Carhart rose, and nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “but not margin enough.”
“You expect something to happen right off?”
“Couldn’t say to that. But my bones feel queer to-night—have felt queer all day. Tiffany writes that Bourke, who is in charge of the H. D. & W. construction, was in Sherman the other day. And Commodore Durfee was expected at Red Hills a week ago. Well,—” He shrugged his shoulders and went out and over to join the operator.
“We’ll try to get the man on the next division,” said Carhart. “Ask him if the line is clear all the way.”
The operator extended his hand to send the message, but checked it in midair. “Why,” he exclaimed, “he is calling us!” He looked up prepared to see surprise equal to his own on Carhart’s face. But what he did see there mystified him. The chief was slowly nodding. He could not say that he had expected this call,—the thing was a coincidence,—and yet he was not at all surprised.
“‘Trouble on Barker Hills division—’” The operator was repeating as the instrument clicked.
“That’s a hundred miles or so back—”
“Hundred and thirty-eight. ‘Operator on middle division,’ he says, ‘wires fifty men trying to seize station—has notified Sherman—assistance promised. Big armed force Barker Hills led by large man with red mustache—’”
“That’s Bourke himself,” muttered Carhart.
The operator’s hand shook a little. His eyes were shining. “Here’s some more, Mr. Carhart,—‘Have tried to hold my station, but—’”