A RACE AGAINST TIME.
SEVERAL events combined to make Myles regret seeking shelter in that
cabin instead of pushing on with ever so slight a chance of reaching
the town in safety, or camping out under some tree and bearing the
night’s cold and hunger as best he might. To begin with, he lost his
money in this cabin, or at least he thought he lost it there, when,
late the next day, he made the discovery that it was gone. In regard
to it he was only certain of two things. One was that he had it safe
enough when he reached the cabin, and the other was that he did not
gamble it away. Whether he was robbed as he slept, or whether, after
replacing it in the envelope, it slipped to the ground instead of into
his pocket, as he meant it should, he could not tell. It did not seem
possible that either of these things had happened. If he was robbed
why was not his watch taken also? And he did not believe he could
have been so careless as to let the package slip to the ground without
noticing it. At any rate the money disappeared, and with it went the
kindly worded note signed “A Friend in Need.”
The interior of the cabin presented a much more cheerful and
comfortable appearance than was promised by the outside. It contained
two rooms, in the larger of which a fire was glowing on an ample
hearth. The man appeared to be the sole occupant of the place, and,
bidding Myles sit down and wait a while, he proceeded to prepare supper
for the hungry reporter.
He was evidently not an inquisitive man; for, as he busied himself
over the fire, he asked no questions. Neither did he volunteer any
information, except that it was a dark night and middling cool for the
season. Myles tried to enter into conversation with him, but the man
was so evidently disinclined to talk that he soon gave up the attempt
and watched him in silence.
In about half an hour a much better supper than he had dared expect
was ready for him. It consisted of fried ham and eggs, a cup of hot
tea, plenty of bread and butter, and a dish of preserved peaches. To
Myles it seemed about the best meal he had ever eaten, and he did full
justice to it, while the man sat silently gazing into the fire and
smoking a short black pipe.
When the reporter had satisfied his appetite he felt more sociable and
inclined for a chat than ever; but, though he exerted himself to the
utmost to be entertaining, he only succeeded in getting from the man an
occasional yes and no or a grunt that might have meant either. Finally,
in despair, he said he guessed he was ready to go to bed. The man rose,
knocked the ashes from his pipe, lighted a candle, and led the way to
the other room. There he pointed to the single bed that it contained
and told his guest that he might “lay down” on it if he liked. Then,
without another word, he set the candle down and went out, closing the
door behind him.
Thus left to his own devices, Myles examined his surroundings
curiously. The room was a small one, having two windows, but no door
except the one by which he had entered. It contained a cot-bed, a
couple of chairs, and a rickety bureau. From nails driven into the
rough board wall hung a few articles of men’s clothing. The young
reporter’s curiosity was quickly satisfied, and, opening one of the
windows wide, for he believed in plenty of fresh air, he blew out the
light, pulled off his shoes, and lay down on the outside of the bed.
For some time he listened to the movements of the man in the adjoining
room, from which his was only separated by a thin board partition, and
to Tige’s uneasy prowlings and occasional growls outside. Then he fell
asleep.
Some hours later he was wakened by the dog’s furious barking and the
harsh voice of his master bidding him be quiet. Then he heard other
voices, and presently two men entered the outer room. The owner of the
cabin evidently met them outside and warned them of his presence; for,
as they came in, Myles heard one of them ask in a low tone:
“Who is he, any way?”
“Blest if I know,” was the host’s reply. “He’s a stranger to these
parts, and I reckon he’s harmless. He didn’t ask no leading questions,
and if he knows any thing it isn’t on account of my telling.”
“It certainly is not,” thought Myles.
“Is he asleep, do you think?” was the next question.
“I don’t know, but I’ll make an errand into his room and find out.”
Myles instantly closed his eyes and began to breathe heavily. The next
moment his door was softly opened and his host, with a candle in his
hand, tiptoed across the floor and took down a coat that hung on the
opposite wall. Then he went out.
“Yes, he’s asleep fast enough,” Myles heard him say.
“Let’s take a look at him,” said one of the men.
Again Myles was obliged to feign sleep while his face was closely
examined by the new-comers. It was a trying moment, but he succeeded in
acting his part so well as to convince them that he was really asleep.
He was greatly relieved when they left the room, and still more so when
he heard one of them say:
“No, he don’t belong to these parts; but, whoever he is, he sleeps like
a log. You must have given him a dose of your sleeping-drops, Bill.”
“Not much I didn’t,” answered Bill, in whose voice Myles recognized
that of his host. “He didn’t ask for it, and you can bet I wasn’t fool
enough to offer it.”
“Well, whether you did or not, you want to offer it to us, and about
two gallons of it too. The boys have got a big job on hand, and will
need bracing up before they’ve done with it.”
“What is it?” asked Bill.
