ON THE LOCOMOTIVE.
I was entirely satisfied with myself as I put the pocket-book into
my breast pocket, and carefully buttoned my coat. I felt as though I
had really done “a big thing,” allowing the phrase to mean even more
than boys usually attach to it. How my father would rejoice to see
that money again! How thankful he would be for the success which had
attended my efforts!
The pocket-book was in my possession, and I was too much excited to
look into it. I was somewhat afraid, if I did not keep both eyes open,
that Christy would come out of the woods and undo the work I had
accomplished. I could hear him forcing his way through the underbrush
as he retreated; but I still kept the revolver where I could make use
of it if occasion required. It seemed to me then that my quarrel with
Mr. Waddie had been a fortunate circumstance, since the possession of
the pistol had enabled me to recover the pocket-book. I was rather
thankful to the scion for his agency in the matter, and willing, when
the time of settlement came, to make some concessions, if needful, to
his vanity and pride.
Christy had piled the wood into the fire-box for a hard run, and
the locomotive was hissing and quivering with the pressure of steam
upon it. By the unwritten law of succession, the care of the machine
devolved upon me, and I am willing to confess that I was not displeased
with the task imposed upon me. To run the engine alone, with no one to
volunteer any instructions or limitations to me, was a delightful duty;
and I was so absorbed by the prospect that I gave no further thought to
the pocket-book. It was safe, and that was enough.
I must run the locomotive back to Ucayga; but I was fully equal to the
task. I knew every part of the machine, and had entire confidence in my
own ability. I did not exactly like to run her backwards; but, as there
was no turn-table at hand, I had no choice. Reversing the valves, I
let on the steam very gradually, and the engine moved off according
to my calculations. I gave her more steam, and she began to rush over
the rails at a velocity which startled me, when I considered that the
motions of the machine were under my control.
I had to keep a lookout over the top of the tender, and at the same
time watch the furnace, the gauge-cocks, and the indicator; and of
course I had to observe them much more closely than would have been
necessary for a person of more experience. Having my hands and my
head full, something less than thirty miles an hour was sufficient to
gratify my ambition. I knew nothing about the roads which crossed the
track, and therefore I kept up a constant whistling and ringing of the
bell. It was exciting, I can testify, to any one who never tried to run
a locomotive under similar circumstances. I was doing duty as engineer
and fireman, and I could not think of anything but the business in hand.
It would have been exceedingly awkward and unpleasant to burst the
boiler, or run over a vehicle crossing the track, and I did not wish to
have my first venture on a locomotive damaged by such an accident. I
kept a sharp lookout, both before and behind me. It was a new position
to me, and I enjoyed the novelty of it, in spite of the fear of being
blown up, or smashed by a collision. I kept the whistle sounding, and
as the engine whirled around a bend, after I had been running fifteen
or twenty minutes, I saw some men lifting a hand-car from the track
in great haste. They had heard my warning in season to prevent the
catastrophe I dreaded.
“Stop her!” shouted one of the party, with all his might, as the engine
thundered by him.
A glance at the party assured me that one of them was the engineer of
the train. I shut off the steam, and put on the brake. As it was a down
grade, the engine went about a mile before I could stop her. But, as
soon as I had brought her to a halt, I reversed the valves again, and
went ahead till I came up with the party, who were just putting the
hand-car upon the track again. The engineer and fireman leaped upon
the foot-board. The former was much excited, and I was not a little
surprised to find that he did not even thank me for bringing back his
engine.
“What does all this mean?” he demanded, with an oath. “What did you run
away with the engine for?”
“I did not run away with her; I only brought her back,” I replied,
indignantly.
“Who was the man that stole the money?”
“That was Christy Holgate; he was the man that ran away with the
engine.”
“Who are you?”
“I’m Wolf Penniman. The money was stolen from my father. When I saw
Christy leap into the cab, I jumped upon the cow-catcher.”
“Then you are the boy they were looking for down to the station.”
“I don’t know about that. I had a pistol, and I made Christy stop her,
and give me the pocket-book. He got off then, and ran into the woods. I
ran the engine back again.”
