“Just copy that, if you will, and I’ll tell you what to add.” “But, man alive! have we got to sit here and fool with red tape when every minute may be worth a dozen lives?” “It isn’t so bad as all that,” said Antrim soberly enough. “The train can’t get past Lone Pine without orders for this division. But I’m a ruined man if Disbrow doesn’t get that letter before Lone Pine calls him up. Don’t you see?” “No, I don’t.” “Then I’ll explain. The general manager is on that train, and he wired me this morning for regardless orders over this division. I answered that they would be given--and they haven’t been. If there is a balk at Lone Pine, every operator on the line will know that some one has fallen down, and you can trust the general manager to find out who that some one is. And when he finds out, I’m done.” “I see,” said Brant, and forthwith he turned and fell upon the typewriter. When he had written to the break in the unfinished letter, Antrim dictated: “Will reach Lone Pine Junction between nine and ten this P. M., and you will arrange to give it right of way to Denver over all other trains.” Brant finished with a flourish and jerked the sheet out of the rolls. “Can you make out to sign it?” he asked. “I guess so,” responded the chief clerk, and he dipped his pen and made the supposition good, though with no little difficulty. “Now, if you will copy it in that book and tell me how I’m to get it to Disbrow at this late hour without giving myself away, we’ll see what comes of it.” Brant took an impression of the letter, laying his plans meanwhile. “Can’t trust Disbrow, I suppose?” he asked. “Yes; but he will hold it over me.” “Then we won’t give him a chance. Let me have an envelope.” When the letter was inclosed and addressed, Brant told the chief clerk to sit still and wait for him. He was back in a few minutes, and Antrim had not to ask if his errand had been successful. “How did you manage it?” he queried. “Never you mind about that. I got two letters to-day in the train mail that didn’t belong in our office.” “Oh. What did Disbrow say?” “Nothing much. Swore a little on general principles, and said it was lucky I found it before the old man had time to raise Cain. It took me longer because I had to go and bake it over a gas jet; it was wet, you know.” Antrim swallowed a lump in his throat and pulled himself together to meet the demands of the occasion. “Brant, you have played the Good Samaritan to-night, if you never did before. You have pulled me out of the deepest hole I ever got into.” “No, I haven’t; but I am going to. Now tell me how the thing happened.” Antrim told the story of the day’s miseries, concluding with the curious experience in the darkness. “It’s all plain enough but the miracle, and that is beyond me,” he confessed. “Did I know what I was about? or was I beginning to ‘see things’?”