WHAT LIES AHEAD?
Whether it was wise or not, Ralph Fairbanks kept this special suspense
to himself. In truth, while a fast train like the Midnight Flyer is
under headway, the crew on the locomotive have little time for
conversation.
The atmosphere in the cabin of such an engine as this great
eight-wheeler drawing the express was tense enough all the way. There
were but four let-ups in this mental strain which was felt by the
firemen, as well as by the engineer. The Flyer pulled down to a stop
at four stations before reaching the end of the run at Hammerfest. At
these stops only, could the men on the locomotive talk with comfort.
More keenly than ever on this run did Ralph watch for signals. With
raised hands he and the fireman at the other side of the cab signaled
to each other the nature of the switch targets and semaphore lights as
they picked them up.
And now and then, at some dangerous crossing or lonely, empty station,
the young engineer caught the secret signal of Mr. Adair’s police—the
double flash of an electric torch from the bushes or some other hiding
place. The chief detective’s operatives were on hand and faithful to
their trust.
This fact reminded Ralph the more keenly of Zeph Dallas. What was he
doing? Indeed, where was he and what was his situation on this night
when so much seemed at stake?
Fryburg was the first stop. The Midnight Flyer drew in there without a
thing having been observed suggesting the nature of the threat of
which Ralph had been warned in the paper he had found under his bench.
The night operator at this station ran out and along the side of the
train to the locomotive. He reached up a message to Ralph and gave
another to the conductor. Under the light near his shoulder Ralph read
the following:
Fairbanks, engineman, Train 202:—
Speed up. Fire reported in timber Shadow Valley near tracks.
“Hopkins, Super.”
“That is what it is, then,” said the telegraph operator. “I heard an
hour ago that the sky was red over that way. But there has been no
report come in from Shadow Valley Station.”
“Reckon the op. can’t see it there any better than you can,” said
Ralph. “You know the station is on this slope of the ridge.”
“I like that ‘speed up,’” growled Stilling, who had read the message
over Ralph’s shoulder. “Wonder what the Great-I-Am thinks we are?”
“He knows we’re on time, anyway,” said the conductor, and started back
along the coaches, calling “All Aboard!”
Ralph, as he eased his locomotive into smooth action, considered the
difficulty ahead of him. It was more than a matter of keeping to
schedule. That was important enough. He confessed to himself now that
he thoroughly disliked Mr. Hopkins; but much as he disliked the
supervisor, he realized that this wire was worthy of consideration.
If the forest fire reached the right of way before the Flyer could
descend into Shadow Valley, the train of varnished cars might not get
through at all. Taking a chance with a freight train in a burning area
of timber, as Ralph had actually done in the past, was an entirely
different matter from plunging into a conflagration with Pullman
coaches.
Besides, the smoke and flames might cloud the vision of the engine
crew so that they could not see clearly the right of way. An obstacle
placed on the rails by the strikers, who might be the cause of the
fire itself, could derail the big locomotive in the middle of the
burning woods and place the crew of the train and the passengers in
great peril.
Ralph could not fail to remember the strange warning he had received
before leaving Rockton. If he was “due for a bump” it might be that
the locality of the attempted wreck was in the midst of the fire.
Shadow Valley offered every opportunity for the rascals who were
fighting the Great Northern to carry out a hold-up or cause a serious
wreck. The lower plain of the valley was a wild country of both field
and forest. There were few farmsteads, and those mostly of squatters
who had broken ground in small patches.
Hanging above the right of way of the railroad, as at Devil’s Den,
were lofty crags, wooded for the most part, and offering plenty of
hideouts for outlaws and tramps in general.
Ralph remembered the recent bandit scare at Hardwell. The fellow with
the flour sack over his head, of whom Fiske, the telegraph operator,
had told the engineer, was a person to consider at this time.
That bandit might be a free lance outlaw or he might be working with
Andy McCarrey and his gang of trouble-makers. Almost, Ralph was
convinced, Zeph Dallas must know about that outlaw. Did the same
fellow dynamite the trestle pillar at Devil’s Den?
“My gracious! how I’d like to get off this run and take a hand in
dealing with these scoundrels myself,” groaned Ralph. “I’d like to
find Zeph and learn what he knows. I just ache to get into the fight!”
He was in peril enough. He knew that, of course. On every foot of the
way ahead lay uncertainty. But his work now was passive. He craved
action. He desired greatly to know what lay ahead. The situation was
fraught with so much uncertainty that Ralph Fairbanks was in keen
expectation of momentary disaster.
It was a star-lit night; but with the approach of the false dawn a
misty curtain was drawn across the sky. The zenith looked as though it
were covered with a vast milky way. On the earth, even where open
fields bordered the tracks, the shadows became denser.
Too-hoo! Hoo! shrieked the whistle of the Midnight Flyer.
Those passengers sleeping so comfortably in their berths had no
thought for the anxiety that tugged at the heart of the young engineer
in the locomotive cab. Ralph hung out of the cab window as the pilot
struck a short curve, and tried to catch a glimpse of the right of way
ahead of the focal point of the headlight.
He saw the flash on the instant that the fireman pulled the whistle
cord again—a long flash, then two short ones. It was the signal agreed
upon by Bob Adair and his operatives to pull down any train they
wished to board.
Ralph had not expected that the Midnight Flyer would be stopped on any
pretext. He was all but willing to fly by without paying attention to
the signal. Then memory of the warning he had received came to his
mind and he shut off the power on the huge locomotive. He applied the
brakes gently. The long train eased to almost a standstill.
Out of the brush beside the way popped a figure in a long coat. The
man leaped the ditch and boarded the locomotive steps. Instantly Ralph
threw off the brakes and opened the throttle. The man sagged into the
seat behind the young engineer. The latter could hear the breath
sobbing in the fellow’s throat. He glanced back at him and recognized
one of Adair’s old operatives, Frank Haley.
“What under the sun’s the matter, Haley?” shouted Ralph, so that his
companion might hear, for the wheels were drumming again.
“I’m not sure. I was back on the road at a house, telephoning, when
the girl on the switchboard at Shadow Valley began to broadcast
something that I got. I dropped the receiver and beat it so as to
catch you.”
“What is the matter?” repeated Ralph anxiously.
“There’s been a wreck—a bad one.”
“Where?”
“Down in the valley.”
“Why, there’s a fire there, too!”
“Yes. And the fire guard is out already to try to put it out. But this
is something else. A train has been derailed, and the girl says all
railroad dicks are supposed to get down there in a hurry. That is why
I took the chance of stopping the Midnight Flyer,” concluded Haley.