"Gasper Farrington again!" cried Ralph.
His thoughts ran rapidly. At a good many turns of late, it seemed, the
miserly magnate of Stanley Junction was coming into his life.
To Ralph the solution of the present problem was prompt and logical:
Farrington probably had the unfortunate Mrs. Davis in his power. He had
hired Mort Bemis and Ike Slump to kidnap her. Now he himself was at the
mercy and in the clutches of his conscienceless confederates.
Ralph theorized that he had paid his accomplices a goodly sum of money
for their assistance. For a time, with plenty of ready cash in their
possession, they had found diversion in the city. The longing to cut a
dash at home, however, had brought them back to Stanley Junction.
It looked as if Slump had set a price for his silence and secrecy
regarding the magnate's schemes. He had probably demanded that
Farrington go on his bail bond, and afterwards stand back of him in the
trial with his wealth and influence.
"I am very much obliged to you for what you have told me, Slavin," said
Ralph at last. "Also for your kindly intentions toward me. If I were
you, though, I wouldn't go getting into trouble with those two fellows."
"Trouble?" cried Slavin wrathfully. "I want to get back my medals. Say,
if those fellows who stole them have sold them where I can't get them,
or melted them down, I'll pretty near cripple them for life. But you
mind what I came to tell you. They hate you, and they'll try and trap
you. So, you watch out close. As I say, I'll do the rest. I'm going."
"Good-night, Slavin," answered Ralph, extending his hand.
Slavin started at the sight of it. He flushed, looked pleased, and his
big broad paw shot out.
"You honor me," he said, "and I'm proud of it. Oh, say--'sense!
'sense!"
"Excuse what?" demanded Ralph calmly, with a twinkle in his eye.
Slavin had unconsciously given Ralph the crushing hand-shake that used
to lay up unsuspicious new acquaintances for a week. To his surprise
the grip was returned with equal force. Ralph did not even wince.
"You're a good one," pronounced Slavin, in genuine admiration. "I
thought I'd hurt you."
"Pulling those levers is a great muscle-builder," explained Ralph.
"Looks so, in your case," admitted Slavin. "Say," he added, in a kind
of longing sigh, his eyes sparkling as they ran the grim battery of
switch pullers--"there's my ambition in life."
"What's that, Slavin--tower duty?"
"Oh, anything in the railroad line, from pulling up piles to driving
spikes," declared Slavin, swinging his big arms about restlessly.
"There's no bad in me. I'd love to work. Only, you see, I was born
strong, and something has kept me pushing my muscle to the fore. It led
to encouraging me to be a bruiser. I tell you, if I had a job like
this, where I could work off the extra steam, I'd just make a record."
"Then--why not?" inquired Ralph.
"You mean, why not get the job?" exclaimed Slavin in an eager breath.
"Exactly."
"Would they have me?"
"Again, why not?" said Ralph--"if you are in earnest."
"Oh, am I!"
"I'll speak to Mr. Knight. I will do more. I will ask the depot master
to take your application, Slavin," said Ralph earnestly, laying a gentle
hand on the big fellow's shoulder, "you have shown yourself a man
to-night. Keep it up, and"--Ralph smiled significantly as he quoted
Slavin's own recent words--"I'll do the rest."
Slavin dashed an impetuous hand across his eyes. They had filled with a
suspicious moisture. He evidently could not trust himself to speak
further, for as he started down the trap ladder he only waved Ralph a
clumsy, silent adieu.
The episode of Young Slavin's visit had been a pleasant diversion to the
monotony of the hour Ralph pulled the out switch for the 12.15 mail.
Then he sat down again and finished his lunch.
The storm raged on with unabated fury. There was nothing to do now
until morning except to watch out for the night express and the regular
freight.
The express, Ralph knew, was stalled by a wash-out beyond Acton.
Naturally the freight, blocked behind it, could not get through until
the road was cleared. Ralph walked up and down the tower for exercise.
Suddenly he threw up a window.
Some moving lanterns over on the repair trade attracted his attention.
Their flare and that of the lightning showed him three men getting a
handcar in to service. One of them ran up to the tower and made a
trumpet of his hands.
"Give us the out track," he called.
"All right," answered Ralph
"Train ditched--wrecking crew ordered out."
"Yes, I know--the wash-out at Acton," said Ralph--"the in express."
