An hour later when he reached Elk River, the end of his run, he found a telegram waiting for him from Spence. He sucked in his under lip as he read it.
"You sly joker," wired the dispatcher, "why didn't you tell us that your friend came up with you on Number Seven?"
Haggerty pushed his cap to the back of his head, and swore softly under his breath. He began to go over in his mind the passengers that had been aboard the train when they ran into Big Cloud. No one individual seemed to stand out carded and waybilled as the new super.
Then an idea struck Haggerty, and he climbed into the rear coach where Berkely, his conductor, was making up his report sheets.
"Say, Jim," said Haggerty, "was there any passes into Big Cloud this mornin'?"
Berkely looked up suspiciously. "You mind your own business, an' you'll get along better!" he snapped.
"Oh, punk!" returned Haggerty. "My count's the same as your'n, ain't it? What's the matter with you, then? Honest, Jim, I wanter know. Was there any passes?"
"No, there wasn't," grunted Berkely, cooling down a little.
"Well, then, you might have said so at first, instead of jumpin' a fellow for nothin'," said Haggerty, and went out of the car to hang meditatively over the handrail and spit reflectively at the ties.
"Now wouldn't that sting you?" he demanded of the universe in general. "Wouldn't that sting you?
