Ralph was a month old at switch-tower service.
Looking back over thirty days, it seemed more than four weeks, so many
varied and important incidents in his career had been crowded into that
space of time.
It was a wild, stormy night. Sleet and wind were battering the switch
tower windows. Although there was a chill in the air, the lightning was
vivid and the thunder roll incessant.
The clock showed even midnight. Ralph for over a week had been on night
duty solely. Doc Bortree was laid up with a fever, and Ralph and Jack
Knight had been running the place on two shifts.
Since the night of her disappearance, neither Ralph nor his anxious
mother had learned a thing as to the fate or whereabouts of Mrs. Davis.
Van had left them the following day. Upon that day, too, Gasper
Farrington appeared, imposing and self-contained as ever, driving about
the town with his team. It had returned, it seemed, but Ike Slump and
Mort Bemis had not. Ralph looked for them and inquired about them at
many sources, friendly and unfriendly. They had completely vanished.
Ralph and his mother had many consultations over the situation. The
former was for interviewing Farrington. He even suggested going to some
lawyer or to the police with his story of the disappearance of Mrs.
Davis.
On second thoughts, however, he realized that he had very little
tangible evidence implicating the magnate to offer. Farrington was
wealthy, influential. To make a mistake at this juncture would be to
only strengthen and warn the scheming magnate.
So Ralph concluded to wait patiently, hoping day by day that Van would
get some word to them.
A week went by, two of them--no token from Van to show that he was
following up the Davis affair.
About the middle of the third week, however, Ralph received a brief note
from Van. It had been mailed at Springfield.
"I am laid up at Farwell Gibson's with a sprained ankle," the brief
letter ran. "Don't worry. Will soon be on deck again. Things
working."
This was pretty vague encouragement, but Ralph was forced to be content
with it for the time being.
"There's one thing," he told his mother: "Mr. Gibson knows all that we
know, and all that Van knows, and probably a great deal more. He is not
the man to be idle in a matter like this. Between them, he and Van will
probably do all that can be done in finding Mrs. Davis, and we shall
hear from them in due time."
Ralph met Gasper Farrington face to face several times. The magnate did
not speak to him. He did, however, look very sneeringly and
significantly at the young towerman with a kind of triumphant
vindictiveness, Ralph fancied.
Farrington was busy pushing along the work of the switch spur up to his
factory. It had progressed rapidly, adding two new levers to the
battery that Ralph operated.
Another person Ralph was somewhat interested in crossed his path
occasionally. This was Young Slavin. He would simply nod to Ralph, but
the old rowdyish swing was gone. There was a strange, grave respect in
his manner. When Ralph tried to engage him in any protracted
conversation, however, Slavin backed off with an embarrassed excuse
about being busy.
Ralph was pretty lonesome and weary that night in the switch tower. A
couple of night watchmen had alternately kept him company up to ten
o'clock. Since that hour he had been completely alone.
The tracks were comparatively idle. There was a west train at 12.15,
the night out mail. The night in express train from the switch was due
at 12.05, but was reported delayed by a washout beyond Acton. Behind
her was the through freight.
These were all the regulars Ralph had to look out for. About eleven
o'clock two trains had come in. The limits tower had given siding
directions on one, and a new depot terminal on the other.
This led to a mix-up, nothing worse, but Ralph wondered why the peculiar
orders had been given. At 11.30, limits dialed for "Chaser on the way."
None came. At 11.15 the telephone called for a double switch on a
freight special. It did not show up.
"Strange!" reflected Ralph. "Old Bryson is on duty at the limits. He
is exact as a die, and never jokes. Is the electricity playing tricks
with the wires, or is some one at the limits spelling Bryson and having
some fun with me? Pretty serious business to fool with, and a pretty
bad night to indulge in jokes."
Ralph swung the out rails for the 12.15. He sat down in the comfortable
old armchair in ready reach of the telephone and plain sight of the
dial, and spread out his lunch for a midnight nibble.
He was just realizing what famous doughnuts his mother made, when the
trap came up. Ralph had closed it to shut out the draught.