“Sh! Not so loud,” answered one of the men.
Then a long conversation followed, but at first it was carried on in
such low tones that Myles only caught a word of it now and then. A
clinking of glasses explained why it gradually grew louder, until at
last every word came plainly to the ears of the young reporter. The
first thing that he heard distinctly was:
“Jake Allen was too tender-hearted about it. He sent ’em word that the
track was in a dangerous condition, and if they came ahead it would be
at their own peril. I’d a let ’em come without a word, and find out for
themselves.”
“But I thought Jake Allen was locked up,” said Bill.
“So he was, but he isn’t now. When that fool of a lieutenant carried
off all his men, or the best part of ’em, what was to hinder the boys
from slipping into town and letting Jake out? Just nothing at all,
and that’s what they did. No, there wasn’t any fuss. It was all done
quiet enough, and now that Jake is out they won’t get him in again in a
hurry, you can bet on that. We’re just laying for them city roosters,
though, and it will serve ’em right if the whole regiment gets pitched
into the creek. What business have they, anyhow, coming out here to
interfere with us and our rights?”
“Then they are really coming, are they?” asked Bill.
“Coming! Of course they are, a whole train-load of ’em. They got as far
as Martin’s yesterday, and, if they make an early start and get along
as fast as they have been doing, they’ll be where we want ’em soon
sun’s up.”
“Where’s that?”
“Just this side of Station One. Somewhere on the Horseshoe.”
“Are you going to fight ’em there?”
“Fight? Not much! The boys won’t be there at all; but they are fixing
up a little trap to leave behind ’em that’ll do the business. The boys
will be far enough away long before that, though. There isn’t anybody
going to be caught in this racket.”
From all this Myles concluded that the 50th Regiment from New York
City, of whose intended coming he had already heard, was really on its
way to Mountain Junction. Some sort of a trap had been laid for them
on the Horseshoe, a sharp curve on the edge of a deep stream that he
remembered well. What if the train should be thrown from the track
there! Why, the result would be simply horrible. They had been warned
of danger, too, and yet would insist upon pushing ahead. Of course they
would do that, though; and Myles thrilled with an honest pride as he
thought how the boys of a New York City regiment would laugh at the
word “danger.” “It would only make them come ahead all the quicker,”
thought he, “for when those fellows are ‘under orders’ obeying them
is the first thing they think of, and the danger of doing so the very
last. But it would be awful if any thing were to happen to that train.
Couldn’t any thing be done to warn them? Couldn’t I do something even
now? If I were only at Mountain Junction, where I ought to be, instead
of ’way off here in the woods—on the wrong side of it too!”
All these thoughts flashed through the young reporter’s mind in a
minute, and they were followed by another.
“Was he not under orders as well as the boys of the 50th? Did not his
duty order him to make an effort to warn them of their danger? Of
course it did; and the orders of duty, when given as plainly as in this
case, ought to be obeyed as promptly as those of a city editor. What a
splendid thing it would be, too, if he only could get there in time! It
was certainly worth trying for, and he would make the attempt.”
Stepping softly from his bed he went to the window. What was to hinder
him from leaving the cabin this way? One leg was already over the sill,
and the other was about to follow, when a deep growl from just beneath
the window caused him to hurriedly draw back. Tige was on guard.
Then Myles listened at the door. The men were still talking. Why not
walk boldly out and announce his intended departure? No, that would
never do. They might take it into their heads to stop him, and they
were three to one.
The sound of moving chairs sent him flying back to the bed, where, to
all appearances, he was instantly fast asleep.
“Well, Bill, it’s time for us to be off,” said one of the men. “Trot
out your stuff and let us make a start.”
“There isn’t another drop in the house,” answered Bill, “and I reckon
you’ll have to go up to the still with me and get it.”
“All right; but you’d better take a look at that young feller in the
other room first.”
Bill looked in, and a single glance satisfied him that his guest was as
oblivious of his surroundings as before.
“It’s all right,” he said. “He’s good to sleep till sun-up, and I’ll
leave Tige to watch him. That dog won’t let any one leave the house
any more than he’d let ’em get in when I ain’t round. He’s a bully old
bull-dog, Tige is, and no one don’t want to trifle with his affections.”
Then the three men, taking a lantern with them, left the cabin, and
Myles listened until their voices died away in the distance. Tige had
been ordered to stay behind, and he obeyed orders. Myles went to the
open window, and the bull-dog growled at him. He went to the door, and
found Tige already watching in front of it. Here was a pretty fix:
caged by a dog, and so much depending upon his liberty! Myles had a
great mind to rush out and fight the dog, but he did not at all fancy
the undertaking, nor was he at all certain how such a fight would
result.
“If it were only a man,” he thought, “I’d risk it quick enough.”
