“It’s Tiffany.—Good evening, Mr. Tiffany.”
“How are you, boys? Paul here?”
“Why, no, Mr. Tiffany. He’s up on ‘mile 109.’”
“‘Mile 109!’” Tiffany whistled. “What the devil! You don’t mean that those—” he paused.
“Commodore Durfee’s at Red Hills, you know,” said Young Van.
“The —— he is!”
“And he’s sent a force to hold the west bank of the La Paz.”
By this time the chief engineer of the S. & W. had got his big frame to the ground. He bore unmistakable evidences of long and hard riding. Even in that dim light they could see that his face was seamed with the marks of exhaustion.
“Haven’t got a wee bit drappie, have you?” he asked.