WHERE IS CHERRY?
The responsibilities of the driver of a Class-A train such as Ralph
Fairbanks conducted are not to be belittled. His mind must be given to
the running of his locomotive, and that first of all, no matter what
else may happen. Death or disaster must not swerve the engineer from
his immediate duty.
The express back to Rockton was now the young fellow’s charge. When he
arrived at the scene of the morning wreck the eastbound way was clear
again and he had to drive right on. With all his heart he desired to
stop the locomotive, desert it, and make personal search about the
neighborhood for some trace of the supervisor’s daughter.
What could have happened to Cherry Hopkins? She surely had not been
injured at the time of the wreck. Then what had become of her after
she had run out of the car to view the wreckage closer?
In no possible way, as far as Ralph could see, could Cherry have been
hurt at a later time and her injury not reported. The train crew and
passengers were all about her, or so it seemed reasonable to suppose,
while she viewed the wreck. Her disappearance was a mysterious thing!
Ralph could not even pull down his locomotive at the place where
Number 33 had been wrecked. He got the signal from the guard beside
the tracks and had to push on. Despite the fire, that fortunately was
now blowing away from the tracks, he made the run without any trouble
and arrived at the Rockton terminal at 11:30.
The young engineer had no desire to see Mr. Barton Hopkins at this
time. He learned from the day telegraph operator that nothing new
about Cherry had been discovered. The supervisor had become wildly
excited when he had tried to find his daughter and could not do so. It
was positive that the girl had not arrived in town. She had surely
disappeared at the scene of the wreck of Number 33.
Ralph did not go home at once after being relieved of his duty on the
locomotive. Instead, he searched for Bob Adair. But the chief
detective had not returned. It was believed he had gone down into
Shadow Valley to examine into the wreck at first hand.
Ralph wondered if Mr. Adair was in the supervisor’s confidence. Had
the road detective gone to Shadow Valley to look for Cherry Hopkins?
The young fellow was tempted greatly to take the first train for the
vicinity of the morning’s disaster!
Again, and quite involuntarily, Ralph found himself passing through
the street on which the Hopkins family lived. He hesitated at the door
of the bungalow, then ventured up the walk and rang the bell. A maid
servant came to the door.
She started back and half closed the door when she saw Ralph in his
overalls and cap. It was evident that she had been warned against
receiving employees of the railroad.
“What do you want?” demanded the girl sharply.
“I don’t suppose Mr. Hopkins is at home?” asked Ralph.
“You know he ain’t supposed to be home at this time of day.”
“And—and hasn’t Miss Cherry returned?”
The maid broke out crying. “Ain’t you heard? She’s dead—or lost—or
something. Her father is ’most crazy about it——”
“And Mrs. Hopkins?” Ralph interrupted. “What does she think?”
“They don’t dare tell her. Anyway, Mrs. Hopkins isn’t here. They took
her last evening to Dr. Poole’s sanitarium. She’s going under an
operation. Miss Cherry was coming back to be with her.”
“That’s tough,” muttered Ralph, turning away.
He went home feeling much disturbed. Mrs. Fairbanks had not only
obtained some news of the wreck at Shadow Valley, but she had got a
garbled account of Supervisor Hopkins’ family troubles.
“They have taken that poor woman to the sanitarium, and they say he
won’t let the girl come home to her mother,” Ralph’s mother said,
quite excitedly. “Somebody ought to talk to that Barton Hopkins.”
“Hold on! Hold on!” advised her son. “This is one time when that
‘little bird’ of yours has got the news wrong. I positively know that
Mr. Hopkins sent for Cherry to return. She left Shelby Junction last
night on the ten-forty train—Number Thirty-three.”
“Why, Ralph, that was the train that was wrecked!”
“Yes, Mother,” the young fellow replied with more gravity. “And,
believe me, I’m worried enough. The Flyer was held up two hours and
more by the wreck of Thirty-three. I got a chance to search for
Cherry. She wasn’t there. She’s lost—disappeared.”
“Disappeared?” his mother cried, in amazement.
“Yes. She was aboard the train. The conductor remembered her. Ladies
told me they saw her after the train was derailed. She was all right
then. But she was not to be found when I inquired, and she did not
reach Rockton with the other passengers.”
“This is awful, Ralph! What does Mr. Hopkins say?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure I don’t want to see him. But Mr. Adair has
gone over to Shadow Valley, and perhaps he has gone to look for
Cherry. My gracious! I’d like to go myself. If I hadn’t promised the
G. M. that I would stick to the Midnight Flyer, I would be tempted
right now to throw up my job and join any search party that may look
for Cherry.”
“Are you afraid the strikers have something to do with her
disappearance, Ralph?” asked his mother.
“I’m afraid of what that Andy McCarrey might do. I have said from the
start that this was a personal fight between McCarrey and the super.
And Hopkins can be hurt, and hurt badly, through Cherry.”
