tle platform, and turned toward the town.

Yes! Through the trees the station lamps were plainly visible! With a cry
of delight Alex at once set about carrying out his inspiration. Quickly
trimming the lantern wick, he lit it, with his handkerchief tied it to
the semaphore arm, and turned it so that the bull's-eye pointed toward
the station.

Then, catching off his cap, he held it over the bull's-eye, and
alternately covering and uncovering the stream of light, began flashing
across the darkness signals that corresponded with the telegraphic call
of the Bixton station.

"BX," he flashed. "BX, BX, BX!

"BX, BX--AW (his private sign)! BX, BX, AW!"

The station lights streamed on.

"Qk! Qk! BX, BX!" called Alex.

His right hand tired, and he changed to the left. "Surely they should be
on the lookout for me, and see it," he told himself. "For when I go
fishing I am always home at--"

One of the station lights disappeared. Breathlessly Alex repeated his
call, and waited. Was it merely some one pulling down a blind, or--

The light appeared again, then disappeared, several times in quick
succession, and Alex uttered a joyful "Hurrah!" and turning his whole
attention to the lamp, that the signals might be perfect, began flashing
across the night his thrilling message of warning:

"THE FOREIGN TRACK HANDS--"

From a short distance down the spur came a shout. Startled, Alex
hesitated. Again came a cry, then the sound of swiftly running feet.

He had been discovered! In a panic Alex turned and began to scramble down
the ladder. But sharply he pulled up. No! That would be playing the
coward! He must complete the message! And bravely choking down his
terror, he climbed back onto the platform, and while the running feet and
threatening cries came nearer every moment, continued his message:

"HANDS ARE--"

"Stop dat! Queek! I shoot! I shoot!" cried the voice of Big Tony,
immediately below him. Again for a moment Alex quailed, then again went
bravely on, while the old semaphore rocked and swayed as the enraged
Italian threw himself at it and scrambled up toward him.

"GOING TO RUN--"

With a plunge the big trackman reached up and caught him by the ankle,
wrenched him back from the lantern, and clambered up beside him. Catching
the light off the semaphore arm, he thrust it into the boy's face. "O
ho!" he exclaimed. "So it you, da station-man boy, eh? An' you da one
whata help Hennessy get away, eh?

"An' whata now