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

Ralph went to them after a spell and tried to learn something more from them, but they were now sullen and vengeful.

In due time the train was backed down to the main track, the engine detached made a run for water, and, returning, stood some little distance from the cars.

The fireman and engineer left the engine to help their families gather up their traps and take them aboard the train. Ralph was busy in the cab. He was looking over the gauges when a sudden blow from behind stretched him insensible on the coal of the tender.

As he slowly opened his eyes Ralph saw Slump and Bemis in the cab. In some way they had escaped, had stolen the locomotive, and were speeding away to liberty.

“Just heard a whistle. It must be the Dover Accommodation,” Slump was remarking. “Get off and open the siding switch, Mort.”

This Bemis did, and the engine started up again. Ralph thrilled at the words Slump had spoken. He was weak and dizzy-headed, but he made a desperate effort, staggered to his feet and sprang from the cab.

Had the locomotive remained at the picnic grounds, the train would have been switched to the siding again until the Accommodation passed. As it was, unwarned, the Accommodation would crash into the train.

Ralph heard its whistle dangerously near. He looked up and down the tracks. Ahead, a bridge crossed the tracks, and near it was a framework with leather pendants to warn freight brakemen in the night time. Towards this Ralph ran swiftly. Weak as he was, he managed to scale the framework, gained its center, and sat there panting, poised for the most desperate action of his young career.

The Accommodation train came into view. Ralph sat transfixed, knowing that he would soon face death, but unmindful of the fact in the hope that his action would save the lives of those aboard the picnic train.

The Accommodation neared him. The young fireman got ready to drop. He let go, crashed past the roof of the cab, and landed between the astonished engineer and fireman.

“The picnic train – on the main, stop your locomotive!” he panted, and fainted dead away.

CHAPTER XXIV

IN “THE BARRENS”

Ralph Fairbanks had taken a terrible risk, and had met with his first serious accident since he had commenced his career as a young fireman. When he next opened his eyes he was lying in his own bed, a doctor and his mother bending solicitously over him.

Slowly reason returned to him. He stared wonderingly about him and tried to arise. A terrible pain in his feet caused him to subside. Then Ralph realized that he had suffered some serious injury from his reckless drop into the locomotive cab near the picnic grounds.

“What is it, doctor?” he asked faintly.

“A bad hurt in one arm and some ugly bruises. It is a wonder you were not crippled for life, or killed outright.”

“The train – the picnic train!” cried Ralph, clearly remembering now the incidents of the stolen engine.

“The Accommodation stopped in time to avert a disaster,” said Mrs. Fairbanks.

Ralph closed his eyes with a satisfied expression on his face. He soon sank into slumber. It was late in the day when he awoke. Gradually his strength came back to him, and he was able to sit up in bed.

The next day he improved still more, and within a week he was able to walk down to the roundhouse. Forgan and all his old friends greeted him royally.

“I suppose you have the nerve to think you are going to report for duty,” observed Forgan. “Well, you needn’t try. Orders are to sick list you for a month’s vacation.”

“I will be able to work in a week,” declared Ralph.

“Vacation on full pay,” continued the roundhouse foreman.

Ralph had to accept the situation. He told his mother the news, and they had a long talk over affairs in general. The doctor advised rest and a change of scene. The next day Van Sherwin called on his way back to The Barrens. That resulted in the young fireman joining him, and his mother urged him to remain with his friends and enjoy his vacation.

A recruit to the ranks of the workers of the Short Cut Railroad presented himself as Ralph and Van left for the depot one morning to ride as far as Wilmer. This was Zeph Dallas.

“No use talking,” said the farmer boy. “I’m lonesome here at Stanley Junction and I’m going to join Joe.”

“All right,” assented Van, “if you think it wise to leave a steady job here.”

“Why, you’ll soon be able to give me a better one, won’t you?” insisted Zeph. “It just suits me, your layout down there in The Barrens. Take me along with you.”

When they reached Wilmer and left the train, Van pointed proudly to a train of freight cars on the Great Northern tracks loaded with rails and ties.

“That’s our plunder,” he said cheerily. “Mr. Trevor is hustling, I tell you. Why, Ralph, we expect to have this end of the route completed within thirty days.”

