THE TRAIN DISPATCHER
A great flood of dark suspicion crossed Ralph's mind at the discovery of
the road chart. A dozen quick questions arose to his lips. Before he
could speak, however, there was a hail from the outside.
"Hey, there, young fellow!"
Glen ran out to the road where a farm hand on horseback had halted.
Ralph followed him.
"About your old man," spoke the visitor.
"My grandfather, yes," said Glen breathlessly.
"You told us to sort of keep an eye on him. He came down to our place
about an hour ago to get some butter. Scruggins, who lives just beyond
here was going to Centerville. Your old man said he wanted to go there,
too, to see the new swinging signal bridge over the railroad."
"Oh, but you stopped him."
"I was away when it happened, and he would not listen to ma. Scruggins
said he would bring him back all right."
"Oh, I must stop him! I must overtake him!" cried Glen in such poignant
distress that Ralph was surprised. "Grandfather was away nearly two days
before, and pretty near got lost, and I was worried to death. I must go
after him, indeed I must! Excuse me, won't you," he pleaded of Ralph.
"I will see you again soon," answered Ralph.
"Do--sure," said Glen. "I have lots to tell you."
The farm hand rode on his way and Glen ran down the road on foot at
great speed. Ralph went back slowly to the open house. Once more he
inspected the telegraph room. Then with a good deal of thoughtfulness he
started homeward.
"There's something queer about all this business," ruminated the young
railroader. "That boy's grandfather was certainly in with the two men
who escaped from me in the tunnel. He is an expert telegrapher. So is
Glen. Ike Slump had something up his sleeve about Glen. That chart of
the road has the regular telegraph signal on it. What does this all
mean?"
Ralph could not believe that Glen was a schemer or anything of that
sort. For all that, there was a decided mystery about him. He seemed to
be afraid of Slump, appeared to shun the town and its people. Why was he
wandering all about the country with a helpless old man? Why had he
flushed up and acted embarrassed when Ralph had asked him several
pointed questions?
"Glen must certainly be questioned about the two men who had his
grandfather in tow," decided Ralph, "for those fellows must be located
and watched. I wish Bob Adair was here. He would soon let light in on
the whole affair. I'd rather he would do it, for I feel very friendly
towards Glen and I don't like hurting his feelings by seeming to pry
into his private business."
Ralph rested a few minutes on the porch when he reached home and then
started down town. He was in a certain state of suspense, for the orders
of the general superintendent were vague and unsatisfactory. Something
was working, Ralph felt, in which he was to take an active part. The
paymaster had indicated that affairs were being stirred up. Idleness and
suspense worried the young railroader, however, and he anxiously awaited
the coming interview with his superior officer.
Ralph went down to the roundhouse and met many of his friends. Old
Forgan, the fireman, described the disgust and dejection of Fogg at
having a new running mate. Everybody had heard that Ralph had a layoff
on account of a fall disabling him, and his arm in the sling won him a
good deal of friendly sympathy. He made a tour of the general offices to
learn that Mr. Little was laid up at home with a lame foot, and that the
general superintendent was out of town.
Ralph had the free run of the general offices, as the saying went. He
was ambitious, energetic and popular, and the busiest man in the service
had a pleasant nod and a kindly word for him as he went around the
different departments. When he arrived at the train dispatcher's office,
the young railroader went in and sat down.
Ralph was in one of the most inviting places a man can get into,
especially if he is interested in the workings of a big railway system.
The thought came to him, as he sat watching the men who held in their
keeping the lives of thousands of passengers, that not all the credit
for a good swift run was due to the engineer and train crew. He smiled
as he recalled how the newspapers told every day of the President or
some big functionary out on a trip, and how at the end of the run he
stopped beside the panting engine, and reaching up to shake the hand of
the faithful, grimy engineer, would say:
"Thank you so much for giving us a good run. I don't know when I have
ridden so fast before," or words to that effect.
The reader of such items never thinks the engineer and crew are mere
mechanical agents, small cogs in a huge machine. They do their part
well, but the little office of the train dispatcher is a red-hot place
where they have a red-hot time, where one tap of the sounder may cover
the fate of numberless extras, specials and delayed trains.
