ONE MINUTE AFTER TWELVE
The young railroader of Stanley Junction realized that he had assumed no
ordinary risk or responsibility in acting the role of a trusted
messenger in behalf of the old telegrapher in the train dispatcher's
office at headquarters.
The situation at Derby had become an exciting and a critical one. Here
was Ralph, the factory foreman and this tramp acquaintance cut off from
the town, isolated in a lonely spot and surrounded by desperate and
dangerous men who were bent on a mission of wreck and ruin.
Bartlett looked a little blank. The tramp grinned as was his wont. He
looked as if he would not be sorry to engage in the "ruction" he had
talked about, to get even with his treacherous enemies.
Ralph had grown a trifle uneasy. If the lawyer did not put in an
appearance, it was difficult to foresee how affairs would turn out. He
did not rely much on Bartlett's Winchester or the brawny fists of the
tramp. The young train dispatcher had seen some pretty sharp and
definite work done in the name of the law during a railroad strike, and
from what he had heard of Dorsett he did not believe he would make a
raid on the plant until he was very certain of successfully carrying out
his wicked plans.
Ralph paced the floor of the little office lost in deep thought. The
foreman watched him grimly from the corner of one eye. The tramp,
lounging amid the unusual luxury of a big swivel chair, seemed enjoying
hugely the comfort of the well-heated room and ready for anything that
came along, now that he was no longer cold or hungry. He, too, watched
Ralph, and as the latter with a kind of start: stopped in his walk and
his face lightened up, the tramp drawled out:
"Something struck you, guv'nor--give it a voice."
"You're pretty sharp," said Ralph, with a smile at the speaker. Then he
walked over to the foreman. "Mr. Bartlett," he continued, "I'd like to
take a look through your plant here, if you've no objection."
"None at all, only I wonder why?" submitted Bartlett, with a searching
glance at Ralph.
"I was thinking of something," explained Ralph--"how to beat those
fellows who are coming here at midnight."
"I hope you've hit it!" exclaimed the foreman eagerly.
"We shall see."
Bartlett took a lantern, and leaving the tramp in the office he led
Ralph into the large room adjoining. It was filled with long flat vats
filled with some dark liquid. There was a sulphurous smell to the place.
The foreman made no explanations until he reached the furnace room.
"You see those big tanks?" he spoke now. "Those are the melters. Mr.
Glidden spent a great deal of money to get them right. Run up that
ladder at the side and look over the rim."
Ralph did so. The tank he looked into was filled with bars that looked
like lead, with smaller fragments of a darker metal and great chunks
that resembled resin. When he came down to the floor he opened the door
of the furnace underneath and peered in. His face took on a satisfied
look.
"See here," said Bartlett, as they reentered the big room on their way
back to the office. "Those pipes running from each furnace convey the
molten metal into those vats. There is a great hissing and bubbling, I
can tell you. It's a sort of red-hot cyaniding process. The fumes,
though! No man could walk through this room when the pour is on and come
out alive."
"You don't say so?" murmured Ralph. Then he went up close to the foreman
and took him by lapel of his coat.
"Mr. Bartlett," he said, "I see you are all ready to fire up."
"At a minute's notice," replied the foreman, with a gleam of pride in
his eye.
"I suppose within an hour, two hours, you could get those melters so hot
they are red all through?"
"Pretty nigh, I tell you."
"And you could fill this room here with fumes that would make a man
hesitate about crossing the dead line, until you got ready to shut off
the feeders?"
"You couldn't hit it closer if you'd been brought up to the business,"
declared the foreman with unction.
"Good. Now then--whisper."
They were near the office door. Ralph talked rapidly in a low tone into
the ear of his companion. The latter gave a great start. Then he
grinned. Then, alive with animation, he clapped Ralph mightily on the
back.
"Lad," he cried with enthusiasm, "you're better than the lawyer and the
whole constable force of Derby put together."
"What do you say about my plan?" inquired Ralph.
"Say--bully for you, that's what I say!" almost shouted the factory
foreman.
"If you start at eleven o'clock you'll be ready when that gang arrives?"
"Ready, and time to spare. Say, but you've been thinking to some
purpose."
The foreman burst into a gay whistle as he reentered the office. The
tramp regarded him searchingly, and then looked at Ralph as if he half
guessed that they were up to something. He was too indolent, however, to
delve for the facts.
The lawyer did not put in an appearance, Ralph knew by the whistles just
what trains were arriving at Derby. The 8 p. m. came and passed on its
way. Then the 10:30. By five minutes of eleven Ralph decided that the
lawyer must have missed connection in some way, for he did not arrive at
the plant.
Just as the office clock struck eleven, Ralph arose from his chair and
walked up in front of the tramp.
"Do you want to earn a few dollars?" he inquired.
"Sure, that's me," answered the man--"what doing?"
"Helping Mr. Bartlett here. It will be hot work, but he'll do most of
it, he tells me."
"Oh, in the factory here."
"Yes."
"I'd rather stay here in the office and handle that Winchester when the
mob comes," observed the tramp.
"You can do ten times as much good doing what I want you to do."
"Will it have anything to do with knocking out Dorsett's plans?"
"Everything."
The tramp arose to his feet like a jumping jack, his face wearing an
eager grin.
"Guv'nor," he said, "I'd trust you in most anything. I'd like to have a
front seat out here to see the fun when the show begins, but if my being
behind the scenes helps, depend on me."
"I do," said Ralph. "You go with Mr. Bartlett."
Ralph sat down as the two men disappeared. He listened attentively to
the sounds from the melting room. Soon the big blast chimney began to
roar, and glancing out of the window Ralph could see fitful red gleams
shoot out upon the snow.
There was a speaking tube running from the office to Bartlett's post of
duty. Soon it whistled, and the foreman announced:
"All ready."
"So am I," mused Ralph, as he counted the minutes roll away. He tried to
imagine just what was going to happen and how he would meet the crisis
when it arrived.
Midnight came, and one minute after twelve. Five, ten, fifteen minutes
passed away. Then Ralph bent his ear. Some kind of a conveyance was
coming down the turnpike. He could hear the ring of a horse's hoofs and
the hard wheels crunching the frozen snow.
Ralph picked up a newspaper and pretended to read it, looking as
comfortable and unconcerned as possible.
"Whoa!" sounded a loud voice outside.
Then other voices mingled in confusion. Some one came to the window and
peered in. There was a muffled consultation outside. Finally a
thunderous knock sounded at the door, and a stentorian voice shouted
out:
"Open--in the name of the law!"