But still it continued to tap out the one word. The agent bit down on his pipestem and swore to himself. Then the sounder awoke anew.
“H-e-l-p h-o-l-d-u-p p-r-i-v-a-t-e c-a-r h-e-l-p.”
The agent snapped to his feet. He had seen the private car at the rear of that freight, and he knew well who James Worthington Steele was. There was a holdup. Some one was robbing the private car!
He opened his key and called Mesquite City. Had the freight reached there? It had not. The agent asked him if he had heard the call for help.
“Been out to eat,” replied the Mesquite operator. “Heard J. W. Steele sending before I left. The freight is stuck about two miles from San Rego.”
The agent whirled from his desk and ran outside. Around the corner he went and almost fell over Slim, who grunted and got to his feet. The agent was a quick thinker.
“Slim, where’s your horse?”
“Right there.” Slim pointed at a long-legged sorrel, tied to a ring in the rear platform. “What’s the matter?”
“Did you see that private car on that freight that——”
“Yeah, I seen it.” Slim was sarcastic.