"Well, I hope he is," said Larry, with a fervent oath. "We're going to cut the heart out of him for what he did to Spud. The Butcher was for coming into town and putting a bullet through him anyway, but I'm not for throwing the game. It won't hurt Spud's memory any to wait a bit, and we won't lose any enthusiasm by the delay, you can bet your life on that! And now I guess I'll mosey along. The less I'm seen around here the better. Well, so long, Dook--I got it straight, eh? Night after to-morrow, train passes Spider Cut eight-seventeen--that right?" "Eight-seventeen--night after to-morrow--yes," said P. Walton. "Good luck to you, Larry." "Same to you, Dook," said Larry--and slipped away in the shadows. P. Walton went uptown to sit for an hour or two with Nulty--turn about being no more than fair play. Also on the following night he did the same--and on this latter occasion he took the opportunity, when Mrs. Nulty wasn't around to hear and worry about it, to turn the conversation on the hold-up, after leading up to it casually. "When you get out and back on your run again, Nulty, I'd keep a sharp look-out for that fellow whose pal you shot," he said. "You can trust me for that," said Nulty anxiously. "I'll bet he wouldn't get away a second time!" "Unless he saw you first," amended P. Walton evenly. "There's probably more where those two came from--a gang of them, I dare say. They'll have it in for you, Nulty." "Don't you worry none about me," said Nulty, and his jaw shot out. "I'm able to take care of myself." "Oh, well," said P. Walton, "I'm just warning you, that's all. Anyway, there isn't any immediate need for worry. I guess you're safe enough--so long as you stay in bed." The next day P. Walton worked assiduously at the office. If excitement or nervousness in regard to the events of the night that was to come was in any wise his portion, he did not show it. There was not a quiver in the steel-plate hand in which he wrote the super's letters, not even an inadvertent blur on the tissue pages of the book in which he copied them. Only, perhaps, he worked a little more slowly--his work wasn't done when the shop whistle blew and he came back to the office after supper. It was close on ten minutes after eight when he finally finished, and went into the despatcher's room with the sheaf of official telegrams to go East during the night at odd moments when the wires were light. "Here's the super's stuff," he said, laying the papers on the despatcher's desk. "All right," said Spence, who was sitting in on the early trick. "How's P. Walton to-night?" "Pretty fair," said P. Walton, with a smile. "How's everything moving?" "Slick as clockwork," Spence answered. "Everything on the dot. I'll get some of that stuff off for you now." "Good," said P. Walton, moving toward the door. "Good-night, Spence."