comrade, and they had got beyond the turn table and had quite forgotten the incident of the pasters, when John Griscom mounted the cab step. He nodded genially to both Ralph and the fireman. Griscom knew pretty much what was going on most of the time, and the master mechanic was a close friend of his.
"Just a word, Fairbanks," he began in a confidential tone, and the young engineer bent over towards him. "I don't want to be croaking all the time, but railroading isn't all fun and frolic."
"What's the matter now, Mr. Griscom?" inquired Ralph.
"The old strike gang is the trouble, and will be until they're laid out, ragtail and bobtail, dead told. I have a friend in a certain department of the service here. He isn't giving away official business any, but he isn't in sympathy with Hall or Wilson. One of them sent a wire to Riverton an hour since. It was to some one the operator never heard of before, evidently a friend of theirs. It mentioned 999, your name, and Fogg. The rest of it was in cipher."
"We've just had a Black Hand warning, here in the cab," said Ralph.
"Oh, you have?" muttered Griscom. "Then there's new mischief afoot. Look out for snags at Riverton."
