AT THE RELAY STATION
The relay station was located just beyond the limits of Stanley
Junction, and was practically the feeder through which ran all the
railroad and commercial wires focussing at headquarters. It stood in a
wide triangle formed by the tracks of the three divisions of the road,
which here branched out north, south and west.
The station was the top of a sort of wareroom for all kinds of railroad
junk. Stairs led up to it both inside and outside. Over the tower roof,
reached by a trap door, was the great enclosed network of wires covering
all the lines of the Great Northern.
Ralph had talked affairs over so closely with the superintendent and
later with Glidden, that as he left the latter he knew just what he was
expected to do and how he was to do it. His mission was one of great
importance and of secrecy as well, for the relay station and the first
switch tower on the southern branch less than a quarter of a mile beyond
it, were suspected points in the train dispatching service just now.
Ralph left Glidden after a brief whispered conversation. He gained the
immediate vicinity of the relay station through slow, cautious progress.
He had visited the place the day previous and had studied his ground
well. When he at length entered the open doorway, he felt sure that he
had reached his goal without attracting the attention of the two
occupants of the operating room whom he had made out as he approached.
Ralph did not go up the stairs outside or inside. About twelve feet
aloft and gained by a ladder of cleats nailed across two supports was a
platform. It abutted the operating room, and it seemed to be a catch-all
for half reels of wire, insulators and other material used in the
telegraphic line. Ralph reached this, and taking great care not to
disturb anything that might make a racket, he crept directly up to a
window looking into the operating room.
This window was used for ventilation in summer. Just now it was crusted
with dust and cob-webbed so that while he could look beyond its grimy
panes, there was little danger of his being seen from within. Better
than that, he noted that a broken upper pane had one corner gone, and he
could distinctly hear every sound made in the operating room.
There were two men in the place. One of them was the night operator.
Against this fellow Ralph had been warned. He had a face that would
naturally excite suspicion, and he was familiarly known as Grizzly. He
was seated at the operating table ready for duty.
The man beside him had no business there, so far as Ralph could figure
out. He looked like a rough workman, but his easy bearing showed that he
was on an equality with the operator. His companion addressed him as
Mason. This fellow, lounging lazily near the little stove that heated
the place and smoking a short stump of a pipe, opened the conversation
with the words:
"Cozy for the night, Grizzly."
"Looks it. The split trick man gave his D. S. good night, and is gone."
"Who is he?"
"New man."
"Isn't that suspicious--so many new men lately?"
"Oh, I'm posted and watching out for squalls. Think he's a new one from
another road. Works like a ham factory hand. When he turned out his
first message I asked which foot he did it with. The way he looked at
the time cards where the calls are printed and kept the key open, I knew
he was an innocent greenhorn. Didn't know what 30 meant when it came,
got rattled when headquarters was on the quad, and stumbled over the
pink almost scared to death."
A week previous all this would have been Greek to Ralph. At present he
quickly understood that 30 was the end of a long message, the quad was
where they sent four messages at a time, and a pink was a rush telegram.
"Then you think you're not being watched?" inquired Mason.
"Sure of it," responded Grizzly with confidence.
"What's the cross orders from our friends?"
"Nothing on the general mix up plan," reported the operator. "They
struck the right man when they hit me to help them. I've got a big hunch
for the far west, and wouldn't have cared if the Great Northern had let
me out, since, with the chance to carry a big wad of money away with me,
why of course I'm in trim for whatever blows along."
"What's special to-night?"
"A side trick, and that's why I sent for you. We made a bad mix up two
nights ago with cross orders and tappings. I think it aroused the
suspicions of the superintendent, so we're going slow on that tack for a
few days. The gang working for the rival road, though, have let me in on
some of their side games. One of them is due to-night."
"What is it?"
"You'll know when the time comes. Got your tools with you?"
Mason lazily touched a bag at his feet with his toe, and it jangled as
he replied.
"All of them."
