of tongues, set free from fear, buzzed eagerly. The glow of the
afterclap of danger was on them, and in the warm excitement each
forgot the paralyzing fear that had but now padlocked his lips.
Courage came flowing back into flabby cheeks and red blood into
hearts of water.

At the next station the Limited stopped, and the conductor swung
from a car before the wheels had ceased rolling and went running
into the telegraph office.

"Fire a message through for me, Pat. The Limited has been held
up," he announced.

"Held up?" gasped the operator.

"That's right. Get this message right through to Sabin. I'm not
going to wait for an answer. Tell him I'll stop at Apache for
further instructions."

With which the conductor was out again waving his lantern as a
signal for the train to start. Sheriff Collins and Major
Mackenzie had entered the office at his heels. They too had
messages to send, but it was not until the train was already
plunging into the night that the station agent read the yellow
slips they had left and observed that both of them went to the
same person.

"Lieutenant Bucky O'Connor, Douglas, Arizona," was the address he
read at the top of each. His comment serves to show the opinion
generally in the sunburned territory respecting one of its