“And his poor wife ill as she is, too! It is dreadful,” repeated Mrs.
Fairbanks. “I do wish you could help look for her, my boy; although I
wouldn’t want you to get into any trouble.”
“Oh, that would be all right. I am not afraid of trouble. But I can’t
go back on the G. M. He is my best friend.”
His mother was thinking deeply.
“Ralph, my boy,” she said, of a sudden, “isn’t it true that Zeph
disappeared down there in Shadow Valley?”
“That’s true enough, Mother. But Zeph is a different person. He can
take care of himself. He is not a delicate girl, helpless in the hands
of such villains as Andy McCarrey and his associates. Cherry——”
“I was just thinking,” said the widow, “that Zeph might have been
captured and imprisoned by the same men and in the same place as the
supervisor’s girl. Isn’t it possible?”
“Humph! That’s an idea! I had forgotten Zeph since Cherry disappeared.
But it might be. Indeed, it is more than likely so. Now I wonder just
where Andy McCarrey is right now? That man they tell of in the
flour-sack mask could not be him. But, then——”
He was more than puzzled and disturbed. Ralph was downright frightened
on account of Cherry Hopkins. And now he began to wonder if he ought
not to take Mr. Hopkins into his confidence. Although it seemed that
the supervisor must know as much about the disappearance of his
daughter as Ralph did.
Actually the person the young engineer desired most to consult was the
road’s chief detective. But he heard nothing of that gentleman that
day or in the evening when he went down town early. There was a buzz
of excitement about the terminal offices, however, and Ralph learned
that while he had slept at home several important events had occurred.
The police had raided the old tenement in which Ralph and Zeph Dallas
had had their adventure at night with Whitey Malone and the chief
strike leaders, Andy McCarrey and Griffin Falk. Intoxicated men coming
out of the place had been seen and a supply of liquor was found in the
very upstairs room into which Ralph had peered.
But the attempt to arrest McCarrey or Falk in the place had failed.
They had been warned of the raid and had got out. Indeed, it was
believed they had left town.
Another important thing was that Jim Perrin of the old shopmen’s union
had been suspended from his office. Certain men who had been close to
the traitorous Perrin were likewise under a cloud, especially Billy
Lyon, Abe Bertholdt, Mike Ranny and Sam Peters. The split in the
shopmen’s union was being healed. It was even prophesied by some that
the wildcat strike would be ended as far as the shopworkers of Rockton
were concerned within a few hours.
These bits of news were encouraging in a general way, but Ralph
Fairbanks’ interest lay in an entirely different direction now. Much
as he had been worried about railroad affairs, in his mind the
disappearance of Cherry Hopkins at the scene of the wreck in Shadow
Valley loomed up as being far more important.
Ralph went up to the dispatchers’ offices to talk over the schedule
with his substitute, and, also, to learn of any news that might be
rife in that department. Naturally, the boys there knew little about
Supervisor Hopkins and his troubles.
“Just the same, the lads tell me,” said Johnny, who was Ralph’s old
assistant, “that Hopkins is getting rattled. He has stopped hunting
for faults to correct in our division system. They say he’s got a sick
wife and that his girl has run away from him.”
“Bother gossip!” exclaimed Ralph heatedly. “Miss Hopkins has been
kidnapped, if anybody should ask you. No doubt of that. I am sorry for
Hopkins.”
As he went down to the train-shed platform he passed the door of the
telegraph room. The operator had just been called to the instrument.
Ralph could not resist halting to listen.
He was a quick and perfect reader of the sounder. And almost instantly
his interest was caught and held by the message coming over the wire.
In the first place it came from Timber Brook. At this hour Timber
Brook Station, near the spot where Thirty-three had been wrecked,
should be closed for the night.
The message came haltingly. The operator sending seemed to be a
regular “ham,” as the telegraph fraternity call a poor sender. But
Ralph could not mistake the meaning of what came over the wire:
“B. Hopkins, Super:
“If you want to see your girl again you
know who to communicate with and what it
will cost you. Be quick. We will not wait
long. We want satisfaction.”
Ralph could not keep back an excited ejaculation. The operator swung
about to look at him.
“What—what do you think of that?” he gasped.
“Get a repeat!” exclaimed the young engineer. “That wasn’t the regular
operator at Timber Brook.”
“Not much! It was a rank amateur.” The operator was repeating the
distant station’s call—TB, TB, TB, in staccato. There was no reply.
The wire was dead. “It must be a fake.”
“No fake at all,” returned Ralph hastily. “Where is Mr. Hopkins?”
“He told me he was going to the hospital to see how his wife was, and
he would be back. Here he is!”
Ralph wheeled. The supervisor came striding to the door of the
telegraph room. He scowled as usual at Ralph. Then he asked the
operator:
“Anything doing?”
The man hesitated for a moment. Then, in silence, he handed the
supervisor the record he had made of the strange telegraph message.