Now was Ralph's hour of triumph and he could not refrain from smiling to himself. Dorsett noticed it and thrashed about like a madman. He did not assault the quiet unpretentious lad who held him and his scowling myrmidons at bay, but he looked as if he would like to have done so. Finally Dorsett quieted down. He drew the constable to one side of the room and they held a rapid consultation. Then the constable's assistant was beckoned to join them, and later two of Dorsett's allies. This trio left the office instructed by the constable to hasten to the magistrate in the next township who had issued the replevin writ, and secure a broader document for possession of the premises. Calm fell over the place at their departure. Meantime the furnaces at the rear of the plant roared on merrily, and Ralph mentally calculated how long it would be before they cooled down and Dorsett got his itching fingers in play to cripple and destroy. Perhaps an hour went by. The marauding party was lounging and dozing. Ralph bent his ear to listen as a locomotive whistle in the distance told of the passage of a train from the north. The young dispatcher knew the schedule like a book. No train was due till daybreak. A second outburst of tooting signals informed and electrified him. "A special!" he murmured, fired up magically. "Can it be possible--" Ralph paused there, checking the wild thoughts, or rather hopes, that thronged his mind. He was thinking of the belated lawyer as well as of the old telegraph operator. The office clock gave out three sharp strokes as there was a commotion. Some one tried the door. It was not locked and opened at the touch. Ralph jumped to his feet with an irrepressible cry of gladness. Two men entered. One was the old headquarters dispatcher, Glidden. His companion, a peaked faced, shrewd eyed man, Ralph intuitively accepted as the Derby lawyer. "Hello!" shot out the latter spicily--"visitors, friends. How's this, Dorsett?" "We've come to stay, that's how it is," growled out the man addressed. "I think not," spoke up Ralph quickly. "They have stolen a march on you, Mr. Glidden. They came with a replevin writ, found it of no effect, and have now sent to some renegade justice outside of the township for a writ of possession." "Have, eh?" said the lawyer. "Well, I fancy they won't use it. Here, you, constable--what's your authority?" "Demand--four thousand one seventy-seven ninety-eight," pronounced the official, waving a document. "How is it, Mr. Glidden?" inquired the lawyer. The old dispatcher rammed his hand in his shirt and drew out a formidable roll of bank notes. "I've got thirty five hundred here," he said. "Fairbanks has a thousand." "I left it in the safe up at your house," explained Ralph to the lawyer. "All right, I guess my check is good for that balance, eh, constable?" "Yes, surely," answered the officer obsequiously, thinking of further legal business.