When, after school that afternoon, Alex Ward waved a good-by to his
father, the Bixton station agent for the Middle Western, and set off up
the track on the spring's first fishing, he had little thought of
exciting experiences ahead of him. Likewise, when two hours later a
sudden heavy shower found him in the woods three miles from home, and
with but three small fish, it was only with feelings of disappointment
that he wound up his line and ran for the shelter of an old log-cabin a
hundred yards back from the stream.
Scarcely had Alex reached the doorway of the deserted house when he was
startled by a chorus of excited voices from the rear. He turned quickly
to a window, and with a cry sprang back out of sight. Emerging from the
woods, excitedly talking and gesticulating, was a party of foreigners who
had been working on the track near Bixton, and in their midst, his hands
bound behind him, was Hennessy, their foreman.
For a moment Alex stood rooted to the spot. What did it mean? Suddenly
realizing his own possible danger, he caught up his rod and fish, and
sprang for the door.
On the threshold he sharply halted. In the open he would be seen at once,
and pursued! He turned and cast a quick glance round the room. The ladder
to the loft! He darted for it, scrambled up, and drew himself through the
opening just as the excited foreigners poured in through the door below.
For some moments afraid to move, Alex lay on his back, listening to the
hubbub beneath him, and wondering in terror what the trackmen intended
doing with their prisoner. Then, gathering courage at their continued
ignorance of his presence, he cautiously moved back to the opening and
peered down.
The men were gathered in the center of the room, all talking at once. But
he could not see the foreman. As he leaned farther forward heavy
footfalls sounded about the end of the house, and Big Tony, a huge
Italian who had recently been discharged from the gang, appeared in the
doorway.
"We puta him in da barn," he announced in broken English; for the rest of
the gang were Poles. "Tomaso, he watcha him."
"An' now listen," continued the big trackman fiercely, as the rest
gathered about him. "I didn't tell everyt'ing. Besides disa man Hennessy
he say cuta da wage, an' send for odders take your job, he tella da biga
boss you no worka good, so da biga boss he no pay you for all da last
mont'!"
The ignorantly credulous Poles uttered a shout of rage. Several cried:
"Keel him! Keel him!" Alex, in the loft, drew back in terror.
"No! Dere bettera way dan dat," said Tony. "Da men to taka your job come
to-night on da Nomber Twent'. I hava da plan.
"You alla know da old track dat turn off alonga da riv' to da old
brick-yard? Well, hunerd yard from da main line da old track she washed
away. We will turn da old switch, Nomber Twent' she run on da old
track--an' swoosh! Into da riv'!"
Run No. 20 into the river! Alex almost cried aloud. And he knew the plan
would succeed--that, as Big Tony said, a hundred yards from the main-line
track the old brick-yard siding embankment was washed out so that the
rails almost hung in the air.
"Dena we all say," went on Big Tony, "we alla say, Hennessy, he do it. We
say we caughta him. See?"
Again Alex glanced down, and with hope he saw that some of the Poles were
hesitating. But Tony quickly added: "An' no one else be kill buta da
strike-break'. No odder peoples on da Nomber Twent' disa day at night.
An' da trainmen dey alla have plent' time to jomp.
"Only da men wat steala your job," he repeated craftily. And with a
sinking heart Alex saw that the rest of the easily excitable foreigners
had been won.
Again he moved back out of sight. Something must be done! If he could
only reach the barn and free the foreman!
But of course the first thing to do was to make his own escape from the
house. He rose on his elbow and glanced about.
At the far end of the loft a glimmer of light through a crack seemed to
indicate a door. Cautiously Alex rose to his knees, and began creeping
forward to investigate. When half way a loud creak of the boards brought
him to a halt with his heart in his mouth. But the loud conversation
below continued, and heartily thanking the drumming rain on the roof
overhead, Alex moved on, and finally reached his goal.