"No, the outmail--just beyond the limits."
"What!" cried Ralph in a startled tone.
He kept at the levers until he saw the handcar speed safely down the
main rails. Then he ran to the telephone and called up the limits
tower.
There was no action, and no response.
"That's bad," murmured Ralph--"fuse burned out. The lightning has put
the 'phone out of commission. I wish I understood things straight. Two
trains delayed by the wash-out. The mail ditched. Bad shape all
around, this, for such a night."
Ralph wished he could run up to the dispatcher's office and get more
information at the depot. This he dared not do, however. He paced up
and down restlessly, wondering how serious the mishap to the mail might
be.
It was precisely one o'clock when the dial hand moved with a kind of an
electric tang. It circled and then shot back, as if directed by an
erratic hand.
Ralph watched it intently. That dial disc was his only present reliable
communication with the outside railroad world. The pointer vibrated,
then halted.
"Through freight, track 7," it directed.
"Why," exclaimed Ralph, "that can't be! The through freight is stalled
at Acton behind the express, and--why, she's coming now!"
He could hardly believe his eyes. Usually a minute and a half elapsed
before a train announced at the limits showed coming around the curve.
Now, boring the water-laden air with a quiver that showed full speed, a
great laboring headlight glared along the in tracks.
Had Ralph caught her sooner, he could have switched onto any one of the
half a dozen tracks which were empty. She was now past all the main
switches, however, except the in passenger track 7 and inside 6.
"It is No. 3, the through freight, sure enough," said Ralph, recognizing
the approaching train with the intuitive sense of experience. The
headlight, the sway of the ponderous locomotive, the very sound of the
long train, vague as it was, told a sure story to his practiced eye and
ear.
"She must have got around the wash-out and ahead of the express," said
Ralph. "Why, there's some mistake at the limits. She should have been
given the long freight siding, and she has passed it, and--track 7. It's
in use!"
Ralph, darting to the levers, uttered these words in a great hollow
shout.
Lever 7, operating the switches of that set of rails, had a card hung to
its handle. These cards were always used nights as a guide to the
levermen, where any special, extra, or transient cars, passenger or
freight, were stationary.
The sight of the card recalled a startling fact to Ralph: at the depot
end of track 7 lay the occupied tourist car of an Uncle Tom's Cabin
theatrical troupe which was then visiting Stanley Junction.
"Something wrong at limits--everything wrong here!" panted Ralph, his
heart suddenly beating like a trip-hammer. "What shall I do?"
He shot a glance at the nearing headlight. Relying on limits signals,
evidently expecting the long freight siding, in the darkness and storm
taking no note of outside switches, and behind time, those in charge of
the through freight had nearly full speed set.
Ralph felt the blood leave his face. Through his mind in rapid sequence
ran the plat of switches at the depot yards.
"No. 6, or destruction!" he gasped. "I've got to make the choice. It's
the only track open. Open--no!" he added, with a new thrill of
apprehension, "but--there's no other way."
He pulled the lever that would send the through freight down track 6.
Then a wild tumult seized him. He darted for the trap. He almost fell
the length of the iron-runged ladder. Then Ralph sprang through the
doorway and tore across the tracks.
Track 6 was not empty. At its bumpered end were three old empty
freights. Ralph, however, counted their destruction as of little
consequence as compared with a crash on track 7 into the theatre car,
holding perhaps a dozen sleeping inmates. He had made an independent
choice. He had saved them. Now, if possible, to save the freight train
from a collision!
As he passed the switch he tore from a pivot the signal lantern resting
there. Carrying it in his arms, he dashed forward diagonally to meet
the rushing freight. Extending its red slide, he waved frantically up
and down and across, yelling at the top of his voice.
The locomotive of the through freight whizzed by him. In the blur of
rain and radiance Ralph fancied a grizzled head was poked out through
the cab window. At all events he caught the quick, harsh whistle of the
air brakes. A jolt shook the long freights. His signal had been
observed.
Following the locomotive with his eye, Ralph saw, three hundred yards
further on, a figure suddenly cleave the air. The engineer had put on
full stop brakes and had jumped.
The train was slowing up. Would she stop in time? Car after car
whirled by. Then crash! Far ahead, the last car past him, Ralph caught
the ominous sound, and shivered and gasped.