the recollection of the escapade Alex laughed heartily. Nevertheless
he promptly replied, "OK, sir. I won't touch a thing." And the despatcher
saying nothing more, he began calling Bixton.

"I'm here, Dad," he announced when his father answered; "and it's a fine
little place. The woods come almost up to the back of the station, and
the nearest house is a mile away. That's where I am to board. The other
operator arranged it. It's going to be a regular little picnic."

"That's nice," ticked the sounder. "I thought you would like it." And
then Alex again laughed as his father added, "And now, no tinkering with
things, my boy! Remember!"

"OK, Dad. I won't touch a thing. Good-by."

It was the following Monday that the "all agents" message was sent over
the wire announcing an unusually heavy shipment of gold from the Black
Hill Mines, and warning station agents and operators to look out for and
report any suspicious persons about their stations. But these messages,
usually following hold-ups on other roads, had been intermittently sent
for years, and nothing had happened on the Middle Western; and in his
turn Alex gave his "OK," and thought nothing more about it.

A half hour later he sat at the open window of the telegraph room, deeply
interested in the July St. Nicholas--so interested, indeed, that he did
not hear soft footfalls on the station platform without. The man came
quietly nearer--reached the window. Then suddenly Alex glanced up, the
magazine fell to the floor, and with a loud cry he sprang to his feet.

He was gazing into the barrel of a revolver, and behind it was a
black-masked face!

Hold-up men! The gold train!

Wildly Alex turned toward the telegraph-key. But the man leaned quickly
forward, seized him by the shoulder, and threw him heavily back into the
chair. "You move again and I'll shoot!" he said sharply, and Alex sank
back helpless.

Yes; hold-up men. And he had betrayed his trust. Betrayed his trust! That
thought stood out even above his terror. Oh, if he had only kept a
lookout!

[Illustration: HE WAS GAZING INTO THE BARREL OF A REVOLVER.]

The man, who had said nothing further, presently withdrew the revolver
and took a comfortable seat on the window-ledge. As the silence
continued, Alex began somewhat to recover himself, and fell to wondering
what the other bandits were doing while this man was watching him.

A few moments later the answer came in a single upward click from the
instru