All at once a bright thought flashed into his mind. Dogs were always
hungry. Part of his supper had been cut from a large ham that hung by
the fireplace. Striking a match, he easily found it. He took it to the
back window. Tige was there. The next moment the ham had been flung in
the direction of his growl, and he was worrying it.
Then, still in his stocking feet, with his shoes in his hand, the
reporter stole softly to the front-door which he had left unlatched,
and slipped out into the darkness. For five minutes he hardly dared
breathe, as he cautiously felt his way among the rocks and stumps. At
the end of that time he found a sort of road leading in the direction
he wished to take. After overcoming many difficulties he reached the
railroad. Two hours later he was once more at Mountain Junction, having
safely passed three bridges by crawling on his hands and knees over the
railway-ties.
It was now daylight, and another hour would see the sun rise. What
should he do next? To whom should he turn for help? As Myles asked
himself these questions he was challenged by the guard at the railway
station. The reporter asked that the corporal might be summoned, as he
had important information for him.
The corporal was tired, sleepy, and cross. He had heard nothing from
Lieutenant Easter, or those who had gone with him, and would not
believe it when Myles told him they were all prisoners in the hands
of the strikers. No, he could not, and he would not if he could, do
any thing to help the 50th Regiment. He did not care whether they got
there or not. Let them look out for themselves if they were so smart as
they claimed to be. Yes, Myles might take the hand-car and go out to
meet them if he wanted to, but he would be a fool for his pains, and
would probably come to grief. The town was surrounded by strikers, who
had sworn not to let any one out or in until their difficulty with the
company was settled. They would stop the hand-car before it got a mile.
Even if they did not, the railroad to the eastward was probably in such
a condition that nothing on wheels could pass over it. Did he know
where the telegraph operator could be found? No, he had not seen the
operator for twenty-four hours, and did not believe he was in town.
So, despairing of obtaining any assistance, the young reporter decided
to start off alone, do his best, and get as far as he could. Fortune
might favor him. At any rate, the object for which he was striving was
worth a desperate effort.
The hand-car that he and the operator had used on their trip was where
they left it, except that it had been lifted from the track and set to
one side. The corporal and the man on guard, with much grumbling at the
foolishness of Myles’ undertaking, helped him place it on the rails.
Then he started off alone.
The car moved slowly out of the railroad yard, but by the time it
reached the town limits it was rattling along at such a speed as only
the muscular young arms of the best man in a university crew could give
it. It had gone fast on that other trip. Was it days or weeks before?
Myles tried to remember, but could not. The recent rush of events had
completely driven dates from his mind. At any rate, though the car
seemed to go fast on that occasion, it had only crept as compared
with now. Its speed on that long stretch of down-grade was simply
tremendous. It was also wildly exhilarating. But for the breathlessness
of his exertions Myles would have shouted and yelled in his excitement.
“Faster, faster!” rang out the whirring wheels as they spun over the
gleaming track, and “Faster, faster, faster!” echoed the rails of steel.
The eastern sky was aglow with rosy light. The sun had nearly climbed
to the mountain tops. Still he might be in time. If only he could get
on a little faster! If only his muscles were steel and his lungs filled
with steam!
But what is that ahead? A dark space in the shining track. A rail gone.
Myles sprang to the brake. Its iron shoe ground fire from the iron
wheel. The headlong speed of the car was slackened, but not enough. It
could not stop before the danger-point was reached. Then came a crash,
and Myles was flung forward on the hard road-bed.
Bruised and sadly shaken, but with unbroken bones, he picked himself up
and turned to look at the wreck. The car also seemed shaken, but, to
his surprise, it was still whole and serviceable. There was yet hope
if he only could get it over this place and again on the track. His
excitement lent him strength, and by a mighty effort he accomplished
that which, under ordinary circumstances, two men would have found
difficult.
[Illustration: THE CAR PLUNGED FORWARD, TURNED COMPLETELY OVER, AND
CRUSHED POOR MYLES BENEATH IT. (_Page 213._)]
Once more the car was ready for its onward flight. As it started Myles
heard shouts, and, looking back, saw men running and beckoning to him.
At the same moment he heard the far-away whistle of a locomotive ahead
of him. He bent to the crank, and in another minute his pursuers lost
sight of the car and the one straining figure that it bore.
Now it approached the Horseshoe curve. Yes, Myles remembered the place
perfectly. The track looked all right. The sun had risen and he could
see the line plainly. Perhaps the place from which the rails were torn
was the trap, and he had passed it. Perhaps he was on hand and with
time to spare.
Suddenly the rails of the track seemed to give from under him. The car
plunged forward, turned completely over, and crushed poor Myles beneath
it in such a manner that he was powerless to move. As he lay there he
heard, loud, clear, and close at hand, the shrill whistle and the roar
of an approaching train.