A familiar head came up from the ladder. Ralph in some wonderment
recognized Young Slavin.
"Oh, it's you?" he said pleasantly. "Come in--sit down."
"No, I won't stay," demurred Slavin, shaking his outer coat, which was
dripping with wet. "I--you see, I was strolling by. Saw you up here,
and thought I'd drop in for a minute."
"I am glad. It is pretty lonesome up here, you know," said Ralph.
He noticed a certain embarrassment in Slavin's manner. It was a queer
night and a queer hour for Slavin to select for a stroll. Ralph
wondered what really was the motive of his visit.
As Slavin shook his outer coat Ralph caught a gleam of bright red
beneath it. He was quite surprised to observe that this was a sweater,
bearing the initials "S.A." braided across its front.
"Why, Mr. Slavin," he said with an inquisitive smile, "is that a uniform
you are wearing?"
"Why, yes," admitted Slavin, turning as red in the face as the sweater
itself--"Salvation Army, you know."
"I thought so. Joined them?"
Slavin fidgeted, and regarded Ralph suspiciously from the corner of one
eye to see if he was laughing at him. Ralph preserved a reassuring
gravity on purpose.
"N-no," said Slavin. "You see, I got tired of that mob I was training
with. They borrowed and stole all I earned."
"I am glad you have left them," said Ralph.
"Thought you would be, and thought I'd come and tell you," stammered
Slavin in a floundering way. "Oh, I'm playing no goody-goody act. I am
just holding my mouth, and watching those preacher fellows at the army
barracks. They're all right. Wish I was. 'Live and let live,' I told
them, when some rowdies pelted them and smashed a hole in their big bass
drum. So, just at present I am acting as their bouncer."
"Good for you!" commended Ralph heartily.
"You know I can bounce all right?" said Slavin significantly. "Well, I
must be going. So long. Oh, say--by the way, Fairbanks."
It was evident to Ralph that Slavin was now about to reveal the real
motive of his midnight call.
"I wanted to ask you," proceeded Slavin, rather lamely--"has anyone been
troubling you lately?"
"Why, no," answered Ralph in quick surprise at the pointed inquiry--"but
who, for instance?"
"Mort Bemis, for one. And do you know the fellow he went off with?"
"You mean Ike Slump?"
"That's his name. Look out for him--for both of them. I'll do the
rest," rather emphatically observed Slavin, doubling up his fist till it
resembled the hammering end of a big sledge.
"It seems strange, your asking me about them," remarked Ralph. "I would
like very much to know where they are at present."
"You would? I can tell you--they are right here in Stanley Junction.
I'm laying for them. That's why I'm up so late. I know they have it in
for you."
"Why?"
"Oh, on general principles of meanness. That's why I came to warn you.
I think," continued Slavin with a dangerous gleam in his eye, "I think
I'll get there first. Don't you worry--I'm pretty sure to head them
off. Only keep an eye open."
"Thank you," said Ralph. "So they are back in town? Are they going
about openly?"
"They came late this afternoon. A friend told me he saw them driving
along in a cab, fixed up reckless. He said they had on the latest new
togs, diamond pins, kid gloves, et settery, till you couldn't rest."
"I should think that was rather venturesome on Slump's part," said
Ralph.
"You mean, because there's a warrant out for him on that old
junk-stealing case?"
"Yes," answered Ralph.
"It's settled."
"It's--what?" demanded Ralph in profound astonishment.
"Settled--at least fixed up in some way."
"How do you know?" inquired Ralph skeptically.
"Adair, the road detective, told a crossings man, boiling hot over it.
Said that Slump had gone to the justice, put in an appearance, and was
bound over to next court term."
"Why," said Ralph, "that looks incredible. He would have to give
bonds."
"Yes, five hundred dollars' bail. He gave it, right enough. Bondsman
was right there. The thing had been cut and dried beforehand."
"Who was his bondsman--did you learn?" asked Ralph.
"Sure--it was old Gasper Farrington."