THE MOUNTAIN DIVISION
"Well, lad, you've passed muster and got to the head of the class!"
proclaimed old John Griscom.
"Oh, no," dissented Ralph Fairbanks; "I'm just started in to learn
what real railroading means."
"I'd call you a pretty apt student, then," put in Tim Forgan, foreman
of the Stanley Junction roundhouse.
"If there's any man, boy or child in this doghouse who says that young
Fairbanks isn't a crackerjack, let him step right up here and take his
medicine!" vaunted Lemuel Fogg, playfully, but with a proud look of
admiration at the expert young engineer.
"It's the best part of it to know that you fellows mean every word you
say and believe in me," observed Ralph. "Your encouragement and
influence have boosted me up to the Overland Express all right--I'll
try and never make you ashamed of having backed me."
Ralph Fairbanks felt good and showed it. His friends shared in his
emotions and sentiments, and that made the present occasion doubly
glad and welcome. It was one of those rare moments, coming only once
in a while, when Ralph and his comrades had an idle half hour to chat
and compliment each other in the doghouse.
The Overland Express had become an established feature of the Great
Northern--as little Torchy had phrased it, "a howling success." A week
had gone by, and now, seated in the midst of his loyal friends, Ralph
felt that he had made good on a promotion that placed him at the top
notch of engineering service.
It was a big thing for a youth to gain that high distinction--engineer
of the Overland Express. Looking back over the active, energetic
career that had led up to this, however, Ralph realized that the
climax had been reached a step at a time through patience,
perseverance and genuine hard work. It was a proof to him that any
person following discipline and having as a motto precision and
finality, was bound to succeed. It was a most enjoyable breathing
spell to realize that all the anxiety, dash and novelty of the
experimental trips over the Mountain Division were past, and he now
felt that he knew the route and all its details perfectly.
Ralph had found time to do some thinking about his friends the past
day or two. He had seen two of them, for Van Sherwin and little Limpy
Joe had come down from the Short Line, and had spent a pleasant day at
the Fairbanks home. Archie Graham, too, had put in an appearance. The
young inventor looked shamefaced and distressed when he admitted all
that Ralph had guessed concerning the patent bellows--draft
improvement for locomotives.
"It only worked the wrong way," explained Archie; "next time----"
"Next time try it on some other railroad, Archie," advised Ralph.
"They're watching for you with rifles down at the Great Northern
roundhouse."
"Huh!" snorted Archie contemptuously; "they'll be sorry when I strike
some real big thing and another line gets it. Now then, I've got
something brand new--the rocket danger signal."
"Go right ahead experimenting with it, only choose a spot where you
won't hurt any one," advised Ralph. "You're all right, Archie,"
declared the young railroader, slapping his comrade appreciatively on
the shoulder, "only you are too ambitious. I have no doubt that you
will some day hit something tangible. It's a long, patient road,
though--this inventing things."
"You bet it is," assented Archie with force.
"And you attempt too grand beginnings. Take something more simple and
easy than trying to revolutionize railroad service all at once, and
gradually work up to bigger things."
"Say, there's sense in that, an old inventor told me the same thing,"
said Archie; "but you see this rocket danger signal of mine is a new
thing. I'm going to Bridgeport to-morrow to get some fixings I have in
my workshop there. You'll hear from me later, Fairbanks."
Concerning Zeph, Fred Porter and Marvin Clark the young railroader had
heard nothing since the last visit of Zeph to Stanley Junction. Many a
time he wondered what had become of them. He had all kinds of theories
as to their continued mysterious absence, but no solution offered as
time wore on.
The Overland Express had not become an old thing with Ralph. He felt
that the charm and novelty of running the crack train of the road
could never wear out. With each trip, however, there came a feeling of
growing strength and self-reliance. Ralph had learned to handle the
proposition aptly, and he took a great pride in the time record so
far.
"It's a lively run, and no mistake," he remarked to Fogg, as they
started out from the depot that evening. "We haven't had any of the
direful mishaps, though, that those old doghouse croakers predicted."
