As quickly as possible they backed to the spur, where they picked up the rest of the train. The wheezy conductor was almost incoherent, acting as though the engineer was personally to blame for running away without the rest of the train.
They did not need a flag to stop them at Red Arrow. The lethargic telegraph operator woke up and fairly burned up the wires, while another man ran down the street to the sheriff’s office, where he hammered on the door.
“Git away fr-rom there, ye dr-r-runken bum!” wailed the sleepy voice of Scotty McKay. “Don’t ye know a jail when ye see one?”
“The Overland train has just been held up!” yelled the man outside.
“Aye—by the Red Arrow bridge,” grunted Scotty, who thought a smart cowboy was trying to be funny. “Git away fr-rom that door before I——”
“I’m not kiddin’ yuh, Scotty! This is Dan Shipley. I tell yuh, there’s been a holdup.”
“Chuck! Wake up, ye sleepin’ angel! Don’t ye hear the man yellin’ bad news? Git up and find Slim, can’t ye?”
“What the hell is wrong with yuh, yuh kilt-wearin’ bog-trotter?” demanded Chuck Ring sleepily. “Lemme ’lone.”
“Where’ll I find Slim Caldwell?” asked Shipley anxiously.
“Sweatin’ blood at the Red Arrow Saloon,” grunted Scotty. “He was seven dollars loser when I left him.”