”
“I suppose we couldn’t cut up ties?” suggested Young Van.
“Can’t spare ’em. I’ve ordered wood from Red Hills, but we shan’t be able to pick up enough there. And if we don’t get some pretty soon, the engines will have to stop.”
Young Van took down a letter file and glanced through it. In a moment he had drawn out a recent message from Peet. “Here,” he said, “Mr. Peet promised to have a big lot of wood on the way by to-day. That leaves some margin for delays.”