“I’m sorry you didn’t shoot the rascal,” added the engineer, as he
examined into the condition of the locomotive.
“I got the pocket-book again, and that was all I wanted. I didn’t wish
to kill him.”
“Who told you how to run an engine?” asked the engineer, as he started
the locomotive.
“My father is an engineer, and I’ve always been among engines, though I
never ran a locomotive alone before.”
“I suppose you think you can run one now?”
“Yes, sir; I can put her through by daylight,” I replied, using a pet
phrase of mine.
“You have done very well, sonny,” said he, with a smile; and he could
afford to smile, though he growled a great deal at being an hour behind
time by the event of losing his engine.
He asked me a great many questions about Christy and the robbery; and
the conversation was only interrupted by our arrival at the Ucayga
station, where the impatient passengers were waiting to continue their
journey. I jumped off; the engine was shackled to the train again, and
went on its way.
“Halloo, Wolf!” called the captain of the steamer to me. “Where is
Christy?”
“I don’t know, sir. He jumped off the locomotive, and ran away into the
woods.”
A crowd of people gathered around me to hear my story, for the facts of
the robbery had been related by my father. I felt the pocket-book in my
coat, and declined to answer any questions till I had seen my father. I
was told he was on board of the steamer, and I hastened to find him. He
was in the engine-room, where I had left him. He was still deadly pale,
and seemed to have grown ten years older in a single hour.
“Where have you been, Wolf?” asked he, in a voice almost choking with
emotion.
“I have been after Christy.”
“Did you catch him?” he asked, in a sepulchral tone.
“I was on the engine with him. Here is your pocket-book, father.”
He grasped it with convulsive energy, and seemed to grow young again
in a moment. The crowd, most of whom were passengers in the steamer,
gathered in the gangway, by the side of the engine-room, to learn the
facts. In an excited manner I began to tell my story.
“What does he say? Speak louder, boy!” called the men behind me.
Though I did not feel like haranguing a multitude, I raised my voice.
“Good! Good!” shouted the crowd, when I came to the point where I aimed
the revolver at Christy in the cab. “Why didn’t you shoot him?”
“When I drew a bead upon him he stopped the engine, and gave up the
pocket-book,” I continued, with boyish exhilaration.
“Wolf, you have saved me,” gasped my delighted father; “but I am rather
sorry you did not shoot the villain.”
“We are wasting the whole day here,” said the captain of the boat,
nervously. “We have no engineer now. Ralph, will you run us up the
lake?”
“Certainly I will,” replied my father, taking his place at the
machinery.
I sat down in the engine-room with him and answered the questions he
put to me about the affair. He obeyed the signals given him by the
bells, and as soon as the boat was going ahead at full speed, he took a
seat at my side.
“Wolf, I have suffered more to-day than in all the rest of my
lifetime,” said he, wiping the perspiration from his brow. “If I had
lost that money, it would well nigh have killed me. It was a lucky
thing that you took that pistol from Waddie.”
“It happened just right; Christy was afraid of it, and when I got
the muzzle to bear upon him, he came down, like Crockett’s coon,” I
answered, with no little self-complaisance.
“Was he willing to give it up?”
“He couldn’t help himself. If he hadn’t given it up, I should have put
a bullet through him.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to do that; on the whole, though, I shouldn’t
have cared much if you had shot him,” added my father, putting his
hand upon the pocket-book to assure himself of its present safety. “I
wouldn’t have believed Christy could be guilty of such a mean trick.
But it was my fault, Wolf. You saw how it was done, and it has been a
lesson to me which I shall never forget.”
My father sighed heavily as he thought of the circumstances, and I
fancy he promised himself then never again to touch whiskey.
“Did Christy open the pocket-book?” he asked, after a silence of some
minutes.
“I don’t know. I didn’t see him open it, and I don’t know when he could
have had time to do so,” I replied.
“It don’t look as though it had been touched,” said he, taking the
pocket-book from his pocket, and proceeding to open it.
“I guess it is all right, father,” I added.
“All right!” gasped he. “There is not a single dollar in it!”
My father groaned in bitterness of spirit. I looked into the open
pocket-book. The money had all been taken from it!