"No," admitted the fireman, but he accompanied the word with a serious
shake of the head; "that's to come. I'm trained enough to guess that
another frost or two will end in the season that every railroad man
dreads. Wait till the whiskers get on the rails, lad, and a freshet or
two strikes 999. There's some of those culverts make me quake when I
think of the big ice gorges likely to form along Dolliver's Creek. Oh,
we'll get them--storms, snowslides and blockades. The only way is to
remember the usual winter warning, 'extra caution,' keep cool, and
stick to the cab to the last."
Summer had faded into autumn, and one or two sharp frosts had
announced the near approach of winter. The day before there had been a
slight snow flurry. A typical fall day and a moonlit night had
followed, however, and Ralph experienced the usual pleasure as they
rolled back the miles under flying wheels. They took the sharp curves
as they ran up into the hills with a scream of triumph from the
locomotive whistle every time they made a new grade.
"Waste of steam, lad, that," observed Fogg, as they rounded a curve
and struck down into a cut beyond which lay the town of Fordham.
"Better to be safe," responded Ralph. "There's a crossing right ahead
where the old spur cuts in."
"Yes, but who ever crosses it?" demanded the fireman.
"Some one did two nights ago," insisted Ralph. "I'm positive that we
just grazed a light wagon crossing the roadway leading into the cut."
"Then it was some stray farmer lost off his route," declared Fogg.
"Why, that old spur has been rusting away for over five years, to my
recollection. As to the old road beyond being a highway, that's
nonsense. There's no thoroughfare beyond the end of the spur. The road
ends at a dismantled, abandoned old factory, and nobody lives anywhere
in this section."
"Is that so?" Toot! toot! toot!
The whistle screeched out sharply. The fireman stuck his head out of
the window. Ralph had already looked ahead.
"I declare!" shouted Fogg, staring hard. "Swish--gone! But what was it
we passed?"
Ralph did not speak. He sat still in a queer kind of realization of
what they both had just seen, and in the retrospect. While he and his
fireman had been conversing, just ahead in the white moonlight he had
seen two human figures against the sky. It was a flashing glimpse
only, for the train was making a forty mile clip, but, dangling from a
tree overhanging the side of the cliff lining the tracks on one side,
he had made out two boys.
"The Canaries!" he murmured to himself, in profound surprise and deep
interest. "I even heard them whistle."
Ralph was so sure that the little swinging figures he had seen were
the lithe, strange creatures who had been brought to Stanley Junction
by Zeph Dallas, that he thought about it all the rest of the trip. He
said nothing further to Fogg about the circumstance, but he resolved
to investigate later on.
The young engineer tried to calculate ahead how some day soon he could
arrange to visit the vicinity of the old Fordham spur. He was positive
that he had seen the two Canaries. Their presence at the spur
indicated that they must be denizens of its neighborhood. This being
true, their presence might indicate the proximity of Zeph Dallas. At
least the strange young foreigners might know what had become of the
ardent young "detective."
Ralph made a good many inquiries of his fireman as to the Fordham
spur. Fogg simply knew that it ran to an old ruined factory long since
abandoned. On the return trip Ralph kept a sharp lookout as they
neared the cut. There was no second appearance of the Canaries,
however, nor the next night, nor that following. The young engineer
found no opportunity of visiting the place, but he kept his plan to do
so constantly in mind.
It was two days later as he made the short cut to the roundhouse about
noon, that Ralph was greeted by a new discovery that fairly took his
breath away. He had stepped aside to wait till a locomotive with one
car attached passed the crossing. The peculiar oddness of the car at
once attracted his attention.
It was an old tourist car, used only on far western railroads. He had
seen its like only once or twice before. Its inside shades were all
drawn. There was no sight of life about it. The locomotive belonged to
the northern branch of the Great Northern, and had the right of way
and was tracked for the Mountain Division.
"That's a queer layout," soliloquized Ralph, as the strange outfit
flashed by. "Hello!"
The young engineer uttered a great shout. As the car passed him he
naturally glanced at its rear platform.
Upon its step in solitary possession of the car sat his long-lost
friend--Zeph Dallas.