Part 20 (2/2)

On the first night of his convalescence, P. Walton had a visitor--in the person of Larry, the brains and leader of the gang. Larry did not come inside the shack--he waited outside in the dark until P. Walton went out to him.

”Hullo, Dook!” said Larry. ”Tough luck, eh? Been sick? Gee, I'm glad to see you! All to the mustard again? Couldn't get into town before, but a fellow uptown said you'd been bad.”

”h.e.l.lo, Larry,” returned P. Walton, and he shook the other's hand cordially. ”Glad to see you, too. Yes; I guess I'm all right--till next time.”

”Sure, you are!” said Larry heartily. ”Anything good doing?”

”Well,” said P. Walton, ”I don't know whether you'd call it good or not, but there was a new order went into effect yesterday to remain in force until further notice--owing to the heavy pa.s.senger traffic. They are taking the mail and express cars off the regular afternoon east-bound trains, and running them as a through extra on fast time.

They figure to land the mails East quicker, and ease up on the equipment of the regular trains so as to keep them a little nearer schedule. So now the express stuff comes along on Extra No. 34, due Spider Cut at eight-seventeen p. m., which is her last stop before Big Cloud.”

”Say,” said Larry dubiously, ”'taint going to be possible to board a train like that casual-like, is it?” Then, brightening suddenly: ”But say, when you get to thinking about it, it don't size up so bad, neither. I got the lay, Dook--I got it for fair--listen! Instead of a train-load of pa.s.sengers to handle there won't be no one after the ditching but what's left of the train crew and the mail clerks; a couple of us can stand the stamp lickers up easy, while the two others pinches the swag. We'll stop her, all right! We ditch the train--see?

There's a peach of a place for it about seven miles up the line from here. We tap the wires, Big Tom's some cheese at that, and then cuts them as soon as we know the train has pa.s.sed Spider Cut, and is wafting its way toward us. Say, it's good, Dook, it's like a Christmas present--I was near forgetting the registered mail.”

P. Walton laughed--and coughed.

”I guess it's all right, Larry,” he said. ”According to a letter I saw in the office this afternoon, there's a big s.h.i.+pment of banknotes that some bank is remitting, and that will be on board night after next.”

”Say that again,” said Larry, sucking in his breath quickly. ”I ain't deaf, but I'd like to hear it just once more.”

”I was thinking,” said P. Walton, more to himself than to his companion, ”that I'd like to get down to Northern Australia--up Queensland way. They say it's good for what ails me--bakes it out of one.”

”Dook,” said Larry, shoving out his hand, ”you can buy your ticket the day after the night after next--you'll get yours, and don't you forget it, I'll see to that. We'll move camp to-morrow down handy to the place I told you about, and get things ready. And say, Dook, is that cuss Nulty on the new run?”

”I don't know anything about Nulty,” said P. Walton.

”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 pa.s.ses 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 a.s.siduously 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.

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