STRANGE SIGNALS
The pilot of the great engine was within six feet of the flaming
figure when the train was stopped. And Ralph knew, and unhappily, that
several of the coach wheels were so badly flattened by the pressure of
the brakes that they would have to go to the shops to be replaned.
This thought was back in his head, however. First and foremost he
wanted to know what this was ahead—this strange signal that had caused
him to bring the Flyer to such an abrupt stop.
One of the firemen leaped to the cinder path and ran ahead. In a
moment he turned and waved his arms madly.
“It’s a scarecrow! I believe it came out of yonder cornfield. A
scarecrow all afire!”
He kicked the blazing figure and it fell over, the straw contents of
the old coat and trousers flaring up into a more vivid flame.
“Somebody has played a joke on us,” shouted the other fireman. “And a
pretty poor joke, at that.”
“Maybe it is no joke,” was Ralph’s comment. “Stilling, you go forward
with a lantern. If all’s clear at the next curve give us a high-ball.
There may be something more than a joke in this mysterious affair.
Hurry up, now!”
Stilling ran ahead. The conductor came forward, worried about the
delay. The violent stopping of the train had awakened many of the
passengers and the Pullmans, he said, were buzzing.
“Let ’em buzz,” replied Ralph carelessly.
Stilling’s lantern flitted on like a firefly’s light. Ralph’s gaze was
fixed upon it. He hoped to see the sign given by the lamp that the way
was clear.
But when Stilling reached the long curve that began nearly an eighth
of a mile beyond the point where the Flyer had been brought to a stop,
he halted—they could see that by the motion of the lantern—and then
went on slowly. By and by he signaled:
“Come ahead—slow.”
There was something wrong. The conductor knew this as well as the
young engineer. The former’s lantern signaled a question back to his
flagman. The latter brought in his lantern from the other curve,
signaled “All aboard!” and Ralph started forward.
There was just slant enough to the roadbed here to make it necessary
for the engineer to keep some pressure of brakes on the wheels. The
heavy train slid down to the place where Stilling had stopped.
When the train again came to a halt the headlight did not show the
rails for more than ten yards. But it picked out the beginning of a
short trestle by which the rails were carried over a deep ravine.
Stilling walked back beside the huge boiler of the locomotive and
spoke no word until he was directly under Ralph’s window. He was pale.
His lips writhed before he could speak, and what he said was in a
voice so husky that the listeners could scarcely understand him.
“One pillar’s been blown out—blown to pieces. The rails are
sagging—have to be braced before anything can get over. Great guns! if
we’d come down here at the usual speed, the old mill and every wagon
in the string would have been piled in a heap down there in the
Devil’s Den!”
“By gum!” exclaimed the other fireman. “I thought I got some sound
like an explosion as we came down the hill. The dynamite must have
gone off only a few minutes ago.”
“That burning scarecrow saved all our lives,” muttered Ralph. “_Who
did that?_”
“If there are ghouls around trying to wreck the train, and there are,
then there are likewise watchers who defended us from harm. We have
somebody to thank,” said the conductor.
There was no more comment on this mysterious thing by the train and
engine crew for some time thereafter. There was too much else to do.
Somebody had to go forward to the nearest station and telegraph for
wrecking crew and other help.
A terrible disaster had barely been averted. The passengers aboard the
Midnight Flyer on this occasion would not be likely soon to forget the
incident. Stilling had not overstated the horror that had been
averted.
The wires certainly buzzed now, up and down the division. The express
was delayed fully two hours, although the wrecking train was brought
down from Oxford in record time. The freights began to pile up on both
tracks. If this dastardly attempt to wreck the Midnight Flyer was the
act of the strikers, they had come near to doing what Andy McCarrey
threatened. The division might have been tied up for a couple of days
if Ralph’s train had plunged into the Devil’s Den.
Some of the crew looked into the matter of the burning scarecrow that
had so luckily warned the engine crew of trouble ahead. The
straw-stuffed figure had been taken from a small field of corn
bordering the right of way. The owner of the field lived at some
distance, but he came over to see what had happened.
“I was woke up by that big explosion,” he declared. “I thought it was
a blast in the quarry. Quarry is ten miles away, though. And then I
began to wonder why they were blasting at night. So I got up and
looked out, and saw the lights of the train and knew something had
happened, because it was standing still. So I came over.”
As it chanced, Ralph heard him and he asked the farmer:
“Have you seen any suspicious persons around here lately?”
“Don’t know as I did. There’s been a young feller come to my place off
and on for a week or more. But he ain’t what you’d call suspicious. He
bought eggs and potatoes and such, and paid for ’em with good money.
He didn’t look bad enough to want to ditch a train. No, sir.”
There were too many people around for Ralph to describe Zeph Dallas to
this man and try to find out if the fellow he spoke of was his friend.
Yet he could not help believing that Zeph was still in this vicinity
and that he had taken the desperate chance of stopping the Midnight
Flyer with the burning scarecrow. Yet, if this was so, why had Zeph
not remained to see if his strange signal set against the train had
done its work of warning?
“Odd enough,” thought Ralph. “Odd enough to have emanated from Zeph’s
brain, that is sure. But where did Zeph go, if so, and why?”
In any event, Zeph did not show up at the place before the trestle was
braced and the express moved on. Ralph got his belated train to
Hammerfest, the end of the run, two hours late. He had to start back
almost immediately with the forenoon express that was supposed to
reach Rockton at half past eleven.
When this train reached the scene of the early morning excitement
Ralph had to ease her along very slowly. The first repairs on the
trestle were by no means permanent.
By daylight he could see, from the cab window, the entire scene of
what had come so near being an awful catastrophe. On the south side of
the right of way at this point was a towering crag. It was covered by
scrub growth that masked the rocks, but the young engineer had once
climbed that rock and knew that there was more than one path to the
top.
As he looked upward he saw, caught upon a bush some yards above the
level of the railroad, a garment fluttering in the breeze. He was
positive, after a moment, that it was a vest—a discarded vest.
“Some hobo has left part of his outfit,” thought Ralph.
But then, as he raised his eyes higher, he saw another strange signal
fluttering from a bush. It was a shirt. He could see the sleeves of
it, and it fluttered grotesquely.
“Why?” the young engineer muttered.
He looked farther up the steep wall and saw a cap! Something about
that cap astonished him even more than the other fluttering articles
of wearing apparel. Distant as it was, Ralph thought he recognized
that cap. It was of a mustard color, an odd color, and he remembered
that the night he had had his last adventure with Zeph Dallas in
Rockton Zeph had worn just that sort of cap!
Then he got the signal to go ahead, and could do nothing at the moment
to investigate these matters. He pulled up the hill toward Shadow
Valley Station.