As he had hoped, it was a small door. Feeling cautiously about, he found
it to be secured by a hook. When he sought to raise the catch, however,
it resisted. Evidently it had not been lifted for many years, and had
rusted to the staple. Carefully Alex threw his weight upward against it.
It still refused to move. He pushed harder, and suddenly it gave with a
piercing screech.
Instantly the talking below ceased, and Alex stood rigid, scarcely
breathing. Then a voice exclaimed, "Up de stair!" quick footsteps crossed
the floor towards the ladder, and in a panic of fear Alex threw himself
bodily against the door, in a mad endeavor to force it. But it still
held, and with a thrill of despair he dropped flat to the floor, and saw
the foreigner's head come above the opening.
[Illustration: "NOW I AM GOING TO CUT YOUR CORDS," ALEX WENT ON
SOFTLY.]
There, however, the man paused, and turned to gaze about, listening. For
a brief space, while only the rain on the roof broke the silence, the
foreigner apparently looked directly at the boy on the floor, and Alex's
heart seemed literally to stand still. But at last, after what appeared
an interminable time, the man again turned, and withdrew, and with a sigh
of relief Alex heard him say to those below, "Only de wind, dat's all."
Waiting until the buzz of conversation had been fully resumed, Alex rose
once more to his knees, and began a cautious examination of the door. The
cause of its refusal to open was soon apparent. The old hinges had given,
allowing it to sag and catch against a raised nail-head in the sill.
Promptly Alex stood upright, grasped one of the cross-pieces, carefully
lifted, and in another moment the door swung silently outward.
With a glance Alex saw that the way was clear, and quickly lowering
himself by his hands, dropped. Here the rain once more helped him. On the
wet, soggy ground he alighted with scarcely a sound. Momentarily,
however, though he now breathed easily for the first time since he had
entered the house, he stood, listening. The excited talking inside went
on uninterruptedly, and moving to the corner, he peered about in the
direction of the barn.
Leaning in the doorway, smoking, and most fortunately, with his back
towards the house, was the Italian, Tomaso. Beyond doubt the foreman was
inside!
At the rear of the barn, and some hundred feet from where Alex stood, was
a small cow-stable. Alex determined to make an effort to reach it, and
see if from there he could not get, unseen, into the barn itself.
The Italian continued to smoke peacefully, and with his eyes constantly
on him Alex stepped forth, and set off across the clearing on tiptoe. The
guard puffed on, and he neared the stable. Then suddenly the man moved,
and made as though to turn. But with a bound Alex shot forward on the
run, made the remaining distance, and was out of view.
The rear door of the stable was open. On tiptoe Alex made his way inside.
The door leading into the barn also was ajar. With bated breath, pausing
after each step, Alex went forward, reached it, and peered within.
Yes, the foreman was there, a dim figure sitting on the floor a few feet
from him. But the outer doorway, in which stood the man on guard, also
was only a few feet away, and at once Alex saw that the problem of
reaching the foreman without being discovered was to be a difficult one.
Trusting to the now gathering gloom of the twilight, however, Alex
determined to make a try. Opening his knife and holding it in his teeth,
he sank to the floor, and began slowly worming his way forward, flat on
his stomach. It was a nerve-trying ordeal. A dozen times he was sure the
crackling straw had betrayed him. But pluckily he kept on, inch by inch,
and finally was almost within touch of the unsuspecting prisoner.
Then very softly he hissed. Sharply, as he had feared, the foreman
twisted about. But at the moment, by great good luck, the foreigner at
the door turned to knock his pipe against the door-post, and hurriedly
Alex whispered, "Don't move, Mr. Hennessy! It's Alex Ward! I was in the
old house, and saw them bring you up.
"And, Mr. Hennessy, they plan to run Twenty into the river to-night. Tony
told them there were strike-breakers aboard her to take their places."
