"Just come in, Mr. Bell."

It was not from Archie but from Osgood Hennessy himself:

SABOTEURS SET RUNAWAY TRAIN AND CUT TELEGRAPH.

STOP.

HEAD-OF-LINE YARD A SHAMBLES. STOP.

EXPANSION YARD IN FLAMES. STOP.

LABOR TERRORIZED.

Isaac Bell gripped Barrett's shoulder so hard it made him wince.

"How long would a freight train take to get from the cutoff railhead to here?"

"Eight to ten hours."

"The empty freight that just came through. Did it leave the railhead after the runaway?"

Barrett looked at his pocket watch. "No, sir. He must have been well out of there."

"So any train that left after the attack is still between us and them."

"Nowhere else for him to go. It's single track all the way."

"Then he's trapped!"

The Wrecker had made a fatal mistake. He had boxed himself in at the end of a single-tracked line through rugged country with only one line out. All Bell had to do was intercept him. But he had to take him by surprise, ambush him, before he could jump off his train and run off into the woods.

"Get your train moving. We'll block him."

"Can't move. We're sidelined. We could run head-on into a southbound freight."

Bell pointed at the telegraph key. "Find out how many trains are between us and the railhead."

Barrett sat at his key and began sending slowly. "My hand's a little muddy," he apologized. "It's been a while since I did this for a living."

Bell paced the confines of the baggage car while the key clattered out Morse code. The bulk of the open space was around the telegraph desk. Beyond was a narrow aisle between stacked trunks and boxes of provisions, cut short by Lillian's Packard Gray Wolf, which was tied down under canvas. She had shown the car to Bell the previous night, proudly reminding him of what a man like him who loved speed already knew: the splendid racer kept setting new records at Daytona Beach.

Barrett looked up from his key warily. The cold resolve on Bell's face was as harsh as the icebound light in his blue eyes. "Sir, the dispatcher at Weed says he knows of one freight highballing down the line. Left the railhead after the accident."

"What does he mean 'knows of'? Are there more trains on the road?"

"Wires to the north were down in a couple of places through the night. The dispatcher can't know for sure what moved there while the wires were out. We've got no protection, no way of knowing what's coming from the north, until the wires are fixed. So we have no authority to be on the main line."

Of course, Bell raged inwardly. Each time the empty freight had stopped for water, the Wrecker had climbed the nearest pole and cut the telegraph wires, throwing the entire system into disarray to smooth his escape.

"Mr. Bell, I'd like to help you, but I can't put the lives of men in danger because I don't know what's coming around the next bend in the road."