He dashed for the tower wire.
"What? What's that?" cried the superintendent, running after.
"Oil on a pile of ties, or anything, sir--providing Orr can get over the
bridge," Alex explained hurriedly as he whirled off the letters of Jack's
call. The official dropped into the chair beside him.
"I, I, TR," answered Jack.
"OR, have you any oil in the tower?" shot Alex.
"No, but there's some in the lamp-shed just below."
"Look here, could you possibly get across the bridge?"
"I might manage it. There is a rail bicycle in the lamp-house. If the
rails are hanging together perhaps I could shoot over with that. Why?"
"46 is due in twenty minutes, and apparently we have no way of stopping
her except through you."
"Why, certainly I'll risk it," buzzed the sounder. "I suppose the oil is
to make a quick blaze, to flag her?" Jack added, catching Alex's idea.
"That's it. Make it just this side of the Riverside Park station."
"OK! Here goes!"
"Good luck," sent Alex, with a sudden catch in his throat, as he realized
the danger his chum was so cheerfully running. "God help him!" added the
superintendent fervently.
Jack, in the distant tower, took little time to think of the danger
himself. Catching up a lantern and lighting it, he was quickly out and
down the tower steps, and running for the nearby shed. Fortunately it was
unlocked. Darting in, he found a large can of oil. Carrying it out to the
main-line track, he returned, and hurriedly dragged forth the yard
lamp-man's rail bicycle--a three-wheeled affair, with the seat and gear
of an ordinary bicycle.
Swinging the little car onto the rails, he placed the oil can on the
platform between the arms, swung the lantern over the handlebars,
mounted, and was off, pedalling with all his might.
As he speedily neared the down-grade of the bridge approach, and the roar
of the flood met him in full force, Jack for the first time began to
realize the danger of his mission. But with grimly set lips, he refused
to think of it, and pedalled ahead determinedly.
He topped the grade, and below him was a solid roof of mist, only the
bridge towers showing.
Apprehensively, but without hesitation, he sped downward. The first
dampness of the vapor struck him. The next moment he was lost in a
blinding wall of white. He could not see the rails.
On he pedalled with bowed head. Suddenly came a roar beneath him. He was
over the water.
Jack's occasional views from the tower had shown him where the bridge was
shattered; and for some distance he continued ahead at a good speed. Then
judging he was nearing the wrecked portion, he slowed down and went on
very slowly, peering before him with straining eyes, and listening
sharply for a note in the tumult of water below which might tell of the
broken timbers and twisted iron.
It came, a roar of swirling, choking and gurgling. Simultaneously there
was a trembling of the rails beneath him.
He was on the shattered span.
At a crawl Jack proceeded. The vibration became more violent. On one side
the track began to dip. Momentarily Jack hesitated, and paused. At once
came a picture of the train rushing toward him, and conquering his fear,
he went on.
Suddenly the track swayed violently, then dipped sharply sideways. With a
cry Jack sprang off backwards, and threw himself flat on his face on the
sleepers. Trembling, deafened by the roar of the cataract just beneath
him, he lay afraid to move, believing the swaying structure would give
way every instant. But finally the rails steadied, and partly righted;
and regaining his courage, Jack rose to his knees, and began working his
way forward from tie to tie, pushing the bicycle ahead of him.
Presently the rails became steadier. Cautiously he climbed back into the
saddle, and slowly at first, then with quickly increasing speed and
rising hope, pushed on. The vibration decreased, the track again became
even and firm. Suddenly at last the thunder of the river passed from
below him, and he was safely across.
A few yards from the bridge, and still in the mist, Jack peered down to
see that the oil can was safe. He caught his breath. Reaching out, he
felt about the little platform with his foot.
Yes; it was gone! The tipping of the car had sent it into the river.
As the significance of its loss burst upon him, and he thought of the
peril he had come through to no purpose, Jack sat upright in the saddle,
and the tears welled to his eyes.
Promptly, however, came remembrance of the Riverside Park station, a mile
ahead of him. Perhaps there was oil there!
Clenching his teeth, and bending low over the handlebars, Jack shot on,
determined to fight it out to the finish.
Meantime, at the main office the entire staff, including the
superintendent, the chief despatcher and Alex, were crowded in the
western windows, watching, waiting and listening. Shortly after Alex had
announced Jack's departure a suppressed shout had greeted the tiny light
of his lantern on the bridge approach, and a subdued cheer of good luck
had followed him as he had disappeared into the wall of mist.
Then had succeeded a painful silence, while all eyes were fixed anxiously
on the spot opposite where a light west wind, blowing down through a cut
in the hills, occasionally lifted the blanket of fog and dimly disclosed
the river bank and track.
Minute after minute passed, however, and Jack did not reappear. The
silence became ominous.
"Surely he should be over by this time, and we should have had a glimpse
of his light," said the chief. "Unless--"
An electrifying cry of "There he is!" interrupted him, and all
momentarily saw a tiny, twinkling light, and a small dark figure shooting
along the distant track.
