Ralph on the Engine: or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail

Ralph climbed to the top of the tender. He was powerless alone to combat the engineer in his mad fury. A plan came into his mind. The first car attached to the tender was a blind baggage. Ralph sprang to its roof. Then he ran back fast as he could.

The young fireman lost no time, dropping from the roof between platforms. As he reached the first passenger coach he ran inside the car.

Passengers were on their feet, amazed and alarmed at the reckless flight of the train. The conductor and train hands were pale and frightened.

“What’s the trouble?” demanded the conductor, as Ralph rushed up to him.

“A maniac is in charge of the train. He is crazed with drink, and armed. Who of you will join me in trying to overpower him?”

None of the train hands shrank from duty. They followed Ralph to the platform and thence to the top of the forward coach. At that moment new warnings came.

CHAPTER XXVII

A NEW MYSTERY

“Danger,” shouted Ralph. “Quick, men. Do you see ahead there?”

Down the rails a red signal fuse was spluttering. It was quite a distance away, but they would reach it in less than sixty seconds if the present fearful speed of the train was kept up.

“Hear that?” roared the conductor in a hoarse, frightened tone.

Under the wheels there rang out a sharp crack, audible even above the roar of the rushing train – a track torpedo.

Ralph ran across the top of the forward car. As he reached its front end, Lyle turning discovered him.

He set up a wild yell, reached into the tender, seized a big sledgehammer lying there and braced back.

The young fireman was amazed and fairly terrified at his movements, for Lyle began raining blows on lever, throttle and everything in the way of machinery inside of the cab.

Past the red light, blotting it out, sped the train, turning a curve. Ralph anticipated a waiting or a coming train, but, to his relief, the rails were clear. Ahead, however, there was a great glow, and he now understood what the warnings meant.

The road at this point for two miles ran through a marshy forest, and this was all on fire. Ralph gained the tender.

“Back, back!” roared Lyle, facing him, weapon in hand. “She’s fixed to go, can’t stop her now. Whoop!”

With deep concern the young fireman noted the disabled machinery.

Half-way between centers, the big steel bar on the engineer’s side of the locomotive had snapped in two and was tearing through the cab like a flail, at every revolution of the driver to which it was attached.

Just as Ralph jumped down from the tender, the locomotive entered the fire belt – in a minute more the train was in the midst of a great sweeping mass of fire. The train crew, blinded and singed, retreated. Ralph trembled at a sense of the terrible peril that menaced.

Lyle had drawn back from the lever or he would have been annihilated. Then as the fire swept into his face, he uttered a last frightful yell, gave a spring and landed somewhere along the side of the track.

The young fireman was fairly appalled. Such a situation he had never confronted before. The cab was ablaze in a dozen different places. The tops of the cars behind had also ignited. Ralph did not know what to do. Even if he could have stopped the train, it would be destruction to do so now.

Suddenly the locomotive dove through the last fire stretch. Ahead somewhere Ralph caught the fierce blast of a locomotive shrieking for orders. For life or death the train must be stopped.

He flew towards the throttle but could not reach it safely. The great bar threatened death. Twice he tried to reach the throttle and drew back in time to escape the descending bar. At a third effort he managed to slip the latch of the throttle, but received a fearful graze of one hand. Then, exhausted from exertion and excitement, the young fireman saw the locomotive slow down not a hundred yards from a stalled train.

The passenger coaches were soon vacated by the passengers, while the train crew beat out the flames where the cars were on fire.

The Limited Mail made no return trip to Stanley Junction that night. The following morning, however, when the swamp fire had subsided, the train was taken back to the Great Northern and then to terminus.

Lyle, the engineer, was found badly burned and delirious in the swamp, where he would have perished only for the water in which he landed when he jumped from the locomotive cab. He was taken to a hospital.

There was a great deal of talk about the latest exploit of the young fireman of the Limited Mail, and Ralph did not suffer any in the estimation of the railroad people and his many friends.

One evening he came home from an interview with a local lawyer concerning the interests of his young friend, Earl Danvers.

Ralph felt quite sanguine that he could obtain redress for Earl from his heartless relations, and was thinking about it when he discovered his mother pacing up and down the front walk of the house in an agitated, anxious way.

