A CRITICAL MOMENT
If the rails under which Ike Slump lay had not caught at their ends
with other rails, his limbs would have been crushed out of all
semblance. Ralph noted this at once, and as well the extreme peril of
the situation of the enemy who, a minute previous had been gloating
over his helplessness.
"Don't move--for your life, don't move!" shouted Ralph, and he sprang
forward in front of the pinioned Ike Slump.
"I'm killed, I'm crushed to death!" bellowed Ike. "Oh, help! help!"
The weapon had fallen from his hand. Both arms wildly sawing the air,
Ike shivered and shrank like the arrant craven he was at heart.
"Do just as I say," ordered the young engineer breathlessly. "Don't
stir--don't even breathe."
Ralph had jumped to the end of the pile of rails. His quick eye
selected the one rail that was the key of the tangle, which, directed
wrong, would sweep the mass with crushing force across the pinioned
body of Ike. The rails were short lengths. But for this, Ralph, strong
as he was, could have done little or nothing. He got a grasp upon the
rail. Then he sung out.
"Slip when I lift."
"I can't,--I can't!" wailed Ike.
"You've got to--now!"
Ralph gave a tug at the rail. There was an ominous grind and quiver as
the others interlocked. He made a tremendous lift, one which strained
every sinew and started the perspiration from every pore.
"I'm numbed, I'm all crushed!" snivelled Ike; nevertheless he managed
to crawl out, or rather slip out from under the uplifted rail. He
rolled on the dirt floor of the shed, making a great ado. It was just
in time, for Ralph felt his eyes starting from his head. He dropped
the heavy mass he had sustained and staggered back, well-nigh
overcome.
As his breath came back to him, Ralph glanced particularly at Ike. The
latter was completely absorbed in his own sufferings. Ralph could
discern from the movements of his limbs that neither of them was
dislocated and apparently no bones were broken. Still, he realized
that they must be badly bruised and that Ike was disabled, at least
for a time.
"I'm going for help," he said simply, and darted from the shed. Ike
yelled after him to protest against desertion, but Ralph paid no
attention. He planned to get to friends while Evans was still away,
and he determined to get back with friends by the time Evans
returned.
Fogg was at the engine as Ralph ran along the tracks, and one of the
brakemen of the accommodation was with him. Ralph rapidly apprized his
fireman of the situation.
"Slump and Evans, eh!" muttered Fogg, a deep crinkle of belligerency
crossing his forehead. "It was Slump who stole half my chickens. As to
Evans, his mean treachery during the strike came near getting me
discharged. I thought they were safe in jail."
"So did I," said Ralph. "They seem to have escaped, though. Mr. Fogg,
they are bad people to have at large."
"Bad! they're of a dangerous breed, I tell you. Simmons, hustle along
with us."
The fireman snatched up a furnace poker and put down the track after
Ralph, on the run. He was the first to dart into the shed when they
reached it, and ran up against the others following, after a swift
glance about the place.
"No one here," he reported. "Gone--they've slipped us--there's no one
in this shed."
"Ah, I see," spoke Ralph, with a look about the place outside. "Here
are wagon wheels," and then he cast his eye across the landscape.
It was so crowded with tracks, buildings and trees beyond that he
could not look far in the distance. Ralph, however, was satisfied that
Evans, returning with the wagon, had made haste to carry his helpless
comrade to the vehicle and get beyond reach of capture.
Fogg was for starting a pursuit, but Ralph convinced him of the
futility of this course, and they returned to the locomotive. Once
there, the fireman went over the case in all its bearings. Ralph had
heretofore told him little concerning Fred Porter and Marvin Clark. He
had shown him the photograph of the latter some days previous, asking
him to keep an eye out for its original. Now he felt that some
confidence was due his loyal cab mate, and he recited the entire story
of what he knew and his surmises.
"You've got a square head, Fairbanks," said Fogg, "and I'll rely on it
every time. It's logic to think your way. Some fellow is mightily
interested in this young Clark. None too good is the fellow, either,
or he wouldn't have to beat around the bush. No, he's not straight,
or he wouldn't hire such fellows as Evans and Ike Slump to help him
out."