A moment after the buzz of excited hope as suddenly died. From the north
came a long, low-pitched "Too--oo, too--oo, oo, oo!"
The train!
"How far up, Allen?"
"Three miles."
The superintendent groaned. "He'll never do it! He'll never do it! She'll
be at the bridge in five minutes!"
[Illustration: JACK ROSE TO HIS KNEES, AND BEGAN WORKING HIS WAY
FORWARD FROM TIE TO TIE.]
"No; Broad is careful," declared the chief, referring to the engineer of
the coming train. "He won't keep up that speed when he strikes the worst
of the fog. There are eight or ten minutes yet."
Again came the long, mellow notes of the big engine, whistling a
crossing.
"Who's that?" said Alex suddenly, half turning from the window. The next
moment with a cry of "He's at the station! Orr's at the Park station!" he
darted to the calling instruments, and shot back an answer. The rest
rushed after, and crowded about him.
"I'm at the Park station," whirled the sounder. "I broke in. I lost the
oil can on the bridge. There is no oil here. What shall I do?"
As the chief read off the excited words to the superintendent, the
official sank limply and hopelessly into a chair.
"But might there not be some there, somewhere? Who would know, Mr.
Allen?"
At Alex's words the chief spun about. "McLaren, call Flanagan on the
'phone!" he cried. "Quick!"
The operator sprang to the telephone, and in intense silence the party
waited.
He got the number.
"Hello! Is Flanagan there?
"Say, is there any oil across the river at the Park station?
"For Heavens sake, don't ask questions! Is there?"
"Yes; he says there's a half barrel in the shed behind," reported the
operator.
Alex's hand shot back to the key.
At the first dot he paused.
Through the open window came a whistle, strong and clear.
The chief threw up his hands. Alex himself sank back in his chair,
helplessly.
Suddenly he again started forward.
"I have it!"
With the sharp words he again grasped the key, and while those about him
listened with bated breath he sent like a flash, "Jack, there's a barrel
of oil in the shed at the rear. Knock the head in, spill it, and set a
match to it.
_"Burn the station!"_
The chief and the operators gasped, then with one accord set up a shout
and darted back for the windows. The superintendent, told of the message,
rushed after.
In absolute silence all fixed their eyes on the spot a mile up the river
where lay the little summer depot.
Once more came the long-drawn "Too--oo, too--oo, oo, oo!" for a crossing.
"The next'll tell," said the chief tensely--"for the crossing this side
of the station, or--"
It came. It was the crossing.
But the next instant from the mist shot up a lurid flare. From the
windows rose a cry. Higher leaped the flames. And suddenly across the
quiet morning air came a long series of quick sharp toots. Again they
came--then the short, sharp note for brakes.
[Illustration: WITH THE SHARP WORDS HE AGAIN GRASPED THE KEY.]
And the boys and the flames had won!
The superintendent turned and held out his hand. "Ward, thank you," he
said huskily. "Thank you. You are a genuine railroader."
"And--about the station?" queried Alex, a sudden apprehension in his face
and voice. For the moment the crisis was past he had realized with dismay
that he had issued the unprecedented order for the burning of the station
entirely on his own responsibility.
"The station?" The superintendent laughed. "My boy, that was the best
part of it. That was the generalship of it. There was no time to ask,
only act. The fraction of a second might have lost the train.
"No; that is just why I say you are a genuine railroader--the burning of
the station was a piece of the finest kind of railroading!
"And this reminds me," added the superintendent some minutes later,
leading Alex aside and speaking in a lower voice. "We expect to start
construction on the Yellow Creek branch in six weeks, and will be wanting
an 'advance guard' of three or four heady, resourceful operators with the
construction train, or on ahead. Would you like to go? and your friend
Orr? There'll be plenty of excitement before we are through."
"I'd like nothing better, sir, or Orr either, I know," declared Alex with
immediate interest. "But where will the excitement come in, sir?"
"You have heard the talk of the K. & Z. also running a line to the new
gold field from Red Deer? And that they were held up by right-of-way
trouble? Well, we have just learned that that was all a bluff; that they
have been quietly making preparations, and are about to start
construction almost immediately. And you see what that means?"
"A race for the Yellow pass?"
"A race--and more than that. Did you ever read of the great war between
the Santa Fe and the Rio Grande for the Grand Canyon of Colorado?
Regularly organized bands of fighting men on either side, and pitched
battles? Well, I don't anticipate matters coming to that point between us
and the K. & Z., but I wouldn't be surprised if it came near it before we
are through. The lines traverse wild country, and the K. & Z. people have
men in their construction department who would pull up track or cut wires
as soon as light a pipe. In the latter case they would cut at critical
times. There is where an operator with a head for difficulties might
prove invaluable."
"I would be more than glad to tackle it, sir," agreed Alex
enthusiastically.
"Very well then. You may consider yourself, and your friend Orr,
appointed. And if you know of anyone else of the same brand, you might
suggest him," the superintendent concluded.
"I don't think I do, sir--at the moment," Alex responded.
The week succeeding brought Alex a suggestion.