"They're bad, sure," assented his companion, and they continued to discuss ranching until Mr. Oliver finally rose and said he would walk across to the depot. The boys followed him a few paces behind. Harry addressed his companion with a look of admiration for his father. "I guess you noticed how dad found out about those fellows without letting the man think he was curious?" he said. Frank said that he had noticed it and added: "I wonder what the fellow came up from the South for?" "That," said Harry significantly, "is a point I expect dad's doing some hard thinking on just now." They walked into the agent's office and sat down to wait as he told them that he had as yet received no answer to the telegram. The door near which Frank sat stood partly open, and he noticed that the two men were lounging close outside it. He quietly touched Mr. Oliver's arm, indicating them with a glance. The rancher knitted his brows and presently spoke to the agent. "There are two men who seem to be waiting for you outside," he said. The agent walked across to the door. "Back again, Larry!" he said impatiently. "What's the matter now?" "When's that fish box of mine coming along?" the man inquired. "I don't know," said the agent. "Next freight, most likely, if it's been delivered to us at the other end." "Won't you wire up the line about it?" "No," said the agent. "If you'll put up the stamps I'll wire to the fish store you billed it to." The man looked indignant. "I tell you it's in the railroad's hands. Do you think I've nothing better to do than hang about this depot every time a freight comes through?" He paused a moment with his eyes on the ground, then went on: "Anyway, now I'm on the spot I may as well wait for the next one. She should be along in about an hour. Won't you let me in?" The telegraph instrument began to click just then and the agent turned toward him sharply. "There's no room. You can wait at the hotel." "Perhaps the message is about his box," broke in the other man. Frank glanced around at them. They were dressed like most of the bush choppers in rough working clothes and there was nothing particularly noticeable in their appearance, but he fancied that they had some reason for wishing to get into the office. "No, sir," said the agent. "They don't wire about the delivery of an empty box on this road. Get out! I want to shut the door." Frank noticed that one of the loungers had thrust his foot against the post, but the agent, seeming to lose his temper, slammed the door on it. The man withdrew it with an exclamation, and the agent turned toward the instrument which was now clicking rapidly. He tapped an answering signal, and then wrote upon a strip of paper which he handed Mr. Oliver. The latter read the message and handed it to the boys. "_First route unsatisfactory second preferred_," it ran. "_Meet me nine to-night Everett if possible._"