As they traversed the proposed railroad line, Ralph was more and more interested in the project. Little squads of men were busily employed here and there grading a roadbed, and the telegraph line was strung over the entire territory.

They reached the headquarters about noon. A new sign appeared on the house, which was the center of the new railroad system. It was “Gibson.”

A week passed by filled with great pleasure for the young railroader. Evenings, Mr. Gibson and his young friends discussed the progress and prospects of the railroad. There were to be two terminal stations and a restaurant at the Springfield end of the route. There were only two settlements in The Barrens, and depots were to be erected there.

“We shall have quite some passenger service,” declared Mr. Gibson, “for we shorten the travel route for all transfer passengers as well as freight. The Great Northern people do not at all discourage the scheme, and the Midland Central has agreed to give us some freight contracts. Oh, we shall soon build up into a first-class, thriving, little railroad enterprise.”

One evening a storm prevented Ralph from returning to headquarters, so he camped in with some workmen engaged in grading an especially difficult part of the route. The evening was passed very pleasantly, but just before nine o’clock, when all had thought of retiring, a great outcry came from the tent of the cook.

“I’ve got him, I’ve caught the young thief,” shouted the cook, dragging into view a small boy who was sobbing and trembling with grief.

“What’s the row?” inquired one of the workmen.

“Why, I’ve missed eatables for a week or more at odd times, and I just caught this young robber stealing a ham.”

“I didn’t steal it,” sobbed the detected youngster. “I just took it. You’d take it, too, if you was in our fix. We’re nearly starved.”

“Who is nearly starved?” asked Ralph, approaching the culprit.

“Me and dad. We were just driven to pick up food anywhere. You’ve got lots of it. You needn’t miss it. Please let me go, mister.”

“No, the jail for you,” threatened the cook direfully.

“Oh, don’t take me away from my father,” pleaded the affrighted youngster. “He couldn’t get along without me.”

“See here, cook, let me take this little fellow in hand,” suggested Ralph.

“All right,” assented the cook, adding in an undertone, “give him a good scare.”

Ralph took the boy to one side. His name was Ned. His father, he said, was Amos Greenleaf, an old railroader, crippled in an accident some years before. He had become very poor, and they had settled in an old house in The Barrens a few miles distant. Ralph made up a basket of food with the cook’s permission.

“Now then, Ned,” said Ralph, “you lead the way to your home.”

“You won’t have me arrested?”

“Not if you have been telling me the truth.”

“I haven’t,” declared the young lad. “It’s worse than I tell it. Dad is sick and has no medicine. We have nearly starved.”

It was an arduous tramp to the wretched hovel they at last reached. Ralph was shocked as he entered it. It was almost bare of furniture, and the poor old man who lay on a miserable cot was thin, pale and racked with pain.

“I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern,” said the young railroader, “and I came with your boy to see what we can do for you.”

“A railroader?” said Greenleaf. “I am glad to see you. I was once in that line myself. Crippled in a wreck. Got poor, poorer, bad to worse, and here I am.”

“Too bad,” said Ralph sympathizingly. “Why have you not asked some of your old comrades to help you?”

“They are kind-hearted men, and did help me for a time, till I became ashamed to impose on their generosity.”

“How were you injured, Mr. Greenleaf?” asked Ralph.

“In a wreck. It was at the river just below Big Rock. I was a brakeman. The train struck a broken switch and three cars went into the creek. I went with them and was crippled for life. One of them was a car of another road and not so high as the others, or I would have been crushed to death.”

“A car of another road?” repeated Ralph with a slight start.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know what road it belonged to?”

“No. They recovered the other two cars. I never heard what became of the foreign car. I guess it was all smashed up.”

“Gondola?”

“No, box car.”

Ralph was more and more interested.

“When did this occur, Mr. Greenleaf?” he asked.

“Five years ago.”

“Is it possible,” said Ralph to himself, “that I have at last found a clew to the missing car Zeph Dallas and that car finder are so anxious to locate?”

CHAPTER XXV

TOO LATE

Two days later Ralph went down the line of the little railroad to where it met the tracks of the Great Northern. Mr. Gibson had sent him with some instructions to the men at work there, and at the request of the young fireman had assigned him to work at that point.