In spite of himself the foreman uttered a low exclamation. At once the
man in the door turned. But with quick presence of mind the prisoner
changed the exclamation to a loud cough, and after a moment, while Alex
lay holding his breath, the Italian turned his attention again to his
pipe.
"Now I am going to cut your cords," Alex went on softly. "Be careful not
to let your arms seem to be free."
The foreman nodded.
"There," announced Alex as the twine dropped from the prisoner's wrists.
"Now, what shall we do? There is a door behind you into the cow-stable--the
one I came in by. Suppose you work back towards it as far as you dare, then
make a dash for it?"
"Good," whispered the foreman over his shoulder. "But you get out first."
"All right," responded Alex, and immediately began moving backwards, feet
first, as he had come.
Their escape was to be made more easy, however. At the moment from the
house came a call. The man in the doorway stepped out to reply, and in an
instant seeing the opportunity both Alex and the foreman were on their
feet, and had darted out into the stable.
"Now for a sprint!" said the foreman.
"Or, say, suppose I hide here in the stable," suggested Alex. "They don't
know of my being here. Then as soon as the way is clear I can get off in
the opposite direction, and one of us would be sure to get away."
"Good idea," agreed the foreman. "All right, you--"
There came a loud cry from the barn, and instantly he was off, and Alex,
darting back, crept low under a stall-box. As he did so the Italian
dashed by and out, and uttered a second cry as he discovered the fleeing
foreman. From the house came an answer, then a chorus of shouts that told
the rest of the gang had joined in the chase.
Alex lay still until the last sound of pursuit had died away, then
slipped forth, glanced sharply about, and dashed off for the woods in the
direction of the river and the railroad bridge.
[Illustration: HELD IT OVER THE BULL'S-EYE, ALTERNATELY COVERING AND
UNCOVERING THE STREAM OF LIGHT.]
The adventure was not yet over, however. Alex had almost reached the
shelter of the trees, and was already congratulating himself on his
safety, when suddenly from the opposite side of the clearing rose a shout
of "De boy! De boy!" Glancing back in alarm he saw several of the Poles
cutting across in an endeavor to head him off.
Onward he dashed with redoubled speed. With a final rush he reached the
trees ahead of them, and plunging into the friendly gloom, darted on
recklessly, diving between trunks, and over logs and bushes like a young
hare.
A quarter of a mile Alex ran desperately, then halted, panting, to
listen. Not a sound save his own breathing broke the stillness. Surely,
thought Alex, I haven't shaken them off that easily, unless they were
already winded from their chase after--
Off to the right rose a shrill whistle. From immediately to the left came
an answer. Then he understood. They were heading him off from the
railroad and the river spur.
Alex's heart sank, and momentarily he stood, in despair. Then suddenly he
thought of the old brick-yard. It lay less than a mile north, and was
full of good hiding-places! If he could reach it ahead of them, what with
the daylight now rapidly failing, he would almost certainly be safe. At
once he turned, and was off with renewed vigor.
And finally, utterly exhausted, but cheered through not having heard a
sound from his pursuers for the last quarter mile, Alex stumbled into the
clearing of the abandoned brick-works, ran low for a distance under cover
of a long drying-frame, and scrambling through the low doorway of an old
tile oven, threw himself upon the floor, done out, but confident that at
last he was safe.
As he lay panting and listening, Alex turned his thoughts again to the
train. Had the foreman made his escape? With so many promptly after him,
it seemed scarcely probable. Then the saving of Twenty was still upon his
own shoulders!
And there was little time in which to do anything, for she was due at
7:50, and it must be after 7 already!
Could he not reach the switch itself, and throw it back just before the
train was due? That would be surest. And in the rapidly growing darkness
there should be at least a fair chance of getting by any of the
foreigners who might be on the watch.
Determinedly Alex gathered himself together, and crawled back to the
entrance. Near the doorway he stumbled over something. "Oh, our old
switch lantern!" he exclaimed, holding it to the light, and momentarily
paused to examine it. For it had been placed under cover there the
previous fall by himself and some other boys, after being used in a game
of "hold-up" on the brick-yard siding.