“Why, mother,” said Ralph, “you look very much distressed.”

“I am so, truly,” replied Mrs. Fairbanks. “Ralph, we have met with a great loss.”

“What do you mean, mother?”

“The house has been burglarized.”

“When?”

“Some time during the past three hours. I was on a visit to a sick neighbor, and returned to discover the rear door open. I went inside, and all the papers in the cabinet and some money we had there were gone.”

“The papers?” exclaimed Ralph.

“Yes, every document concerning our claim against Gasper Farrington is missing.”

“But what of Earl Danvers?” inquired Ralph. “Was he away from home?”

“He was when I left, but he must have returned during my absence.”

“How do you know that?” asked Ralph.

“The cap he wore when he went away I found near the cabinet.”

Ralph looked serious and troubled.

“I hope we have not been mistaken in believing Earl to be an honest boy,” he said, and his mother only sighed.

Then Ralph began investigating. The rear door, he found, had been forced open. All the rooms and closets had been ransacked.

“This is pretty serious, mother,” he remarked.

Earl Danvers did not return that day. This troubled and puzzled Ralph. He could not believe the boy to be an accomplice of Farrington, nor could he believe that he was the thief.

Next morning Ralph reported the loss to the town marshal. When he went down the road, he threw off a note where the men were working on the Short Line Route at its junction with the Great Northern. It was directed to Zeph Dallas, and in the note Ralph asked his friend to look up the two uncles of Earl Danvers and learn all he could about the latter.

It was two nights later when Mrs. Fairbanks announced to Ralph quite an important discovery. In cleaning house she had noticed some words penciled on the wall near the cabinet. They comprised a mere scrawl, as if written under difficulty, and ran:

“Earl prisoner. Two boys stealing things in house. Get the old coat I wore.”

“Why, what can this mean?” said Ralph. “Earl certainly wrote this. A prisoner? two boys? the thieves? Get the old coat? He means the one he wore when he came here. What can that have to do with this business? Mother, where is the coat?”

“Why, Ralph,” replied Mrs. Fairbanks, “I sold it to a rag man last week.”

CHAPTER XXVIII

THE FREIGHT THIEVES

Two days later Zeph Dallas came to Stanley Junction to purchase some supplies for Mr. Gibson’s construction camp. In the evening he called at the Fairbanks home. The farmer boy had located the relatives of Earl Danvers, and his report verified the story of the latter, who had disappeared from home, and, according to his uncles, his whereabouts was unknown to them.

Ralph related the story of the burglary, and Zeph was at once interested. He believed that some mystery of importance was attached to the old coat. When he had gone away Ralph got to thinking this over.

“Mother,” he asked, “do you know the man to whom you sold that old coat?”

“Why, yes,” replied Mrs. Fairbanks. “He is the man who goes around with an old wagon visiting the different country towns in this district in turn.”

Ralph made some inquiries, and ascertained that the peddler in question made his headquarters at Dover. He resolved upon opportunity to visit the man at a near date, although it was probable that the coat with the rags sold with it had been sent to some mill. A few days later Zeph came again to Stanley Junction and Ralph told him about the peddler.

For a time after this, affairs ran on smoothly for the Limited Mail and her experienced crew, and Ralph had settled down to a quiet enjoyment of congenial employment when there occurred a break in the routine that once more placed him in a position of peril.

One day as he returned from the city run, the roundhouse foreman informed him that he was to report at the office of the master mechanic. Ralph did not go home, but went at once to answer the summons.

The master mechanic was his good friend and received him with his usual cordiality.

“Fairbanks,” he said, “you are pretty well known to the officers of the road, and favorably, too, I suppose you know that.”

“It is a pleasure to have you say so,” answered the young fireman.

“They seem especially to value your ability in running down crookedness and ferreting out criminals,” pursued the master mechanic. “The superintendent wired me today to have one road detective start out on a certain case. I wired back that Mr. Adair was engaged in a special case in the city. The return was to relieve you of regular duty and have you report at Afton this afternoon.”

Ralph nodded to indicate that he understood, but he said:

“I do not like these interruptions to routine duty, but I suppose the company knows where it most needs a fellow.”