This consisted in checking up the construction supplies delivered by rail. Ralph had a motive in coming to this terminus of the Short Line Route. The information he had gained from the old, crippled railroader, Amos Greenleaf, had set him to thinking. He found Zeph Dallas working industriously, but said nothing about his plans until the next day.

At the noon hour he secured temporary leave of absence from work for Zeph and himself, and went to find his friend.

Zeph was a good deal surprised when Ralph told him that they were to have the afternoon for a ramble, but readily joined his comrade.

“Saw some friends of yours hanging around here yesterday,” said the farmer boy.

“That so?” inquired Ralph.

“Yes, Slump and Bemis. Guess they were after work or food, and they sloped the minute they set eyes on me. Say, where are you bound for anyway, Ralph?”

“For Wilmer.”

“What for?”

“I want to look around the river near there. The truth is, Zeph, I fancy I have discovered a clew to that missing freight car.”

“What!” cried Zeph excitedly. “You don’t mean car No. 9176?”

“I mean just that,” assented Ralph. “Here, let us find a comfortable place to sit down, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Ralph selected a spot by a fence lining the railroad right of way. Then he narrated the details of his interview with Amos Greenleaf.

“Say,” exclaimed Zeph, “I believe there’s something to this. Every point seems to tally somehow to what information the car finder gave me, don’t you think so? Besides, in investigating the matter, I heard about this same wreck. And five years ago? Ralph, this is worth looking up, don’t you think so?”

Zeph was fairly incoherent amid his excitement. He could not sit still, and arose to his feet and began walking around restlessly.

“You see, it is a long time since the car disappeared,” said Ralph, “and we may not be able to find any trace of it. The car finder, in his investigations, must have heard of this wreck. Still, as you say, it is worth following up the clew, and that is why I got a leave from work for the afternoon.”

“Hello,” said Zeph, looking in among the bushes abruptly, “some one in there? No, I don’t see anybody now, but there was a rustling there a minute or two ago.”

“Some bird or animal, probably,” said Ralph. “Come on, Zeph, we will go to the bridge and start on our investigations.”

The river near Wilmer was a broad stream. It was quite deep and had a swift current. The boys started down one bank, conversing and watching out. Ralph laughed humorously after a while.

“I fancy this is a kind of a blind hunt, Zeph,” he said. “We certainly cannot expect to find that car lying around loose.”

“Well, hardly, but we might find out where it went to if we go far enough,” declared Zeph. “I tell you, I shall never give it up now if I have to go clear to the end of this river.”

They kept on until quite late in the afternoon, but made no discoveries. They passed a little settlement and went some distance beyond it. Then Ralph decided to return to the railroad camp.

“All right,” said Zeph, “only I quit work to-morrow.”

“What for?”

“To find that car. I say, I’m thirsty. Let us get a drink of water at that old farm house yonder.”

They went to the place in question and were drinking from the well bucket when the apparent owner of the place approached them.

“Won’t you have a cup or a glass, my lads?” he inquired kindly.

“Oh, no, this is all right,” said Ralph.

“On a tramp, are you?” continued the farmer, evidently glad to have someone to talk to.

“In a way, yes,” answered Ralph, and then, a sudden idea struck him, he added: “By the way, you are an old resident here, I suppose?”

“Forty years or more.”

“Do you happen to remember anything of a wreck at the bridge at Wilmer about five years ago?”

“Let me see,” mused the man. “That was the time of the big freshet. Yes, I do remember it faintly. It’s the freshet I remember most though. Enough timber floated by here to build a barn. See that old shed yonder?” and he pointed to a low structure. “Well, I built that out of timber I fished ashore. Lumber yard beyond Wilmer floated into the creek, and all of us along here got some of it.”

“What do you know about the wreck?” asked Ralph.

“Heard about it at the time, that’s all. Sort of connect the freshet with it. That was a great washout,” continued the farmer. “Even sheds and chicken coops floated by. And say, a box car, too.”

“Oh,” cried Zeph, with a start as if he was shot.

“Indeed?” said Ralph, with a suppressed quiver of excitement in his tone.

“Yes. It went whirling by, big and heavy as it was.”

“Say, Mister, you don’t know where that car went to, do you?” inquired Zeph anxiously.

“Yes, I do. I know right where it is now.”

“You do?”

“Yes, old Jabez Kane, ten miles down the creek, got it. He is using it now for a tool shed.”

