then sprang to his feet. Why had he not
thought of it before? He caught up his hat and hurried to the door of
the outer office. There was not a moment to lose. Before he laid his
hand on the door he forced himself to deliberate movement.

"Tell the stable boss to hitch up the light rig and bring it to the
office."

As the man left the room, Hartwell seated himself and lighted a cigar.
In a few moments the rig was at the door and Hartwell appeared,
leisurely drawing on a pair of driving-gloves. Adjusting the dust-robe
over his knees, as he took the lines from the man, he said:

"If Mr. Firmstone inquires for me tell him I have gone for a drive."

Down past the mill, along the trail by the slide, he drove with no
appearance of haste. Around a bend which hid the mill from sight, the
horses had a rude awakening. The cigar was thrown aside, the reins
tightened, and the whip was cracked in a manner that left no doubt in
the horses' minds as to the desires of their driver.

In an hour, foaming and panting, they were pulled up at the station.
Hitching was really an unnecessary precaution, for a rest was a thing to
be desired; but hitched they were, and Hartwell hurried into the dingy
office.

The operator was leaning back in his chair, his feet beside his clicking
instrument, a soothing pipe perfuming the atmosphere of placid dreams.

"I want to get off a message at once." Hartwell was standing before the
window.

The operator's placid dreams assumed an added charm by comparison with
the perturbed Hartwell.

"You're too late, governor." He slowly raised his eyes, letting them
rest on Hartwell.

"Too late!" Hartwell repeated, dazedly.

"Yep. At once ain't scheduled to make no stops." The operator resumed
his pipe and his dreams.

"I've no time to waste," Hartwell snapped, impatiently.

"Even so," drawled the man; "but you didn't give me no time at all. I
don't mind a fair handicap; but I ain't no jay."

"Will you give me a blank?"

"Oh, now you're talking U. S. all right. I savvy that." Without rising,
he pushed a packet of blanks toward the window with his foot.

Hartwell wrote hurriedly for a moment, and shoved the message toward the
operator. Taking his feet from the desk, he leaned slowly forward,
picked up a pencil and began checking off the words.

John Haskins, Leadville, Colorado.

Do not send the men I asked for. Will explain by letter.

Arthur Hartwell.

"Things quieting down a