Your man Montague Smith is here, known as John Smith, secretary
and treasurer Timanyoni High Line Company. Wire authority quick
to chief police Brewster for his arrest and send deputy with
requisition. Rush or you lose him.
CRAWFORD STANTON.
He let the boy go with this, but immediately set to work on another
which was addressed to the great man whose private car, returning from
the Pacific Coast, was due to reach Denver by the evening Union Pacific
train. This second message he translated laboriously into cipher,
working it out word by word from a worn code book taken from the safe.
But the copy from which he translated, and which, after the cipher was
made, he carefully destroyed, read thus:
The obstacle is removed. M'Graw and his men will take
possession to-night and hold until we can make the turn.
Stanton.
XXIX
The Flesh-Pots of Egypt
Convinced by Verda Richlander's telephone message to the construction
camp that he stood in no immediate danger, Smith spent the heel of the
afternoon in the High Line offices, keeping in wire touch with
Stillings, whom he had sent on a secret mission to Red Butte, and with
Williams at the dam.
Colonel Baldwin, as he learned from Martin, had gone to attend the
funeral of one of his neighbors, and was thus, for the moment, out of
reach. Smith told himself that the colonel's presence or absence made
little difference. The High Line enterprise was on the knees of the
gods. If Williams could pull through in time, if the river-swelling
storms should hold off, if Stanton should delay his final raid past the
critical hour--and there was now good reason to hope that all of these
contingencies were probable--the victory was practically won.
But in another field the fighting secretary, denying himself in the
privacy of his office to everybody but Martin, found small matter for
rejoicing. It was one of life's ironies that the metamorphosis which had
shown him, among other things, the heights and depths of a pure
sentiment had apparently deprived him of the power to awaken it in the
woman he loved.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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