Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 135, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 9 June 1914 — RIGHT AT THE SWITCH [ARTICLE]

RIGHT AT THE SWITCH

By JUNE GABIAN.

Sue Daniels had been switchboard operator at the St Hubert for two years when Wfnthrop Tate registered as a transient guest. Sue always kept personal tab on all newcomers, and when she looked Winthrop over appraisingly the first time he stood at her desk and asked for a number. The general summing up was not so bad. He was a young, rather bald easterner, with eyeglasses, and a way of staring inquiringly at you before Speaking, but his eyes were brown and pleasant and his chin was well rounded, with a deep cleft in it. Also, his voice was deep and well modulated, and she approved of his taste in neckties. The fashion in neckties around Buffalo Wallow was not especially artistic, although it showed diversified tastes and much individuality. But 'Sue had pot always lived In the little straggling town that sort of dripped over the edge of the big mountain, and clung to its sides precariously. She had been sent down by the telegraph company when it threw a line through from Tuscaloosa, and had worked down at the station first, but when the boom hit the town, and the St. Hubert was built, civic pride placed the little blonde operator in a place of honor at the switch. It was understood Ideally that Mr. Tate was the eastern representative of the particular branch that connected Tuscaloosa and Buffalo Wallow with the outer world. Also, that the said company was listening favorably to Buffalo Wallow’s wall that its name be changed to something in keeping with its new financial importance. But Sue knew otherwise. She knew that Mr. Tate was in daily telephonic communication with Saunders of the Bucking Btonch mines, and it trotbled her. Two years in Buffalo Wallow had left her with a very jfair estimate of everybody's private and public character. Mr. Saunders’ would not bear close inspection. He had a record behind him that gave him the full credit of being the cleverest mine salter of any male in western Montana. The only trouble was that he got away with it. He salted so thoroughly and so ingeniously, .that only the native understanding could realize that the result was purely artificial.! Bucky Saunders’ victims always believed that he meant well, and was sore deceived even as were they, by Mother Nature’s caprices.

“Do you know anything about this Mr. Saunders, Miss Daniels?” asked Winthrop, casually, one day, after a long-distance chat with Bucky. “I’ve known him for two years,” Sue replied. "He’s a tartar. Nobody ever connects with him except eastern folks. Don’t get in too deep, Mr. Tate.” -“Oh, I’m not getting in at all, thanks,” smiled back Winthrop. “Only he interests me. Seems wide awake. What’s his specialty?" “He gets people who don’t know any better to put cold cash into mines that are only skin deep, and then ducks.” “But he owns the Bucking Broncho.” “He does now. It used to be his partner’s, too. Half of it ought to helongto At Baldwin. That’s his partner’s son.” Sue clicked a switch sharply. “Some people say that Mr. Saunders took special pains to push Mr. Baldwin over the edge of the canyon, but maybe not. He was dead, anyway, when they found him.” “Successful people always make enemies,” remarked Mr. Tate, pleasantly. “He seems rather a nice sort of fellow to me.” “Oh, he’s nice,” she laughed, “only don't let him sell you any mines unless you like the salt of the earth, that’s all. The Bucking Broncho used to be a good mine, I guess, but it’s all worked out. Bucky’s sold it about eight times so far, and got it back cheap each time. Don’t let him hurt you, Mr. Tate.” “I’m not here after mines,” said Tate. “My business is railroads.” “Well, Bucky deals with them, too,” Sue told him, cheerfully. “He’s very versatile. We’re trying to name the town Lewiston, because Lewis and Clark camped here once, I guess, and Bucky disapproves. He wants to . found a new town over on his side of the range, and get the railroad to take an interest in the Bucking Broncho.” “You’re right at the switch, aren't you, little girl?” smiled Tate. 8ue v flushed slightly, but stood her ground. “I like the town here,” she confessed, “and I hate to see a fellow like Bucky Saunders take its hide. He’d talk to the Angel Gabriel till he bought a brass horn for the golden trumpet Then again, Al Baldwin’s going to the dogs as fast as he can on account of It all.” “Any personal interest there r* asked Wlnthorp, mildly, leaning over the top of the desk. Sue’s honest blue eyes promptly hid behind long black lashes. She had liked Al once upon a time, she confessed, but there wasn’t any chance now, because he was drinking himself to death. It was the next day that Tate left word at the desk for Bucky Saunders to call him up at 4 sharp. Sue was to tell him that when he asked over the wires for Tate. And Sue noticed that Mr. Tate went leisurely down to the depot and met the noon express.

