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

There was a little window at one end of the scow, but it was too small to escape by. Ralph was compelled to accept the situation, at least until daylight. He tried to sleep, and at dawn looked out from the window.

“I will simply have to wait here until some one passes by,” he told himself. “In the meantime, though, Slump and Bemis may return. Can I reach the rope holding the scow to the shore?”

This was secured around a tree stump. Ralph reached with his pocket knife through the window, and began cutting at the scow end of the rope, which ran just above it.

In a few minutes the strands gave way and the scow floated down the creek.

CHAPTER XXI

A FRIEND IN NEED

There was a sluggish current to the creek and as soon as the scow got into midstream, it proceeded steadily on its voyage.

“This is better than staying at the old mooring place,” reasoned Ralph. “Of course, Slump and Bemis will return there and search for the scow. Before they do, I hope I will have drifted past some house or settlement where I can call out for assistance.”

Ralph, however, was not destined to meet with ready relief. The scow floated along banks wild and timbered, and, during a vigilant watch at the little window of over two hours, he saw no human being or habitation.

Finally the scow slowed up, its course became irregular, it bumped into some obstacle, turned around, and Ralph discovered the cause of the stoppage. A mass of logs and other debris had formed clear across the creek at one point. This the scow lined, edging slowly along as if drawn by some counter-current.

In a few minutes the craft had worked its way into a cut-off from the creek. It floated slowly in among a swampy wilderness of reeds and stunted trees, came to halt at a shallow, and there remained stationary.

“Why, this is worse than being in the creek,” ruminated Ralph, with some concern. “There was a chance of hailing some one there sooner or later, but in this isolated spot I stand the risk of starving to death.”

The young fireman was both hungry and thirsty. He made another desperate attempt to force the scuttle, but found it an utter impossibility. Then he took out his pocket knife. There was one last chance of escape in sight. If he could cut the wood away around the bolt of the scuttle cover, he might force it open.

Ralph could not work to any advantage, for the top of the hold was fully a foot above his head. However, patiently and hopefully he began his task. Bit by bit, the splinters and shavings of wood dropped about him.

“Too bad, that ends it,” he exclaimed suddenly, as there was a sharp snap and the knife blade broke in two.

The situation was now a very serious one. Ralph tried to view things calmly, but he was considerably worried. He was somewhat encouraged, however, a little later, as he noticed that along the dry land lining the swampy cut-off there were signs of a rough wagon road.

“All I can do now is to watch and wait,” he declared. “I guess I will take a look over the contents of those satchels.”

Once started at the task, Ralph became greatly interested. He was amazed at what the documents before him revealed of the plans and villainies of old Gasper Farrington. There was evidence enough, indeed, as Slump had said, to send the village magnate to the penitentiary.

“This information will be of great value to the railroad people,” said Ralph. “It would enable them to at once break the strike.”

“Whoa!”

Ralph gave utterance to a cry of delight and surprise. He ran to the little window of the scow. Not fifty feet away was a horse and wagon. Its driver had shouted out the word to halt. Now he dismounted and was arranging a part of the harness where it had come loose.

“Hello, there! Joe! Joe! hurry this way!” fairly shouted Ralph.

“Hi, who’s that, where are you?” demanded the person hailed.

“In the scow. Ralph! Locked in! Get me out!”

“I declare! It can’t be Ralph. Well! well!”

Nimbly as his crutches would allow him, Limpy Joe came towards the scow. He halted as he neared the window where he could make out the anxious face of his friend.

“What are you ever doing there? How did you get in there? Why, this is wonderful, my finding you in this way,” cried the cripple.

“I’ll tell you all that when I get out,” promised Ralph. “All you have to do is to spring back the bolt catch on the cover to the hold scuttle.”

“I’ll soon have you out then,” said Joe, and with alacrity he waded into the water, got aboard the old craft, and in another minute Ralph had lifted himself free of his prison place.

“Whew! what a relief,” aspirated the young fireman joyfully. “Joe, it is easy explaining how I came to be here – the natural sequence of events – but for you to be on hand to save me is marvelous.”

“I don’t see why,” said Joe. “I have been coming here for the last three days.”

“What for?” inquired Ralph.

“Business, strictly.”