“Oh!” again cried Zeph, trembling with suspense and hope.

Ralph nudged him to be quiet. He asked a few more questions of the farmer and they left the place.

“Ralph,” cried Zeph wildly, “we’ve found it!”

“Maybe not,” answered the young fireman. “It may not be the same car.”

“But you’re going to find out?”

“It’s pretty late. We had better make a day of it to-morrow.”

“All right, if we can’t attend to it to-day,” said Zeph disappointedly; and then both returned to camp.

Next morning early both started for the creek again. By proceeding across the country diagonally, they saved some distance.

It was about noon when they approached a rickety, old farmhouse which a man had told them belonged to Jabez Kane.

“There it is, there it is,” cried Zeph, as they neared it.

“Yes, there is an old box car in the yard near the creek, sure enough,” said Ralph.

They entered the farm yard. The box of the car they looked at sat flat on the ground. It had been whitewashed several times, it appeared, so they could trace no markings on it. They approached it and stood looking it over when a man came out of the house near by.

“Hey,” he hailed, advancing upon them. “What you trespassing for?”

“Are we?” inquired Ralph, with a pleasant smile. “We mean no harm.”

“Dunno about that,” said the farmer suspiciously. “Was you here last night?”

“Oh, no,” answered Ralph.

“Well, what do you want?”

“I was sort of interested in this old car,” announced Ralph.

“Why so?” demanded Kane.

“Well, we are looking for a car that floated down the creek here about five years ago.”

“For the railroad?” asked the farmer.

“In a way, yes, in a way, no.”

“Does the railroad want to take it away from me?”

“Certainly not. They would like to know, though, if it’s a car of the Southern Air Line and numbered 9176.”

“You’ve got it, lad. This was just that car. What’s the amazing interest in it all of a sudden? Look here,” and he took them around to the other side of the car. “Last night two boys came here; my son saw them hanging around here. Then they disappeared. This morning I found the car that way.”

Ralph and Zeph stared in astonishment. A four-foot space of the boards on the outside of the car had been torn away. At one point there was a jagged break in the inside sheathing. In a flash the same idea occurred to both of them.

“Too late!” groaned poor Zeph. “Some one has been here and the diamonds are gone.”

Ralph was stupefied. He remembered the rustling in the bushes when they were discussing their plans the day previous. He believed that their conversation had been overheard by some one.

Ralph asked the man to send for his son, which he did, and Ralph interrogated him closely. The result was a sure conviction that Ike Slump and Mort Bemis had secured the diamonds hidden in the box car about five years previous.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE MAD ENGINEER

“Well, good-bye, Zeph.”

“Good-bye, Ralph. Another of my wild dreams of wealth gone.”

“Don’t fret about it, Zeph.”

“How can I help it?”

Ralph had decided to return home. He was now fully recuperated, and his vacation period would expire in a few days.

It was the evening of the day when they had discovered the missing box car only to find that others had discovered it before them. Ralph had arranged to flag a freight at the terminus of the Short Line Route and was down at the tracks awaiting its coming.

The freight arrived, Ralph clambered to the cab, waved his hand in adieu to Zeph, and was warmly welcomed by his friends on the engine.

They had proceeded only a short distance when a boy came running down an embankment. So rapid and reckless was his progress that Ralph feared he would land under the locomotive. The lad, however, grasped the step of the cab, and was dragged dangerously near to the wheels. Ralph seized him just in time and pulled him up into the cab.

“Well!” commented the engineer, “it’s a good thing we were going slow. Here, land out as you landed in, kid.”

“Please don’t,” cried the boy, gazing back with tear-filled eyes and trembling all over. “Please let me ride with you.”

“Against the rules.”

“See, there they are!” almost shrieked the boy, pointing to two men who came rushing down the embankment. “Oh, don’t let them get me.”

“Give him a show till I learn his story,” said Ralph to the engineer, so the latter put on steam and the two men were outdistanced.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” panted the boy, clinging close to Ralph.

“Come up on the water tank,” said Ralph, “and I’ll have a talk with you.”

The lad, whom the young fireman had befriended, was a forlorn-looking being. He wore no shoes, was hatless, and had on a coat many sizes too large for him.

