e behind--and keep watch."

Barry obeyed. A moment more and he was within the converted box car,
to find it deserted and silent, except for the constant clackle of the
telegraph key, rattling off the business of a mountain railroad system,
like some garrulous old woman, to any one who would listen. There was
no private office, only a railing and a counter, which Barry crossed
easily. A slight crunching of gravel sounded without. It was
Ba'tiste, now lounging in the doorway, ready at a moment to give the
alarm. Houston turned hastily toward the file hook and began to turn
the pages of the original copy which hung there.

A moment of searching and he leaned suddenly forward. Messages were
few from Tabernacle; it had been an easy matter for him to come upon
the originals of the telegrams he sought, in spite of the fact that
they had been sent more than two weeks before. Already he was reading
the first of the night letters:

Barry Houston,
Empire Lake Mill and Lumber Co.,
212 Grand Building, Boston, Mass.

Please order six-foot saw as before. Present one broken to-day through
crystallization.

F. B. THAYER.

"That's one of 'em." Houston grunted the words, rather than spoke
them. "That was meant for me all right--humph!"

The second one was before him now, longer and far more interesting to
the man who bent over the telegraph file, while Ba'tiste kept watch at
the door. Hastily he pulled a crumpled message from his pocket and
compared them,--and grunted again.

"The same thing. Identically the same thing, except for the addresses!
Ba'tiste," he called softly, "what kind of an operator is this fellow?"

"No good. A boy. Just out of school. Hasn't been here long."

"That explains it." Houston was talking to himself again. "He got the
two messages and--" Suddenly he bent forward and examined a notation
in a strange hand:

"Missent Houston. Resent Blackburn."

It explained much to Barry Houston, that scribble of four words. It
told him why he had received a telegram which meant nothing to him, yet
caused suspicion enough for a two-thousand-mile trip. It explained
that the operator, in sending two messages, had, through
absent-mindedness, put them both on the wire to the same person, when
they were addressed separately, that he later had seen his mistake and
corrected it. Barry smiled grimly.

"Thanks very much, Operator," he murmured. "It isn't every mistake
that turns out this