"I don't understand it all," confessed Ralph, "but I can see that a
good deal of mysterious interest centers around this young Clark. I'm
going to try and get some word to Porter--and to Zeph Dallas. They
should know what's going on regarding Clark."
The incident did not depart from the young engineer's mind during the
return trip to Stanley Junction, nor for several days later. With the
escape of Evans and Ike Slump, however, the episode ended, at least
for the time being. A week and more passed by, and that precious pair
and their presumable employer, the pretended Lord Montague, seemed to
have drifted out of existence quite as fully as had Zeph, Porter and
young Clark.
One morning there was an animated discussion going on when Ralph
entered the roundhouse. He was greatly interested in it, although he
did not share in the general commotion.
The result of somebody's "confidential" talk with the division
superintendent had leaked out--the Great Northern was figuring to soon
announce its new train.
"As I get it," observed old John Griscom, "the road is in for a bid on
the service the Midland Central is getting."
"You don't mean through business?" spoke an inquiring voice.
"Sure, that," assented the veteran railroader. "We've beat them on the
China & Japan Mail run to Bridgeport, and now the scheme is to run the
Overland Express in from the north, catch her up here, and cut out
Bridgeport at a saving of fifty miles on the regular western run."
"Then they will have to take the Mountain Division from Stanley
Junction."
"Just that, if they expect to make the time needed," assented Griscom.
"Hey, Bill Somers," to a grizzled old fellow with one arm, who was
shaking his head seriously at all this confab, "what you mooning
about?"
"I wouldn't take that run," croaked Somers, "if they gave me a solid
gold engine with the tender full of diamonds. I left an arm on that
route. Say, Dave Little and I had a construction run over those
sliding curves up and down the canyon grades. It lasted a month. There
were snowslides, washouts, forest fires. There's a part of the road
that's haunted. There's a hoodoo over one section, where they kill a
man about once a week. Little lost his leg and his job there. My old
arm is sleeping thereabouts in some ravine. No Mountain Division run
for me, boys!"
"You won't get it, never fear," observed a voice.
"No, I know that," retorted Somers a little sadly, indicating his
helplessness by moving his stump of an arm, "but I pity the fellow who
does."
Day by day after that there were new additions to the fund of gossip
concerning the new run. It all interested Ralph. Nothing definite,
however, was as yet stated officially. Ralph and Fogg continued on the
accommodation, and there was now little break in the regular routine
of their railroad experience.
Ralph had made a short cut across the switch yards one morning, when a
stirring episode occurred that he was not soon to forget, nor others.
It took an expert to thread the maze of cars in motion, trains stalled
on sidings, and trains arriving and departing.
It was the busiest hour of the day, and Ralph kept his eye out
sharply. He had paused for a moment in a clear triangle formed by
diverging rails, to allow an outward bound train to clear the switch,
when a man on the lower step of the last car waved his hand and hailed
him.
It was the master mechanic, and Ralph was pleased at the notice taken
of him, and interested to learn what the official wanted of him. The
master mechanic, alighting, started across the tracks to join Ralph.
A train was backing on the one track between them. Another train was
moving out on the rails still nearer to Ralph.
It was a scene of noise, commotion and confusion. If the master
mechanic had been a novice in railroad routine, Ralph could not have
repressed a warning shout, for with his usual coolness that official,
timing all train movements about him with his practiced eye, made a
quick run to clear the train backing in to the depot. He calculated
then, Ralph foresaw, to cross the tracks along which the outgoing
train was coming.
"He's taking a risk--it's a graze," murmured the young engineer in
some trepidation.
The master mechanic was alert and nimble, though past middle age. He
took the chances of a spry jump across the rails, his eye fixed on the
outgoing train, aiming to get across to Ralph before it passed. In
landing, however, he miscalculated. The run and jump brought him to a
dead halt against a split switch. His foot drove into the jaws of the
frog as if wedged there by the blow of a sledge-hammer.