"Yes, there's letters for her, too."
"Well, good-night, Jim. See yer later," and he went out. The woman
suddenly rose and ran to the window.
"Mr. Watkins," cried she, "can I see you for a few moments, where no one
can interrupt us? It's a matter of life and death." She clutched the
sill with her thin hands, and her voice trembled. Watkins recognized
Sally Johnson in a moment. He unbolted a door, motioned her to enter,
closed and again bolted it, and also closed the ticket window. Then he
pointed to a chair, and the girl sat down and leaned eagerly forward.
"If they knew I was here," she said in a hoarse whisper, "my life
wouldn't be safe five minutes. I was waiting to tell you a terrible
story, and then I heard who was on the train due here to-morrow night.
Mr. Watkins, don't, for God's sake, ask me how I found out, but I hope
to die if I ain't telling you the living truth! They're going to wreck
that train--No. 17--at Dead Man's Crossing, fifteen miles east, and rob
the passengers and the express car. It's the worst gang in the country,
_Perry's_. They're going to throw the train off the track the passengers
will be maimed and killed,--and Mr. Sinclair and his wife on the cars!
Oh! My God! Mr. Watkins, send them warning!"
She stood upright, her face deadly pale, her hands clasped. Watkins
walked deliberately to the railroad map which hung on the wall and
scanned it.
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