“Mother told me you had taken the horse and wagon and had gone off on a peddling trip,” said Ralph.

“Yes, I sold out a lot of cheap shoes to farmers which I got at a bargain at an auction,” explained Joe. “Then I struck a fine new scheme. It brought me here. I’ll explain to you later. Your story is the one that interests me. Tell me how you came to be in that scow, Ralph.”

The young fireman brought up the two satchels from the hold of the old craft, and briefly related to Joe the incidents of his experience with Farrington, Slump and the others.

“I say, you have done a big thing in getting those satchels,” said Joe, “and you want to place them in safe hands at once. Come ashore, and I’ll drive you to the nearest railroad town. You don’t want to risk meeting any of your enemies until you have those papers out of their reach.”

When they came up to the wagon, Ralph gazed at its piled-up contents in surprise. The wagon bottom was filled with walnuts and butternuts. There must have been over twelve bushels of them. On top of them was spread a lot of damp rushes and all kinds of wild flowers, mosses and grasses. Two large mud turtles lay under the wagon seat.

“Why, what does all that layout mean?” exclaimed Ralph, in amazement.

“That,” said little Joe, with sparkling eyes, “is an advertising scheme. Some time ago I discovered the finest nut grove in the timber yonder you ever saw. I suppose I could in time have gathered up a hundred wagon loads of them. I intend to make a heap of money out of them. A couple of days ago, though, I thought out a great idea. You know Woods, the dry goods man at the Junction?”

“Yes,” nodded Ralph.

“He is a wide-awake, enterprising fellow, and I told him of my scheme. It caught his fancy at once. The plan was this: every week, I am to trim up his show window with what we call ‘a nature feature.’ We keep pace with vegetation. This week we show a swamp outfit; next week pumpkins and the like; the following week autumn leaves. We work in live objects like turtles to give motion to the scene. Do you catch on?”

“It is an excellent idea and will attract lots of attention,” declared Ralph.

“You bet it will,” assented his comrade with enthusiasm. “Anyhow, my pay is fine and I expect to work other towns in the same way. I will show you the most artistic display window you ever saw when I get this load of truck to town.”

In about two hours they reached a railroad station, and somewhat later Ralph caught a train for the city. He went at once to the office of the president of the Great Northern. There was a long interview. As Ralph left the railroad magnate his face was pleased and his heart light and hopeful.

“Fairbanks,” said Mr. Grant, “I cannot express my satisfaction at your discoveries. It is as we supposed – some individual has been encouraging the strikers. There are ample proofs among these papers of the fact that Gasper Farrington has hired the strikers to commit all kinds of misdeeds to scare stockholders of the road. He has thus been enabled to buy up their stock at a reduced figure, to make an enormous profit when the strike is over. He had a scheme to tap our wires and cause further complications and trouble. Within a week the backbone of the strike will be broken, and we shall not forget your agency in assisting us to win out.”

Ralph went back to Stanley Junction that same day. He related all his varied adventures to his mother that evening.

“One thing I discovered from those documents in the satchels,” said Ralph. “Farrington has transferred all his property to Bartlett so we could not collect the money he owes us.”

“Then we shall lose our twenty thousand dollars after all,” said Mrs. Fairbanks anxiously.

“Wait and see,” replied Ralph, with a mysterious smile. “I am not yet through with Gasper Farrington.”

CHAPTER XXII

THE LIMITED MAIL

“All aboard!”

The conductor of the Limited Mail gave the signal cheerily. Ralph swung in from his side of the cab on the crack locomotive of the road. Old John Griscom gave a chuckle of delight and the trip to the city began.

It was ten days after the adventure in the scow – ten days full of activity and progress in the railroad interests of the Great Northern. This was the morning when old-time schedules were resumed and every part of the machinery of the line went back to routine.

“I tell you, lad, it feels good to start out with clear tracks and the regular system again. I’m proud of you, Fairbanks. You did up those strikers in fine style, and it will be a long time before we shall have any more trouble in that line.”

“I hope so, Mr. Griscom,” said Ralph. “The company seems determined to teach the strikers a lesson.”