Ralph went down the road shortly after noon. He reached Afton and reported at once to the assistant superintendent.

“I have ordered a substitute fireman on the Mail for a week, Fairbanks,” said that official. “I think we shall engage your services for that length of time.”

“Is it some particular case, sir?” asked Ralph.

“A very important case, yes. We seem to have got rid of incompetent employes and strikers, thanks to you and others who stood by the company in time of trouble. There is one thing, however, that is bothering us. It bothers every road more or less, but we won’t have it.”

Ralph waited for a further explanation.

“Freight thieves, Fairbanks,” continued the official. “Some gang is regularly stealing from the road. When, where and how it is done we have been unable to ascertain. A train will leave the city or the Junction, arrive at terminus, and some valuable package will be missing. The car seals will be all right, no one seems to have entered the car, and yet the pilfering goes on. Will you help us run down the thieves?”

“I will try,” answered Ralph. “What trains seem to suffer most?”

“Always the night freights,” replied the assistant superintendent. “Now, take your time, spare no expense, and go to work on this problem in your usual effective way.”

Ralph devoted the remainder of the day to going up and down the road and familiarizing himself with the various freight trains and their schedules.

Just after dark he clambered into the cab of the night freight leaving the city. It was a dark, sleety night, for cold weather had just set in.

The engineer was a tried and trusty veteran in the service. Ralph felt that he understood him, and that he must trust him to a degree in order to facilitate his own programme. He waited till the fireman was busy outside on the engine, then he spoke to the old engineer.

“Mr. Barton, I am on special duty here tonight.”

“That so, lad?” inquired the engineer.

“Yes, I suppose you know there is a good deal of missing freight in these night runs.”

“I heard so,” answered Barton, “but you see that is the business of the conductor, so I haven’t much troubled myself about it.”

“Still, you don’t care to have these things occur in your runs.”

“Should say not! Working on the case, Fairbanks?”

“Frankly, yes, Mr. Barton, and I want you to keep it quiet, but assist me when you can. I will be all over the train and the car tops to-night, and wanted to explain why to you.”

“That’s all right, lad. Just call on me if I can help you. Hello, you, Woods!” bawled the engineer suddenly to a fellow who appeared near the cab side, “what you doing there?”

The man slunk out of view at being addressed, with a muttered remark that it was his own business.

“Don’t like that fellow – caboose look-out,” explained Barton.

“I hope he did not overhear our conversation,” spoke Ralph.

About mid-way of the train there was a gondola oil car. It had an elevated runway so that train hands could pass over it readily. Ralph selected this car as a vantage point, and got aboard as the train started on its way for Stanley Junction.

He was dressed as a tramp, looked the character completely, and the false moustache he wore effectually changed his face so that no persons except familiar friends would easily recognize him.

Ralph got down at one side of the big oil tank. For the next hour he remained quiet. Finally, as a brakeman passed over the platform, he climbed up and kept track of his movements.

The man, however, simply passed up and down the train and then returned to the caboose. Then there was a stop. Ralph leaned from the car and looked up and down the train.

“Why,” exclaimed Ralph suddenly, “there is that fellow Woods working at the doors of the cars a little ahead there.”

The brakeman in question now came down the length of the train. The engine was taking water. He halted almost opposite the car Ralph was hiding on. Suddenly he uttered a low, sharp whistle, and it was answered. Three men appeared from the side of the track, spoke to him, bounded up on to the oil car, and crouched down so near to Ralph that he could almost touch them.

Woods stood on the next track with his lantern as if waiting for the train to start up.

“Cars marked,” he spoke. “I’ll flash the glim when the coast is clear. You’ll know the cases I told you about.”

There was no response. The locomotive whistled, and the brakeman ran back to the caboose. Ralph lay perfectly still. The three men sat up against the railing of the car.

“Got the keys to the car ventilators?” asked one of the men, finally.

“Sure,” was the response. “Say, fellows, we want to be wary. This is a clever game of ours, but I hear that the railroad company is watching out pretty close.”

“Oh, they can’t reach us,” declared another voice, “with Woods taking care of the broken seals, and all kinds of duplicate keys, we can puzzle them right along.”