Also, that he brought back with him two other men, and they all went into special session in the quietest corner of the smoking-room. And a little past 1 o’clock A 1 Baldwin came in alone. He was clear-eyed, and quiet, Sue noticed, and her heart beat faster as she bent over the switchboard to avoid his most disturbing glances. “Sue, you old darling,” be began. “It’s so good to see “you. Look up at me, dear. I’m all right, honest I am. And I’ve got good news, too. We’ve got the goods on Bucky “Tell it,” said Sue, tersely. “He’s been laying for Tate, of the railroad, salting every foot of the old claims, shooting it in like gravel, Sue. I’ve been waiting for him for weeks, trying to get a line on him. I’ve been camping out up there, hiding around the hills, watching for him, and now, look here.”

He drew out a brown folder from his pocket, and opened it. Sue took the snapshots out wonderingly, and stared at them. They were very good ones, four by fives, and they showed excellent poses of Mr. Saunders industriously engaged in preparing to salt the Bucking Broncho. There was Mr. Saunders sitting comfortably outside his snug little shack loading fresh cartridges into his gun. Also, there was one of Mr. Saunders starting down the main shaft of the Bucking Broncho all by himself with his gun held handily in readiness. There was one of Mr. Saunders scouting along an outcropping vein on a ledge of rock, helping it along by sundry little scatterings of gold where it would do the most good. —“And look here, Sue,’ * whispered the boy eagerly, dipping into his pocket, “I’ve got two of his own special brand of cartridges. See here. He takes out the lead, and flllß in gold. Isn’t that great? And they can’t say I did It for a bluff, because they fit his gun. He’s got some new chap on the string from the East, and is going to sell the old Broncho again, and I want to buy it myself this time.” “You want to, Al?” Sue’s face was flushed and eager. “What do you want the old thing for?" “Because it’B good, understand? Dad always said it was, and he told me Bucky never struck the right place to sink a shaft. He knew himself, but he didn’t trust Bucky, see, dear? But he told me, and I’ve found it. I haven’t been hiding up there for nothing the last two months. I know where the real stuff is, and I want to get a grip on the whole thing. Let Bucky think he’s selling a salted mine if he likes. I’ve got the goods on him with these, and he can’t back down.” “Wait a minute,” said Sue. The table in the smoking-room was deserted. Mr. Tate’s party had adjourned to his own room upstairs in private session. It was just 4, and Bucky was due to ring up any minute. “You get in that booth, Al, and when Bucky calls, I’ll let you talk to him, and turn Mr. Tate’s wire open too. Tell everything you know, Al." Al smiled. He was a big, handsome youngster, and he owed Bucky both his father’s debt and his own. It was pay-day for both scores when he stepped into the booth, and heard Saunders' voice at the end of the wire. And Sue calmly called Mr. Tate's room and let him in on the conversation. By the time Bucky had finished giving his personal opinion of his late partner’s son, and had decided to leave town, Tate was ready to see Al Baldwin, and talk business. And while Al went up to the conference, Sue waited. She knew what

would happen. With those snapshots, and his own testimony, Al could hold the law over Saunders to the limit, and if Tate would back up the new discovery up at the mine, it would mean—Sue covered her face with both hands, and laughed softly, thinking all that it would mean. It was after 6 when they all came downstairs. The two men from the East stayed down at the cigar counter, but Tate and Al strolled over to her desk. Tate’s eyes had a twinkle in them.

“Pm going to take over an interest in the Bucking Broncho in. spite of what you told me, Miss Daniels,” he said. “I understand Mr. Saunders has Btepped out. and Mr. Baldwin has the controlling Interest. The right man seems bound to win.” Al bent over the girlish figure at the desk. “It all depends on who is at tho switch, Mr. Tate,” he said. “She won’t be here long now.” _ And for once Sue had nothing at all to say. (Copyright. 1914, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)