CHAPTER XXIII
AT Buckhorn Junction, Joe Durks, who combined the duties of telegraph operator with those of baggage-master and ticket-agent, was at his table receiving a message when Dan Oakley walked into the office. He had just stepped from the Chicago express.
“What's the latest word from Antioch, Joe?” he asked, hurriedly.
“How are you, Mr. Oakley? I got Antioch now.”
“What do they say?”
“They are asking help.”
The metallic clicking of the instrument before him ceased abruptly.
“What's wrong, anyhow?” He pushed back his chair and came slowly to his feet His finger was still on the key. He tried again to call up Antioch. “They are cut off. I guess the wire is down.”
The two men stared at each other in silence.