with a sudden jump, for he had dreamed that Colonel Harrington had
thrown him into a deep pit, and that Lem Wacker was dropping Mrs.
Harrington's precious trunk on top of him.

CHAPTER XV

AN EARLY "CALL"

The young express agent was conscious that he shouted outright in his
nightmare, for the trunk he was dreaming about as it struck him seemed
to explode into a thousand pieces.

The echoes of the explosion appeared to still ring in his ears, as he
sat up and pulled himself together. Then he discovered that it was a
real sound that had awakened him.

"Only five," he murmured, with a quick glance at the alarm clock on the
bureau--"and someone at the front door!"

Rat, tat, tat! it was a sharp, distinct summons.

"Why," continued Bart briskly, jumping out of bed and hurrying on some
clothes, "it's Jeff!"

Jeff was "the caller" for the roundhouse. He was a feature in the B. &
M. system, and for ten years had pursued his present occupation.

"Something's up," ruminated Bart a little excitedly, as he ran down the
stairs and opened the front door. "What is it, Jeff?"

"Wanted," announced the laconic caller.

"By whom?"

"McCarthy, down at the freight house."

"What's wrong?"

"He didn't tell---just asked me to get you there quick as your feet
could carry you."

"Thank you, Jeff, I'll lose no time."

Bart hurried into his clothes. Clear of the house, he ran all the way to
the railroad yards.

As he rounded into them from Depot Street, he came in sight of the
express office.

McCarthy, the night watchman, was seated on the platform looking down in
a rueful way.

He got up as Bart approached, and the latter noticed that he looked
haggard, and swayed as though his head was dizzy.

"What is it?" cried out Bart irrepressibly.

"I'm sorry, Stirling," said the watchman, "but--look there!"

Bart could not restrain a sharp cry of concern. The express office door
stood open, and the padlock and staples, torn from place, lay on the
platform. He rushed into the building. Then his dismay was complete.

"The trunk!" he cried--"it's gone!"

"Yes, it is!" groaned McCarthy, pressing at his heels.

Bart cast a reproachful look at the watchman. The lantern, too, had
disappeared. He sank to the bench, overcome. Finally he inquired
faintly:

"How did it happen?"

"I only know what happened to me," responded the watchman. "I was
drugged."

"When--where--by whom?"

"It's guesswork, that, but the fact