It didn't take me three minutes to reach the station. The whole place
was black as a coal-dumper, except for the slices of light which shone
through the cracks of the curtained windows in the specials, the dim
light of the lamp in the station, and the glow of the row of saloons
two hundred feet away. I was afraid, however, that there might be a
spy lurking somewhere, for it was likely that Camp would hope to get
some clue of the letters by keeping a watch on the station and the
cars. Thinking boldness the safest course, I walked on to the platform
without hesitation, and went into the station. The "night man" was
sitting in his chair, nodding, but he waked up the moment I spoke.
"Don't speak my name," I said, warningly, as he struggled to his feet;
and then in the fewest possible words I told him what I wanted of
him--to find if the pony I had ridden (Camp's or Baldwin's) was in
town and, if so, to learn where it was, and to get the letters on the
quiet from under the saddle-flap. I chose this man, first because I
could trust him, and next, because I had only one of the Cullens as an
alternative, and if any of them went sneaking round, it would be sure
to attract attention. "The moment you have the letters, put them in
the station safe," I ended, "and then get word to me."
"And where'll you be, Mr. Gordon?" asked the man.
"Is there any place about here that's a safe hiding spot for a few
hours?" I asked. "I want to stay till I'm sure those letters are safe,
and after that I'll steal on board the first train that comes along.
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