This was true. Immediately after the visit of Ralph to the city, the railroad people had set at work to make the most of the evidence in their hands. A statement of the facts they had discovered was given to the public, a series of indictments found against Gasper Farrington, Bartlett, Jim Evans and others, and a vigorous prosecution for conspiracy was begun. Among the most important witnesses against them was Zeph Dallas. Farrington and Bartlett disappeared. Evans and the others were sent to jail.

A great revulsion in popular sentiment occurred when the true details of the strike movement were made known. The respectable element of the old union had scored a great victory, and work was resumed with many undesirable employes on the blacklist.

It seemed to Ralph now as though all unfavorable obstacles in the way of his success had been removed. He believed that Slump and Bemis were powerless to trouble him farther. As to Farrington, Ralph expected at some time to see that wily old schemer again, for the railroad was in possession of papers of value to the discredited railroad magnate.

Ralph had now become quite an expert at his work as a fireman. There was no grumbling at any time from the veteran engineer, for Ralph had a system in his work which showed always in even, favorable results. The locomotive was in splendid order and a finer train never left Stanley Junction. At many stations cheers greeted this practical announcement of the end of the strike.

There was no jar nor break on the route until they reached a station near Afton. The engine was going very fast, when, turning a curve, Griscom uttered a shout and turned the throttle swiftly.

“Too late!” he gasped hoarsely.

The young fireman had seen what Griscom saw. It was an alarming sight. At a street crossing a baby carriage was slowly moving down an incline. A careless nurse was at some distance conversing with a companion. The shrill shriek of the whistle caused her to discover the impending disaster, but she had become too terrified to move.

Ralph readily saw that speed would not be greatly diminished by the time the locomotive overtook the child in the baby carriage, and in a flash he acted. He was out on the running board and onto the cowcatcher so quickly that he seemed fairly to fly. Grasping a bracket, the young fireman poised for a move that meant life or death for the imperiled child.

The locomotive pounded the rails and shivered under the pressure of the powerful air brakes. Ralph swung far down, one hand extended. The baby carriage had rolled directly between the rails and stood there motionless.

It contained a beautiful child, who, with an innocent smile, greeted the approaching monster of destruction as if it were some great, pleasing toy. Ralph’s heart was in his throat.

“Grab out!” yelled Griscom, fairly beside himself with fear and suspense.

The young fireman’s eyes were dilated, his whole frame trembled. Quick as lightning his hand shot out. It met in a bunch of the clothing of the child. He lifted; the vehicle lifted, too, for a strap held in its occupant.

There was a terrific tension on the arm of the young railroader. The lower part of the vehicle was crunched under the cowcatcher and the child was almost borne away with it. Then the pressure lightened. With a great breath of relief and joy Ralph drew the child towards him, tangled up in the wreckage of the baby carriage.

The train stopped. Griscom did not say a word as they backed down. His face was white, his eyes startled, his breath came hard, but he gave his intrepid young assistant a look of approbation and devotion that thrilled Ralph to the heart.

A crowd had gathered around the distracted nurse at the street crossing. She was hysterical as the rescued child was placed in safety in her arms. Other women were crying. A big policeman arrived on the scene. Griscom gave the particulars of the occurrence.

“Name, please?” said the officer to Ralph.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary at all,” said Ralph.

“Isn’t it? Do you know whose child that is?”

“No,” said Ralph.

“The father is Judge Graham, the richest man in the town. Why, he’d hunt the world over to find you. A lucky fellow you are.”

Ralph gave his name and the train proceeded on its way amid the cheers of the passengers, who had learned of the brave act of the young fireman. When terminus was reached, a fine-looking old lady approached the locomotive.

“Mr. Fairbanks,” she said to Ralph, “the passengers desire you to accept a slight testimonial of their appreciation of your bravery in saving that young child.”

Ralph flushed modestly.

“This looks like being paid for doing a simple duty,” he said, as the lady extended an envelope.

“Not at all, Mr. Fairbanks. It was a noble act, and we all love you for it.”

“I think more of that sentiment than this money,” declared Ralph.

The envelope contained fifty dollars. Griscom told the story of the rescue all over Stanley Junction next day, and the local newspapers made quite an article of it.

The next morning Ralph had just completed his breakfast, when his mother went to the front door to answer the bell. She showed some one into the parlor and told Ralph that a gentleman wished to see him.

