e depths of the wild country. Not even a flag station! Not even
used by section men! Deserted, abandoned!

And there was no operator here!--nobody who could come to her
assistance!

Cristy sank upon the rotting boards, trembling and sick at heart. Her
long walk had been for nothing. She was still miles and miles and
miles from the goal, with no possible chance of making the distance
with an ankle which was swollen now and becoming very painful.

Wet and chilled through, miserable and dazed, she crouched in a huddle
of fear. She was utterly alone, miles from help of any sort. The
silence throbbed, it was so deep. She imagined faces again, grinning
at her from the blackness--the leering faces of Nickleby and others;
her father's, pleading; the working people's, the disappointed face of
Philip Kendrick! The hour was late already and all the issues which
hung at stake----?

"Oh, what can I do? Whatever can I do?" she sobbed.

But the night held no answer to her despair.

CHAPTER XXV

EVERY MAN FOR HIMSELF

The little sweet-toned French clock that stood on the mantel above the
fireplace in the library chimed the half hour after midnight as the
Honorable Milton Waring replenished the decanter and pried the cap from
a fresh bottle of plain soda.

"Even if all the servants have been dismissed for the night, that is no
reason why we can't have another little drink, gentlemen. J. C., old
man, say 'when.' Help yourself to another cigar, Blatch."

As a host few could outshine the Honorable Milton in geniality, and
there was little room in any man's system for pessimism in company with
four glasses of the Honorable Milt's special brand of Kentucky Bourbon.
J. Cuthbert Nickleby's manner was one of open enthusiasm. Elation
possessed him. His laugh was frequent and boisterous. Any doubts he
may have entertained at midnight that the deal was going through had
been dispelled within the half hour during which the meeting had been
in progress. Brazen as the whole thing was, its very boldness
apparently had captured the imagination of Waring and Ferguson.
Nickleby felt a huge satisfaction in his own perspicacity; he had not
cultivated these two men during the past few months for nothing. He
knew them and he was about to convert that knowledge into cash and bid
them farewell.

It was a good time to be moving along. Nickleby had made money during
the past year. His temporary control of the Interprovincia