Young Van left the tent at once. When he returned, after rousing the sleepy operator, he observed that the chief was still deep in thought. “All right,” said Young Van; “he’s getting up.” “Much obliged, Gus.” Carhart started to resume his mending, then lowered his needle. “And all for the want of a horseshoe nail,” he hummed softly. Young Van, more puzzled than before, looked up from a heap of papers which had drawn his attention. Carhart smiled a little. “You remember?” he said,-- “For the want of a nail the shoe was lost; For the want of the shoe the horse was lost; For the want of the horse the rider was lost; For the want of the rider the battle was lost; And all--” He stopped and looked out. A partly clad figure was hurrying by toward the shelter that covered the telegraph instruments. “There he goes now. I’m a little bothered, Gus. It would be a humorous sort of a joke on me if I should be held up now for a little firewood.” “I suppose we couldn’t cut up ties?” suggested Young Van. “Can’t spare ’em. I’ve ordered wood from Red Hills, but we shan’t be able to pick up enough there. And if we don’t get some pretty soon, the engines will have to stop.” Young Van took down a letter file and glanced through it. In a moment he had drawn out a recent message from Peet. “Here,” he said, “Mr. Peet promised to have a big lot of wood on the way by to-day. That leaves some margin for delays.” Carhart rose, and nodded. “Yes,” he replied, “but not margin enough.” “You expect something to happen right off?” “Couldn’t say to that. But my bones feel queer to-night--have felt queer all day. Tiffany writes that Bourke, who is in charge of the H. D. & W. construction, was in Sherman the other day. And Commodore Durfee was expected at Red Hills a week ago. Well,--” He shrugged his shoulders and went out and over to join the operator. “We’ll try to get the man on the next division,” said Carhart. “Ask him if the line is clear all the way.” The operator extended his hand to send the message, but checked it in midair. “Why,” he exclaimed, “he is calling us!” He looked up prepared to see surprise equal to his own on Carhart’s face. But what he did see there mystified him. The chief was slowly nodding. He could not say that he had expected this call,--the thing was a coincidence,--and yet he was not at all surprised. “‘Trouble on Barker Hills division--’” The operator was repeating as the instrument clicked. “That’s a hundred miles or so back--” “Hundred and thirty-eight. ‘Operator on middle division,’ he says, ‘wires fifty men trying to seize station--has notified Sherman--assistance promised. Big armed force Barker Hills led by large man with red mustache--’” “That’s Bourke himself,” muttered Carhart. The operator’s hand shook a little. His eyes were shining. “Here’s some more, Mr. Carhart,--‘Have tried to hold my station, but--’” “Wait,” cried the chief, sharply. “Quick--say this: ‘Has supply train passed west to-day?’”