The young fireman was somewhat astonished, upon entering the parlor, to be grasped by the hand and almost embraced by a stranger.

“I am Judge Graham,” spoke the latter, in a trembling, excited tone. “Young man, you saved the life of my only child.”

“I was glad to,” said Ralph modestly.

The judge went on with a description of the joy and gratitude of the mother of the child, of his sentiments towards Ralph, and concluded with the words:

“And now, Mr. Fairbanks, I wish to reward you.”

“That has been done already,” said Ralph, “in your gracious words to me.”

“Not at all, not at all,” declared the judge. “Come, don’t be modest. I am a rich man.”

“And I a rich mother in having so noble a son,” spoke Mrs. Fairbanks, with deep emotion. “You must not think of a reward, sir. He will not take it.”

After a while the judge left the house, but he did so with an insistent and significant declaration that “he would not forget” Ralph.

The young fireman was surprised to see him returning a few minutes later, in the company of two of his own friends, Mr. Trevor, the nephew of the president of the Great Northern, and Van Sherwin.

“Well, this is a queer meeting,” cried Van with enthusiasm, as they entered the house. “Here we met Judge Graham, who is a great friend of Mr. Trevor, and the very man we wished to see.”

This statement was soon explained. It appeared that Mr. Trevor had fully recovered his health, and had come to Stanley Junction with Van to make preparations to issue and sell the bonds of the Short Cut Railroad. The judge was one of the friends he had intended to interview about buying some bonds.

For an hour young Trevor recited to Judge Graham the prospects of the little railway line and their plans regarding the same. Ralph was fascinated at his glowing descriptions of its great future.

Ralph’s visitors went away, but in a short time Van returned to the cottage.

“I say, Ralph,” he remarked, “Judge Graham is going to invest in those bonds.”

“That’s good,” said Ralph.

“And I heard him tell Mr. Trevor to put down an extra block of them in the name of Ralph Fairbanks.”

CHAPTER XXIII

THE PICNIC TRAIN

Zeph Dallas had returned to work. His connection with the strikers had been fully explained to the railroad people by Ralph, and the farmer boy was readily taken back into the service of the company. Zeph boarded with Mrs. Fairbanks, and Limpy Joe did, too, when he was in Stanley Junction.

The enterprising Joe was winning his way famously. His advertising scheme was a grand success, and the nuts he gathered brought in a good many dollars. One day he came to town to announce that he was going to move his traps, thanking Mrs. Fairbanks for her great kindness to him in the past.

“Are you going to leave the Junction permanently, Joe?” asked Ralph.

“I think so,” answered the cripple. “You see, I have been up to the headquarters of the Short Line Railroad. They can use my horse and wagon. They offer me a good salary to cook for them, and the concession of running a restaurant when their line is completed.”

“A good opportunity, that, Joe,” said Ralph, “although the main prospect you mention is far in the future, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” declared Joe. “I guess you haven’t kept track of proceedings in The Barrens. Their telegraph line is clear through, both ways from headquarters now. The bonds are nearly all sold, and they expect to begin to lay the rails in earnest next week.”

“I noticed a good deal of activity at our end of the line,” said Ralph. “I think the scheme is going to be a success. I almost wish I was going to work with you fellows.”

It was now drawing on towards late fall. For several weeks the young fireman had not been disturbed by his enemies. Work had gone on smoothly. He was learning more and more every day, and his savings amounted to quite a pretentious sum.

The only outside issue that troubled Ralph was the fact that they had not yet recovered the twenty thousand dollars due his mother from old Gasper Farrington. That individual had disappeared. Ralph kept a sharp lookout, for upon finding the magnate and bringing him to terms depended the last chance of getting the money.

There was the last picnic of the season one day, and Ralph had been assigned to duty to look after things generally. He was surprised when Forgan took him off the run of the Limited Mail.

“It will be a sort of vacation holiday for you, lad,” said the roundhouse foreman. “We want somebody reliable to look after the train, with so many women and children aboard. You will be boss over the engineer, fireman and the whole train crew for the day.”

“Quite an important commission,” said Ralph, “but what will the train crew say about it?”

