a telegram. He read:

Sell nothing whatever until you hear from me. Instruct Bradley &
Gauss.

JIM.

Wade's lips puckered in a noiseless whistle. He did not need to be told
that "Jim" was Clyde's uncle, wily old Jim Hess, of the Hess System. It
was he who was out gunning for York and Western Air, and he had the
reputation of getting what he went after. What his tactics had been
Wade could only surmise. But the antics of the stock were proof that he
was in earnest.

"Well," he queried, "what do you know about this, young lady? Have you
been holding out on me?"

"I haven't much information," she replied. "Bradley & Gauss are my
brokers. They have been buying Western Air for me as it was offered.
There's their statement. Uncle Jim told me to buy it--said that it
ought to be worth as much as Hess System some day."

"Heavens! What a tip!" Wade exclaimed. "This will be good news for
Casey."

"I don't want him to know."

"Why not?"

"Well, he--he--that is, he might be disappointed. Uncle Jim may not get
control. If he does he'll treat everybody fairly, of course. I don't
want to raise false hopes."

"Considerate of you," said Wade, "not to say ingenious."

She flushed angrily for a moment, and then laughed.

"It's all the reason you'll get. Be a good friend, do. Promise! Also
you are to say nothing to Kitty."

"Afraid of being jollied?"

"Mr. Wade, you are impertinent!" But her eyes laughed at him.

"I'll keep your dark secret," said Wade. "It will be a joke on Kitty!"

And so Casey Dunne was left in ignorance.

CHAPTER XXII

Tom McHale ambled into Coldstream one afternoon, and dropped his pony's
reins behind the station. Thence he clanked his spurs into Mr. Quilty's
sanctum. That gentleman, nodding somnolently above a blackened clay
pipe, rolled an appraising eye at him.

"Fwhere in Hiven's name is the maskyrade at?" he queried sourly. "An'
do yez riprisint Wild Bill Hickox--rest his sowl--or th' 'Pache
Kid--th' divil burn him!"

Tom glanced down at his ancient regalia of worn leather chaps, spurs,
and the old forty-one that sagged from his right hip, and grinned.

"Guns is coming into style again out our way," he replied. "All the
best families wears 'em. There's so many of these here durn hobos and
railway men and Irish and other low characters----"

"Th' nerve of yez!" snorted Mr. Quilty. "And the name iv yez
'McHale!'--as Irish, be hivins, as Con iv th' Hundred Battles!"