"Good, enjoy yourself till about eleven o'clock. If anyone comes duck
behind the box yonder, though I don't think there's any chance of a
visit a night like this. The bosses are paying too much attention to the
stock end of traffic deals to take a flight at a little disruption of
the service. There's a nine--Train orders, I've got to go at my
routine."
Ralph settled down as comfortably as he could in his secure hiding
place. What he had just heard confirmed forever suspicions that crooked
work was being done by crooked operators, and that this fellow Grizzly
was one of them.
He listened to the monotonous grind out of the operator: "O.S. O.S. X.N.
No. 21 a. 7:39, d. 7:41," and knew that the Limited Mail had reached
Tipton, and had gone on. The night schedule for the Mountain Division
west ran the wires, then miscellaneous messages. All this was like
reading a book to Ralph, while his mind formed a mental map, a picture
of conditions all along the line.
It grew dreadfully monotonous by nine o'clock, however. Grizzly grumbled
while getting a heap of work out of the way, Mason went to sleep and
snored in his chair by the stove. A sudden diversion, however, aroused
him. There was the sound of the lower outside door slamming shut. Ralph
could look down at the stairway. Someone had appeared ascending it.
Grizzly heard the footsteps, warning him of an intruder, and rushed at
Mason shaking him vigorously with the sharp mandate:
"Bolt!"
A minute later, peering within the operating room, Ralph saw the
intruder enter. Mason had got to cover and Grizzly back to his
instrument. The intruder suggested some half tipsy ranchman, who
staggered into the room shaking the snow from his garments.
"Hi, there, young man," he hailed familiarly to Grizzly. "I want to send
a message to Wayne."
"Sorry, but it's too late."
"Too late for what?" growled the intruder, looking skeptical and ugly.
"All the instruments cut out that way and we won't have Wayne till six
o'clock in the morning."
"Won't, eh? Well, you've got to, that's all," observed the man, coming
nearer to the operating table.
"Come around in the morning and some of the day force will send the
message for you."
"No. I've got twenty-six cars of cattle out here that are going there
tomorrow, and I want to notify my agents."
Grizzly shook his head and turned to his table. The stranger bolted up
against him with a savage face.
"Say," he said, "you send this message or there is going to be trouble."
"Not much, I won't send your confounded old message; get out of this
office."
There was a swift movement on the part of the ranchman, then an ominous
click, and Grizzly was looking down the barrel of a revolver.
"Give me your blamed old message and I'll send it for you," growled the
scared operator, though there was not a wire anywhere near Wayne at the
time, but Grizzly had a scheme to stave the fellow off. He took the
paper from the man, went over to the switchboard, fumbled at a local
instrument, and, as Ralph discerned, went through the form of sending a
message.
The stranger watched him furtively, pistol in hand, swaying to and fro
like a reed in the wind and grinning like a monkey.
"There, I hope you're satisfied now," muttered Grizzly.
"Of course I am," chuckled the ranchman; "only I rushed a dodge on you,
for the pistol isn't loaded. You bit like a fish."
It was the turn of Grizzly to chuckle, however. As the fellow
disappeared Mason came into sight again, and the twain chuckled over the
deluded ranchman whose message would not go over the wires for many
hours to come.
Towards ten o'clock things quieted down. Few messages went over the
wires. It was only occasionally that the clicking told off some
important train report from big centers. Grizzly looked and acted
uneasy. He arose and strode about the room, looking out at the stormy
night, stopping dead short in reflective halts, and glancing frequently
at the clock, as though he was expecting somebody or something.
"You act as if you was watching for something to happen," suggested
Mason, after a long spell of silence.
"I am," replied the operator. "See here, Mason; you know those wires
overhead, I'm thinking?"
"Like a book."
"On the tap of eleven I send the man on the north branch home for a good
stop."
"Officially, eh?" grinned Mason.
"He'll think so, and that answers."
"And then?"
"Get aloft and cut out."
Mason started and looked serious.
"See here, Grizzly," he objected.
"Did you think I sent for you at twenty dollars a night for fun?"
"No, but----"
"It's this serious: It's a wreck, and a bad one, but if it goes through
it's a thousand dollars apiece for us."