“Oh, they will be glad to work with the responsibility on somebody else. Here is the schedule. Be careful of your running time, Fairbanks. I wouldn’t have anything happen to the picnic train for worlds.”

Ralph studied out the situation. When the train left Stanley Junction he took a position in the locomotive, attended to reports at all stations they passed, and the train reached the picnic grounds in safety and was run on the siding.

Ralph gave himself up to the enjoyment of a real holiday. He knew nearly everybody on the picnic grounds and nearly everybody there knew him. About the middle of the afternoon a boy living at the Junction came up to him.

“Say, Ralph,” he remarked, tendering the young fireman a note. “A fellow out in the woods gave me this for you.”

Ralph took the missive, and, opening it, read its contents with mingled surprise and suspicion. The note ran:

“If R. F. wants to hear of something to his advantage, come to the old railroad bridge right away.”

There was no signature to the scrawl, but Ralph quite naturally thought of Ike Slump and his crowd. That did not, however, deter him from going to keep the appointment. He cut a stout cudgel and proceeded to the old railroad bridge named in the note.

The young fireman glanced keenly about him, but for some time did not get a view of anybody in the vicinity. Finally from a clump of bushes up the incline a handkerchief waved. Ralph climbed the embankment to find himself facing Ike Slump.

The latter was ragged and starved-looking. To Ralph it appeared that the ex-roundhouse boy had been having a decidedly hard time of it recently.

“You needn’t carry any stick around here,” said Slump, sullenly. “You needn’t be afraid of me.”

“Not at all,” answered Ralph, “although your actions in the past would warrant my having a whole battery around me.”

“That’s done with,” asserted Slump, quite meekly. “Bemis is up there a little ways. You needn’t be afraid of him, either.”

“What are you getting at with all this talk, Ike?” inquired Ralph.

“Why, we want to be friends.”

“What for?”

“Because – because we’re tired of starving and being hunted and the like,” said Slump. “You have won out, we are beaten. We want to work together.”

“I declare I don’t understand what you are driving at,” said Ralph. “Come, Ike Slump, play no more crafty games. It don’t pay. Be honest and straight. What did you bring me here for?”

“To make some money for both of us.”

“In what way?”

“You would give a good deal to find Gasper Farrington, wouldn’t you, now?”

“I certainly am anxious to locate that man, yes,” answered Ralph frankly.

“All right, we know where he is.”

“And you are willing to make amends, I suppose, for your past misconduct by telling me where Farrington is to be found, so that I can have him arrested.”

“Well, I guess not!” cried Mort Bemis, coming upon the scene. “We want pay for what we do. We want a hundred dollars to begin with. A lot more when you get that money he owes you.”

“My friends,” said Ralph, promptly turning from the spot. “Not a cent. I don’t believe you know how to act square. You don’t show it by your present proposition. If you really want to be helped, and if you are sorry for your past wrong doing, come back to Stanley Junction, tell the truth, take your punishment like men, and I will be your good friend.”

“Well, you’re a bold one,” sneered Slump, getting very angry. “You won’t help us out, then?”

“With money – on your promise? No. I shall find Gasper Farrington finally without your aid, and, if you have nothing further to say, I shall return to the picnic grounds.”

“I don’t think you will,” said Bemis, roughly placing himself in Ralph’s path.

“Why not?” inquired the young fireman calmly, grasping his cudgel with a closer grip.

“Because – say, Ike, grab him, quick! If he won’t deal with us and we can get him a prisoner, Farrington will pay us. You know he always wanted to get rid of him.”

Ralph prepared to meet the enemy squarely. Slump and Bemis rushed towards him. Before they could begin the fight, however, a man burst through the underbrush whom Ralph recognized as a Stanley Junction police officer detailed on picnic duty.

“Found you, my friends, have I?” he hailed the two fellows. “Grab one of them, Fairbanks, I’ve got the other. I was on the lookout for them. They stole a purse from the basket of an old lady in the picnic grounds a few hours ago. Slump? Bemis? Well, you are a fine pair, you are!”

The officer insisted on arresting them, the more so that upon recognizing them now he suddenly remembered that a reward had been offered for their apprehension by the railroad company. The crestfallen plotters were taken to the train and locked up in one end of the express car.