Just then one of them arose to his feet. He stumbled heavily over Ralph.

“Hello!” he yelled, “who is this?”

CHAPTER XXIX

A PRISONER

The three men almost instantly confronted Ralph, and one of them seized him, holding him firmly.

Ralph quickly decided on his course of action. He yawned in the face of the speaker and drawled sleepily:

“What are you waking a fellow up for?”

One held Ralph, another lit a match. They were rough, but shrewd fellows. Instantly one of them said:

“Disguised!” and he pulled off Ralph’s false moustache. “That means a spy. Fellows, how can we tell Woods?”

“S – sh!” warned a companion – “no names. Now, young fellow, who are you?”

But “young fellow” was gone! In a flash Ralph comprehended that he was in a bad fix, his usefulness on the scene gone. In a twinkling he had jerked free from the grasp of the man who held him, had sprung to the platform of the oil car and thence to the roof of the next box car.

Almost immediately his recent captor was after him. It was now for Ralph a race to the engine and his friend Barton.

The running boards were covered with sleet and as slippery as glass, yet Ralph forged ahead. He could hear the short gasps for breath of a determined pursuer directly behind him.

“Got you!” said a quick voice. Its owner stumbled, his head struck the young fireman and Ralph was driven from the running board.

He was going at such a momentum that in no way could he check himself, but slid diagonally across the roof of the car. There destruction seemed to face him.

His pursuer had fallen flat on the running board. Ralph dropped flat also, clutching vainly at space. His fingers tore along the thin sheeting of ice. He reached the edge of the car roof.

For one moment the young fireman clung there. Then quick as a flash he slipped one hand down. It was to hook his fingers into the top slide bar of the car’s side door. The action drew back the door about an inch. It was unlocked. Ralph dropped his other hold lightning-quick, thrust his hand into the interstice, pushed the door still further back, and precipitated himself forward across the floor of an empty box car.

There he lay, done up, almost terrified at the crowding perils of the instant, marveling at his wonderful escape from death.

“They must think I went clear to the ground,” theorized Ralph. “I am safe for the present, at least. What an adventure! And Woods is in league with the freight thieves! That solves the problem for the railroad company.

“An empty car,” he said, as he finally struggled to his feet. “I’ll wait till the train stops again and then run ahead to Barton. Hello!” he exclaimed sharply, as moving about the car, his foot came in contact with some object.

Ralph stood perfectly still. He could hear deep, regular breathing, as of some one asleep. His curiosity impelled him to investigate farther. He took a match from his pocket, flared it, and peered down.

Directly in one corner of the car lay a big, powerful man. He was dressed in rags. His coat was open, and under it showed a striped shirt.

“Why!” exclaimed Ralph, “a convict – an escaped convict!”

The man grasped in one hand, as if on guard with a weapon of defense, a pair of handcuffs connected with a long, heavy steel chain. Apparently he had in some way freed himself from these.

Ralph flared a second match to make a still closer inspection of the man. This aroused the sleeper. He moved, opened his eyes suddenly, saw Ralph, and with a frightful yell sprang up.

“I’ve got you!” he said, seizing Ralph. “After me, are you? Hold still, or I’ll throttle you. How near are the people who sent you on my trail?”

“I won’t risk that,” shouted the man wildly.

In a twinkling he had slipped the handcuffs over Ralph’s wrists. The latter was a prisoner so strangely that he was more curious than alarmed.

“Going to stop, are they?” pursued the man, as there was some whistling ahead. “Mind you, now, get off when I do. Don’t try to call, and don’t try to run away, or I’ll kill you.”

The train stopped and Ralph’s companion pulled back the door. He got out, forcing Ralph with him, and proceeded directly into the timber lining the railroad, never pausing till he had reached a desolate spot near a shallow creek.

Then the man ordered a halt. He sat down on the ground and forced his captive to follow his example.

“Who are you?” he demanded roughly.

“I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern Railroad,” promptly explained the young fireman.

“Do you know me?”

“I infer from these handcuffs and your under uniform that you are an escaped convict,” answered Ralph.

“Know a good many people, do you?”