“Now then, what’s the trouble?” inquired Ralph, when they were both seated on the water tank.

“Those men were pursuing me,” said the lad.

“What for?”

“I was running away from them. They are my uncles, and they have been very wicked and cruel to me. They want to send me to a reform school to get rid of me, and locked me up. I ran away this morning, but they got trace of me again.”

“What is your name?”

“Earl Danvers. My father died and left them my guardians. They are after the property, I guess.”

“What do you propose to do?”

“Oh, anything to get away from them.”

Ralph talked for quite a while with the boy and learned his entire history. Then he said:

“This is a case for a lawyer. Would you like to come to Stanley Junction with me and have a lawyer look into the matter for you?”

“No. I only want to escape from those bad men.”

“That will follow. You come with me. I will interest myself in your case and see that you are protected.”

“How kind you are – you are the only friend I ever knew,” cried the boy, bursting into tears of gratitude.

Ralph took Earl Danvers home with him when they reached Stanley Junction. His kind-hearted mother was at once interested in the forlorn refugee. They managed to fit him out with some comfortable clothing, and Ralph told him to take a rest of a few days, when he would have him see their lawyer and tell him his story.

Two days later the young fireman reported at the roundhouse for duty, and the ensuing morning started on a new term of service as fireman of the Limited Mail.

The first trip out Griscom was engineer. Ralph noticed that he looked pale and worried. The run to the city was made in a way quite unusual with the brisk and lively veteran railroader. Ralph waited until they were on their way home from the roundhouse that evening. Then he said:

“Mr. Griscom, you have not been your usual self to-day.”

“That’s true, lad,” nodded the engineer gravely.

“Anything the matter especially?”

“Oh, a little extra care on my mind and under the weather a bit besides,” sighed Griscom.

“Can I help you in any way?” inquired Ralph.

“No, lad – we must all bear our own troubles.”

The next day Griscom did not report for duty at train time. A man named Lyle was put on extra duty. Ralph did not know him very well nor did he like him much. He understood that he was a fine engineer but that he had been warned several times for drinking.

As he came into the cab, Ralph noticed that his eyes were dull and shifty, his hands trembled and he bore all the appearance of a man who had been recently indulging in liquor to excess.

As soon as they were out on the road, Lyle began to drink frequently from a bottle he took out of his coat. He became more steady in his movements, and, watching him, Ralph saw that he understood his business thoroughly and was duly attentive to it.

After the wait at the city, however, Lyle came aboard of the locomotive in quite a muddled condition. He was talkative and boastful now. He began to tell of the many famous special runs he had made, of the big salaries he had earned, and of his general proficiency as a first-class engineer.

He ordered full steam on, and by the time they were twenty miles from the city he kept the locomotive going at top notch speed. There was a tremendous head on the cylinders and they ran like a racer. Frogs and target rods were passed at a momentum that fairly frightened Ralph, and it was a wonder to him the way the wheels ground and bounded that they always lit on the steel.

Lyle took frequent drinks from the bottle, which had been replenished. His eyes were wild, his manner reckless, almost maniacal. As they passed signals he would utter a fierce, ringing yell. Ralph crowded over to him.

“Mr. Lyle,” he shouted, “we are ahead of time.”

“Good,” roared the mad engineer, “I’m going to make the record run of the century.”

“If any other train is off schedule, that is dangerous.”

“Let ’em look out for themselves,” chuckled Lyle. “Whoop! pile in the black diamonds.”

“Stop!” almost shrieked Ralph.

Of a sudden he made a fearful discovery. A signal had called for a danger stop where the Great Northern crossed the tracks of the Midland Central. Unheeding the signal, Lyle had run directly onto a siding of the latter railroad and was traversing it at full speed.

“Stop, stop, I say – there’s a car ahead,” cried Ralph.

Lyle gave the young fireman a violent push backwards and forged ahead.

Chug! bang! A frightful sound filled the air. The locomotive had struck a light gondola car squarely, lifting it from the track and throwing it to one side a mass of wreckage. Then on, on sped the engine. It struck the main of the Midland Central.

Ralph grabbed up a shovel.

“Lower speed,” he cried, “or I will strike you.”

“Get back,” yelled Lyle, pulling a revolver from his pocket. “Back, I say, or I’ll shoot. Whoop! this is going.”