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He stopped work for the present in order to be ready for station-duty when the express from Pendleton passed through in half an hour. From force of habit and half unconsciously, he glanced along the yellow road running south, wondering whether in spite of its being Sunday there might not be some traveler from Swallowtown coming to catch the local train which stopped at the station an hour later.
Tom had had enough of fastening the iron ring into the outer wall of his shanty, for it had been torn out four times by the shying of the wild horses harnessed to the vehicles sent from Swallowtown to meet passengers. And the day before yesterday Bob Cratchit's horses had added insult to injury by running off with a board out of the back wall.
Nelly's brother-in-law was in the act of turning the cart round to drive back to Swallowtown when Tom, making a megaphone of his hands, shouted across: "Won't the gentleman do me the honor of having a drink on me?" "All right," rang out the answer, and Nelly's brother-in-law drove the horses to the rear of the station. "Yes, the ring's gone," said Tom.
Soon after the police had returned to the Swallowtown station that same evening, a Japanese military train passed through, going in the direction of Pendleton. The train was moving slowly and those within opened fire on the policeman, who lost no time in replying. But the odds were too great, and it was all over in a few minutes.
The reader will remember that when the express returned to Swallowtown, Tom's shanty was empty. The enemy had disappeared and had taken the two captive farmers with them. The mounted police, who had been summoned immediately from Walla Walla, found the two men during the afternoon in their wagon, bound hand and foot, in a hollow a few miles to the west of the station.
What would it matter he, one among millions, without wife or child? Yes, he would warn the engineer; and if they shot at him, perhaps the people on the train also had revolvers. The express must come soon it must be nearly half past ten. Mechanically, he read the name Swallowtown on the old box-lid. Not a sound from the interior of the station. Would they hit him or miss him when the train came?
The two men from Swallowtown were compelled to stand with uplifted hands against the wall opposite the window, so that the gun-barrels on the window-sill were pointing straight at them. Winston had had sufficient time to study the two highwaymen at the window and it gradually dawned upon him what sort of robbers they were; in a low tone of voice he said to Tom: "They're Japs."
In these words the attack on Swallowtown was wired to New York, and when John Halifax went to the office of the New York Daily Telegraph at midnight, to work up the telegrams which had come in during Sunday for the morning paper, his chief drew his attention in particular to the remark at the end of the message, and asked him to make some reference in his article to the dangers of the Japanese immigration, which seemed to be going on unhindered over the Mexican and Canadian frontiers.
By following this curious yellow track, which testified to the existence of human intercourse even in the great lonely prairie, in a southerly direction, one could notice about a mile from the station a slight rising of the ground covered with low shrubs and a tangled mass of thistles and creepers: This was Swallowtown No. 1, the spot where once upon a time a dozen people or more, thrown together by chance, had founded a homestead, but whose traces had been utterly obliterated since.
It looked like a ridiculous freak in the midst of the wide desert, for nowhere, so far as the eye could reach, was it possible to discover a plausible excuse for the washed-out inscription "Swallowtown" on the old box-lid which was nailed up over the door.
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