The Milan exchange. (Milan, Gibson County, Tenn.) 1874-1978, 1880-07-22

the keys almost with as much accuracy
as others distinguish handwriting. And
in all my experience had never heard
the sounder click off a message like
that.
While stood dqzed and almost par
alyzed Qor you must remember that
old Billy's nerves were strung to a ter
rible pitch that nighO the rapid and I'M
Ineligible click-click was resumed as
if a demon had again got hold of the
key. 1t was fully five minutes before |
mustered courage enough to pass in
to the ticket Office and sit down by
the table. Not once had l turned
back TO look at the box. Almost at the
instant of my sitting down at the table
the clicking stopped short, as it had
repeated: Watch the boz.
Every dot, every dash, every letter,
every word, came with such horrible
distinctness, that IL seemed to send a
sharp pain tingling through my ears. 1t
was like the loud whispering of some
ghostly voice. Then again, broke out
the jargon of sound that turned the
clicking into meaningless confusion.
| sprang up from the table and with
the now strengthened conviction that it
was no delusion, no fancy, but that the
sound had come plainly over the wires
| felt my courage returning and resolved
to heed the mysterious warning. The
rolling of the thunder and the mad roar
of the storm no longer depressed me. 1
stepped boldly back into my own room
and rested my eyes unfiinchingly on
the mysterious box. What was its
mysterious freight? Why had the phan-
tom of the storm sent those startling
words over the wires? What unknown
hand had reached out from the very
itself to warn me of some i'm
pending danger? These questions rushed
through my mind as felt the dread
fear disappearing and found myself of
a sudden growing strangely calm.
The clock struck ten. | turned to
the shelf and with hand that no longer
trembled inserted the key and wound
it composedly. Would it be the last
time that should perform that simple
task? No matter. Happier than most
men. because content with my humble
lot, it should never be said that old Billy
finched in the face of duty. For that
night it was my duty-my one sacred,
duty-to guard the treas
ure left to my keeping. And guard it
l would while life remained.
When / had finished winding the clock
l took down from the shelf an old rusty
pistol which had lain for years undis-
turbed. 1t was not loaded, nor had l
either powder or bullet anywhere in the
station. But the weapon was an ugly
looking one and carried a sort of silent
force in case too aggressive argument.
After examining the rusty lock put the
pistol on the table, made a fresh glass
of toddy, drank it, lighted my pipe and
closed the door that opened into the
freight-room. Now that l was thor
oughly myself again l found it easy
enough to shut out the sight of that ON
inous oblong box.
1t was not until the clock struck again
that is eleven-thatIm made up my mind
to 90 to bed. All that time the storm
held on, although the thunder had be-
gan to rumble more distantly. | threw
of, my coat and slippers, put out
the light in the ticket office and turned
that in my sleeping room down to a low
flame. Then | drew the money package
from under the mattress and pinned it
securely to my wooden shirt under my
vest. This done, and the table so placed
that l could reach both the lamp and
the pistol, l opened the door into the
freight room some three or four inches
and then threw myself upon the bed.
Just as my head touched the pillow the
instrument, which had grown quiet now,
clicked off for the third time, loudly,
slowly, its words of warning:
Watch tie boz!
This time the warning was not needed.
1 had not gone to bed to sleep, but for
the very purpose of watching the box.
as it did, with the head close
to the door, and therefore close to the
box itself, the bed afforded the best
point from which to keep an eye ON the
freight. Had my faith in the
clicking been less, or had
my own sense of great responsibility
deserted me for a single moment, |
should have certainly given up the job
of watching as foolish, and in that case
it is not likely that this narrative would
ever have been written. But | believed
in the thrice-repeated message andI did
not let drowsiness overcome patience.
Twelve, one, two-how very slowly the
hours seem to drag themselves. The
low flame of the lamp went out as the
oil ran dry. What a relief it was to
hear the clock strike! At last, some
where about midnight, the storm had
broken. | could see the stars as they
came through the window in the freight
room, which was on a line of vision
with the box. How strangely still it
seemed after the mighty roar of the
storm and the sharp clap of thunder!
Not a click from the instrument now.
Not sound save the sturdy ticking of
the clock. Still | lay listening, watch
ing. with faculties all alert and my eyes
always on the oblong box.
A little past twO-perhaps ten min
utes. The silence almost painful in its
profoundness. Nothing but the tick
tick of the clock, which, to my eager
ear, had taken on this sound, which it
kept, repeating over and over:
IVatch-the-b Watch-the-
boxr'
What was that?
Not the clock, not the telegraph in
strument. No, it was the sound as of
the grating of iron. Faint, very faint,
yet still audible to my ear! Breathing
regularly aud deeply, as one breathes
in sleep, lay and listened. Another
interval of silence and then the
grating sound came again, this time
-rife louder than before. The light of
the stars shining through the window
made the objects in the freight-room just
visible. Almost simultaneously with
he second grating noise | saw the cover