“Why, yes, I do,” answered Ralph.

“Where is Stanley Junction?”

“About forty miles north of here. I live there.”

“You do? you do?” cried the convict, springing up in a state of intense excitement. “Here, lad, don’t think me harsh or mean, or cruel, but you have got to stay with me. You would betray me to the police.”

“No, I would not,” declared Ralph.

“You would, I know – it’s human nature. There is a big reward out for me. Then, too, you know people. Yes, you must stay with me.”

“I can’t help you any – why should you detain me?” insisted Ralph.

“I must find a man,” cried the convict, more wildly than ever – “or you must find him for me.”

“What man is that?” spoke Ralph.

“Do you know a Mr. Gasper Farrington?”

“Quite well,” answered Ralph, rather startled at the question.

“That is the man!” shouted the convict.

“And that is singular, for I am very anxious myself to find that same individual,” said the young fireman.

Ralph felt that he was in the midst of a series of strange adventures and discoveries that might lead to important results, not only for the person he had so strangely met, but for himself, as well.

This impression was enforced as he watched his captor pace up and down the ground, muttering wildly. He seemed to have some deep-rooted hatred for Gasper Farrington. “Revenge,” “Punishment,” “Justice,” were the words that he constantly uttered. Ralph wondered what course he could pursue to get the man down to a level of coherency and reason. Finally the man said:

“Come, get up, we must find some shelter.”

After an hour of arduous tramping they came to an old barn that had been partly burned down. There was some hay in it. The convict lay down on this, unloosed one handcuff from the wrist of his prisoner, and attached the other to his own arm and lay as if in a daze until daybreak.

Now he could inspect his prisoner clearly, and Ralph could study the worn, frenzied face of his captor. The latter had calmed down somewhat.

“Boy,” he said, finally, “I don’t dare to let you go, and I don’t know what to do.”

“See here,” spoke Ralph, “you are in deep trouble. I don’t want to make you any more trouble. Suppose you tell me all about yourself and see if I can’t help you out.”

“Oh, I don’t dare to trust any one,” groaned the man.

“You spoke of Gasper Farrington,” suggested Ralph. “Is he an enemy of yours?”

“He has ruined my life,” declared the convict.

“And why do you seek him?”

“To demand reparation, to drag him to the same fate he drove me to. Just let me find him – that is all I wish – to meet him face to face.”

Ralph began to quietly tell the story of his own dealings with the village magnate of Stanley Junction. It had a great effect upon his auditor. From dark distrust and suspicion his emotions gradually subsided to interest, and finally to confidence.

It was only by gradations that Ralph led the man to believe that he was his friend and could help him in his difficulties.

The convict told a pitiful story. Ralph believed it to be a true one. To further his own avaricious ends, Farrington had devised a villainous plot to send the man to the penitentiary. He had escaped. He had documents that would cause Farrington not only to disgorge his ill-gotten gains, but would send him to jail.

“I want to get to where those documents are hidden,” said the convict. “Then to find Farrington, and I shall right your wrongs as well as my own.”

Ralph reflected deeply over the matter in hand. He resolved on a course of proceedings and submitted it to his companion.

He offered to take the convict to the isolated home of Amos Greenleaf, where he could remain safely in retirement. Ralph promised to get him comfortable garments and provide for his board and lodging. In a few days he would see him again and help him to find Farrington.

The young fireman was now released from the handcuffs. He calculated the location of the place where Greenleaf lived.

“It is about fifteen miles to the spot I told you of,” he explained to the convict.

“Can we reach it without being seen by any one?” anxiously inquired his companion.

“Yes, I can take a route where we need not pass a single habitation.”

It was afternoon when they reached the home of old Amos Greenleaf.

Ralph experienced no difficulty in arranging that the convict remain there for a few days. He gave Greenleaf some money, and, promising to see the convict very soon, proceeded to Wilmer.

The young fireman took the first train for Afton, and reported what had occurred to the assistant superintendent.

Two days later Woods and his companions were in jail, and a great part of the stolen freight plunder was recovered.

Woods confessed that he had duplicated keys and seals for the doors and ventilators of the freight cars, and the bold thieveries along the Great Northern now ceased.