"Just as we left it," said Alex to himself, and was about to put it
aside, when he paused with a start, studied it sharply a moment, then
uttered a cry, shook it to see that it still contained oil, and scrambled
hurriedly forth, taking it with him.
A moment he paused to listen, then set off on the run for the old yard
semaphore, dimly discernible a hundred yards distant. Reaching it, he
caught the lantern in his teeth, and ran up the ladder hand over hand,
clambered onto the little platform, and turned toward the town.
Yes! Through the trees the station lamps were plainly visible! With a cry
of delight Alex at once set about carrying out his inspiration. Quickly
trimming the lantern wick, he lit it, with his handkerchief tied it to
the semaphore arm, and turned it so that the bull's-eye pointed toward
the station.
Then, catching off his cap, he held it over the bull's-eye, and
alternately covering and uncovering the stream of light, began flashing
across the darkness signals that corresponded with the telegraphic call
of the Bixton station.
"BX," he flashed. "BX, BX, BX!
"BX, BX--AW (his private sign)! BX, BX, AW!"
The station lights streamed on.
"Qk! Qk! BX, BX!" called Alex.
His right hand tired, and he changed to the left. "Surely they should be
on the lookout for me, and see it," he told himself. "For when I go
fishing I am always home at--"
One of the station lights disappeared. Breathlessly Alex repeated his
call, and waited. Was it merely some one pulling down a blind, or--
The light appeared again, then disappeared, several times in quick
succession, and Alex uttered a joyful "Hurrah!" and turning his whole
attention to the lamp, that the signals might be perfect, began flashing
across the night his thrilling message of warning:
"THE FOREIGN TRACK HANDS--"
From a short distance down the spur came a shout. Startled, Alex
hesitated. Again came a cry, then the sound of swiftly running feet.
He had been discovered! In a panic Alex turned and began to scramble down
the ladder. But sharply he pulled up. No! That would be playing the
coward! He must complete the message! And bravely choking down his
terror, he climbed back onto the platform, and while the running feet and
threatening cries came nearer every moment, continued his message:
"HANDS ARE--"
"Stop dat! Queek! I shoot! I shoot!" cried the voice of Big Tony,
immediately below him. Again for a moment Alex quailed, then again went
bravely on, while the old semaphore rocked and swayed as the enraged
Italian threw himself at it and scrambled up toward him.
"GOING TO RUN--"
With a plunge the big trackman reached up and caught him by the ankle,
wrenched him back from the lantern, and clambered up beside him. Catching
the light off the semaphore arm, he thrust it into the boy's face. "O
ho!" he exclaimed. "So it you, da station-man boy, eh? An' you da one
whata help Hennessy get away, eh?
"An' whata now you do wid dis?" he demanded fiercely, indicating the
lantern.
"If you can't guess, I'm not going to tell you," declared Alex stoutly,
though his heart was in his throat.
"O ho! You wonta, eh? Alla right," said Tony softly through his teeth,
and in a grim silence more terrifying than the threat of his words, he
blew the lantern out, tossed it to the ground, and proceeding to clamber
down, grasped Alex by the leg and dragged him down after.
But help was at hand. As they reached the ground a second tall figure
loomed up suddenly out of the darkness. "Who dat?" demanded Big Tony. The
answer was a rush, and a blow, and with a throttled cry of terror the big
track worker went to the ground in a heap, the foreman on top of him.
Alex uttered a cry of joy, then with quick wit, while the two men engaged
in a terrific struggle, he darted in search of the lantern, found it,
fortunately unbroken, and in a trice was again running up the semaphore
ladder.