The young engineer took particular notice of the dispatcher's office on
the present occasion. This was because so much of pending trouble seemed
to involve the wire system of the Great Northern. The wire tapping
episode, the prototype routing chart at the chicken farm, had aroused
suspicion in his mind. Then, too, Ralph had often had a fondness and an
admiration for this branch of the service. At one time, in fact, he had
studied telegraphy with the purpose in view of following it up, and old
John Glidden, a fast friend of his, had invited him to the dispatcher's
office and had taught him a great many useful things in his line.
Glidden was the first trick dispatcher and was not on duty just now.
Ralph nodded to two subordinates at their tables, and snuggled back into
his comfortable seat with the time and interest to look over things.
The interior of the dispatcher's office was not very sumptuous. There
was a big counter at one side of the room. This contained the train
register, car record books, message blanks and forms for various
reports. Against the wall on one of the other sides was a big blackboard
known as the call board. Ralph read here the record of the probable
arrival and departure of trains and the names of their crews. Also the
time certain crews were to be called.
About the middle of the room in the recess of a bay window was the
dispatcher's table. Ralph only casually knew the man in charge. His name
was Thorpe, a newcomer, and an expert in his line, but gruff and uncivil
in the extreme, and he had few friends. In front of him was the train
sheet containing information exact and absolute in its nature of each
train on the division. On the sheet was also a space set apart for the
expected arrival of trains from the other end and one for delays.
Glidden had once gone over one of these sheets with Ralph with its
loads, empties and miscellaneous details, and Ralph knew that the grim,
silent man at the table must know the precise location of every train at
a given moment, how her engine was working, how she had done along the
road, and all about her engineer and conductor.
Ralph spent nearly a half an hour in the dispatcher's room. Then he went
down to the depot. An extra was just leaving for the west. He paused to
have a cheery word with the engineer and fireman, whom he knew quite
well. They were getting ready for the orders to pull out, when the three
of them stared hard at a flying form coming down the track.
"Hello," observed the engineer, "it's Bates."
"Yes, the second trick man in the dispatcher's office," nodded the
fireman. "Wonder what's up with him?"
"Something is," declared Ralph, "according to his looks and actions."
Bates came puffing up white and breathless. Evidently he had just got
out of bed, half dressed himself, put on a pair of slippers, no coat, no
hat, and he seemed to ignore the cold and snow amid some frantic urgency
of reaching the departing train.
"Say!" he panted, approaching the fireman who was giving No. 341 the
last touch of oil before they pulled out, "thank heaven you haven't
gone!"
"Hey?" stared the engineer.
"Don't pull out for a minute."
"Why not?"
"I think there's a mistake in your orders."
"What's the matter with you?" snapped back the fireman with affected
gruffness. "I hain't got no orders. Come here, till I oil the wheels in
your head."
"You must come up to the dispatcher's office," insisted Bates urgently,
and the engineer followed him wonderingly. Ralph, tracing something
unusual in the episode of the moment, kept them company.
The chief dispatcher was standing by the counter. He glanced sharply at
Bates with the words:
"What's up, kid? Seen a ghost? You look almost pale enough yourself to
be one."
"No," quavered Bates in a shaky tone. "I haven't seen any ghosts, but I
am afraid I forgot to notify that track gang just west of here about
this extra."
The chief went to the order book and glanced at the train sheet.
"Oh, bosh!" he said. "Of course you notified them. Here it is as big as
life. Look out for extra west engine 341 leaving Stanley Junction at
1:21 P. M. What do you want to get a case of rattles and scare us all
that way for. Say, I'd ought to run down your spinal column with a rake.
Don't you know there are other dispatchers in this office besides
yourself--men who know more in a minute about the business than you do
in a month? Don't you suppose that order book would be verified and the
train sheet consulted before sending out the extra. Say, don't you ever
show up with such a case of rattles again."
Bates expressed an enormous sigh of relief. As he came down to the
platform, however, Ralph noticed that he was shaking from head to foot.
"Did you ever work up there?" inquired Bates in a solemn tone.
"No," answered Ralph.
"Then don't. Just wake up once after you've left the key, and get
thinking you've forgotten something, and--nightmare? Fairbanks, it's
worse than the horrors!"