"Now for the other one," Glidden had said. This meant a good deal. The "other one" was the real pay car, loaded with real treasure. To checkmate any possible attack, the railroad officials with great secrecy had loaded up an ordinary baggage car with the pay safes and bullion in transit for banks. It was proposed to distribute this in parcels at section centers out of the usual routine. So far it looked as if it would be smooth sailing except for the snow storm. No. 83 was reported as having passed over one hundred miles on the route. There was a train hand on guard on the front platform of the car and two guards inside, according to the advices Ralph had received. The impromptu pay car had been hitched to the rear of a long train of milk cars. This had been done because she was to be switched at four different points before she reached Stanley Junction. The pay safes had been boxed up and burlapped, giving the appearance of ordinary freight. There was some inconsequential messages during the ensuing half hour. Then a chance to tally on the route card on Ralph's table as No. 83 was reported to have passed Fletcher, one hundred and twenty-five miles out of Rockton. Then the commercial wire slowed down for a spell. The operator got up, stretching his cramped fingers. "Snow two feet on the level at Rockton," he reported, "and coming down like an avalanche. Why don't they send me 30? I've got the grist up to 29. Hello, here she comes. No, she don't. Another item." The operator jumped to his instrument and began to flimsy the message. Ralph arose sharply from his chair. He had lost most of the message, but one part of it had caught his hearing. It startled him, for a name had tapped out clear and distinct, a familiar name--Glen Palmer. CHAPTER XXVI AN AMAZING ANNOUNCEMENT The press operator rapidly wrote out the message coming over the wire, took the finished sheet, folded it, and sent it down a chute. This led to the room below where messengers were waiting for the service. The duplicate sheet he slipped over a spindle. Ralph hurriedly reached his side. "Let me look at that last flimsy, will you?" "Cert," bobbed the accommodating operator, handing it to Ralph. The latter read the hurriedly traced lines with a falling face. "That's my 30," announced the operator, shutting off his key and arising to drop work for the night. Ralph paid no attention to him. The young railroader was conscious of a decidedly painful impression. He had heard nothing of Glen Palmer or his grandfather since the night the jumbled up "Look out for the pay car" telegram had arrived. Ralph, however, had frequently thought of the lad whom he had started in at the chicken farm. Young Palmer had been disappointing. All along the line Ralph had to admit this. Once in a while, however, when he realized the lonely bedouin-like existence of Glen, certain pity and indulgence were evoked. Now, however, a grave, hurt look came into Ralph's eyes.