As he once more reached his post on the platform the big Italian
succeeded in breaking from the foreman, scrambled to his feet, and dashed
off across the brick-yard. "Come down, Alex. It's all over," called
Hennessy, gathering himself up. "And now we've got to hike right off, a
mile a minute, for the main-line if we are to stop that train. They ran
me so far I only just got back. Unless Twenty's late we--"
"I am trying to stop her from up here," interrupted Alex, relighting the
lantern.
"Up there? What do you mean?" exclaimed the foreman.
"Signalling father at the station, with the telegraph code," said Alex as
he replaced the lantern on the semaphore arm. "Come on up."
"Al," said the incredulous foreman as he reached the platform, "can you
really do it?"
"I had it going when that Italian stopped me. Watch."
But Alex was doomed again to interruption. Scarcely had he begun once
more flashing forth the telegraph call of the station when from the
direction of the woods came a shout, several answers, then a rush of
feet.
"Some of the Poles!" exclaimed the foreman. "But you go ahead, Al, and
I'll see that they don't get up to interfere," he added, determinedly.
The running figures came dimly into view below. "If any of you idiots
come up here I'll crack your heads!" shouted Hennessy, warningly.
"I've got the station again," announced Alex. "Now it will take only a
few minutes."
One of the men below reached the ladder, and, looking up, shouted
threateningly: "Stop dat! Stop dat, or I shoot!"
"Go ahead, Al," said the foreman, looking down. "He hasn't a gun." But
even as he spoke there was a flash and a report, and a thud just over
Alex's head.
"Yes, stop! Stop!" cried the foreman. "Stop. They've got us. No use being
foolhardy."
Leaning over, he addressed the men below. "Look here," he said,
persuasively, "can't you fellows see that Big Tony is only using you to
make trouble for me, because I fired him for being drunk? As I told you
at first, everything he has said is untrue. Why won't you believe it?"
The men were silent a moment, then one of them addressed Alex. "Boy, is
dat true?"
"Every word of it," said Alex, earnestly. "And I would have heard all
about it at the station if they had intended cutting your wages, or
bringing others here to take your places."
"Den I believe it," said the Pole.
The man with the pistol returned it to his pocket. "I am sorry I shoot,"
he said.
"And now, what about the train?" inquired the foreman, quickly. "Did you
touch the switch?"
In the look of guilt the foreigners turned on one another he saw the
alarming answer. Whipping out his watch, he held it to the light.
"Alex," he said, sharply, "you have just ten minutes to catch that train
at the Junction! If you don't get her she's gone! There's not time now to
get down to the main line from here to flag her!"
Before he had ceased speaking Alex had his cap over the light and was
once more flashing an urgent "BX! BX! BX!" while below the foreigners
looked on, now with an anxiety equal to that of the two on the tower.
"BX! Qk! Qk!" flashed the lantern.
The station light disappeared. "Got 'em!" cried Alex.
"Just tell them first to stop Twenty at the Junction," said the foreman.
"Right," responded Alex, and while the rest watched in profound silence,
he signaled:
"STOP NUMBER 20 AT JUNCTION. SPUR SWITCH IS THROWN. GOT IT?"
As Alex read off the promptly flashed "OK," the foreman sprang to his
feet and gave vent to a joyful hurrah of relief that echoed again in the
clearing and woods. Then, as Alex recovered the lantern, he caught him
under one arm, carried him down the ladder, and there, despite his
objections, hoisted him to the shoulders of two of the now enthusiastic
Poles, and all set off jubilantly down the spur for the switch, and home.
And an hour later Alex's father and mother, anxiously awaiting him at the
station, discovered his approach carried at the head of a sort of
triumphal procession of the entire gang of trackmen.
When Alex's father the following morning reported the occurrence to the
chief despatcher, that official called Alex to the wire to congratulate
him personally.
"That was a fine bit of work, my boy," he clicked. "I see you are cut out
for the right kind of railroader. If fourteen wasn't a bit too young I
would give you a job on the spot. But we will give you a start just as
soon as we can, you may be sure."