A RAILROAD STRIKE
"It's a bad outlook, lad," said old John Griscom.
The veteran engineer was serious and anxious as he pronounced the
words. He and Ralph were proceeding down the tracks beyond the
round-house, just returned from their regular run from the city.
"It's a strike, is it?" inquired Ralph.
"Worse than a strike," replied Griscom. "The railroad men's union is
in a squabble among themselves and a fight is on. That means trouble
and damage all around."
It was two weeks after the kidnapping of young Trevor, and affairs had
subsided to regular routine for the engineer and fireman of the
Limited Mail. The president of the Great Northern had sent a check for
one hundred dollars to Ralph, which he divided with Griscom, both
making up twenty-five dollars for Van Sherwin. From the actions of
their superiors they knew that their being in close touch with Mr.
Grant had helped them considerably, and both felt secure and contented
in their positions, when a new disturbing element appeared.
For several days there had been trouble on both the Great Northern and
the Midland Central. As Ralph understood it, the discharge of an
irresponsible engineer on the latter line of railroad had led to a
demand for his reinstatement. This the railway officials refused. A
strike was at once ordered.
Two days later a man named Delmay, a strike agent, came to Stanley
Junction. He demanded that the men on the Great Northern engage in a
sympathetic strike until the other road was brought to terms. The
older, wiser hands laughed at him. Jim Evans had returned to Stanley
Junction, and at once joined in a movement to disrupt the local union
by favoring the strike in question.
Evans had done a good deal of swaggering and threatening around the
roundhouse that day, Ralph had just learned, and had intimidated some
of the new hands into joining in the strike movement. He had left word
that, as men came in from their runs, they were to report at a hall
where the strikers met and announce which side of the contest they
favored.
"Here we are, lad," said the veteran engineer, as they started up the
stairs of a building on Railroad Street. "Don't look very
business-like, those pails of beer going into that hall yonder and
that cloud of tobacco smoke. I wouldn't stir a foot, only it's quite
regular according to union rules to call and report in a matter like
this."
"What are you going to do, Mr. Griscom?" asked Ralph.
"Short and sweet, give my sentiments and leave these loafers to fight
it out among themselves."
"Include mine," said Ralph. "I do not understand these strike
complications and I know you do, so I shall follow your guidance."
When they entered the hall they found a noisy crowd, smoking, playing
cards and lounging about. On a platform sat Jim Evans, looking
profoundly important. He sat at a table with a heap of papers before
him. Griscom approached him, Ralph by his side.
"Who's in charge here?" demanded the old engineer gruffly.
"I am," announced Evans, in a somewhat unsteady tone. "Head of the
movement."
"That so?" muttered Griscom. "Movement can't amount to much, then. Now
then, Jim Evans, just one word. We came here out of courtesy to the
union. We are members in good standing, and we represent the
majority. At the meeting last night we voted you out as seceders. I am
authorized to inform you that from now on no attention whatever will
be paid to your crowd here."
"Is that so?" sneered Evans. "I reckon we'll attract some attention
when we get in action. We have started our own union. We are going to
break up the old one. Whoever comes in now to help us holds his job.
Whoever don't, will get downed somewhere along the line, and don't you
forget it."
"Being in the wrong," predicted Griscom steadily, "you won't
succeed."
"Will you sign the roll?"
"No."
"Nor Fairbanks?"
"Let the lad speak for himself," said Griscom.
"I know little about these complications, Mr. Evans," said Ralph. "I
pay my dues, and we are upheld in our positions by the central union.
In the present instance I stand by the regular men."
Evans angrily picked up a sheet of paper. He scribbled upon it
hastily.
"Know what that means?" he demanded.
"We don't, and are not at all anxious to know," retorted Griscom,
turning to leave the hall.
"It means that you are blacklisted!" shouted Evans, rising to his
feet. "As to you, Fairbanks, I owe you one, and the time has come when
I am in power. Think twice--join us, or it will be the worse for
you."
"Come on, lad," directed Griscom.
"Men," roared Evans to his mob of friends, "those two are on the black
list. Notice them particularly, and hit hard when you strike."
Ralph went home somewhat disturbed by the episode, but not at all
alarmed. He knew that such complications were frequent among the
unions. His mother, however, was quite worried over the affair.
"That fellow Evans is a bad man, and has a personal hatred for you,
Ralph," she said. "Besides that, as we know, he has been incited to
make you trouble by Mr. Farrington. Be careful of yourself, my son,
for I fear he may try to do you some mischief."
"I can only go on in the clear path of duty," said Ralph sturdily.
The next morning the roundhouse was in quite a tumult. Its vicinity
was picketed by the strikers. Ralph entered the place to find Tim
Forgan, the foreman, in a state of great excitement and worry. There
were not men enough for the regular runs.
"Take out your regular train," he said to Griscom, "but I believe it
will be annulled and new orders issued at the city end of the line.
We're in for trouble, I can tell you. The strikers make some pretty
bad threats, and you want to watch every foot of the route until this
strike is settled one way or the other."
"There is no other way except to oppose these loafers boldly,"
pronounced Griscom. "The union has expelled them, and they are on the
basis of rioters."
"Well, the railroad company will make some move to protect its
property," said Forgan. "They must give us more men, though, or we
will have to annul half the daily trains."
The Limited Mail got out of the yards with some difficulty. They had a
spiked switch to look out for, and a missile from an old building
smashed the headlight glass. At the limits a man tossed a folded paper
into the locomotive cab. It was a poor scrawl containing direful
threats to anyone opposing the new union.
When they reached the terminus Griscom found a committee of men from
the central union waiting for him. They held a consultation. Then a
messenger from the railway office came after him. It was a busy day
for the veteran rail-roader.
"I don't like the looks of things," he said to Ralph, as they started
on the homeward run. "The central union backs us, and the company is
bound to fight the strikers to a finish. A lot of men are going down
to take the places of the strikers. We are carrying them on this
train, and serious trouble will begin as soon as the new men go to
work."
Two days later the freight traffic of the Great Northern was
practically tied up. The situation had become positively alarming. The
strikers had gathered strength of numbers through intimidation, and
the coming of new workers had aroused animosity.
Car loads of perishable fruits and the like were rotting in the yards,
men were beaten, engines crippled, orders mixed up, crown sheets
burned and cars smashed on open switches.
The Limited Mail was annulled as a regular train, and Griscom and
Ralph and all other passenger employes placed on the irregular list.
One day a man would take out the Mail, the next day he would be
running freight empties to the city.
Some cars on siding along the route had been set on fire, and Griscom
and Ralph were ordered down the line to pick up freight strays and
haul them to the yards at Dover. It proved an unpleasant task.
Strikers annoyed them in every way possible. Finally with a mixed
train of about twenty cars they arrived at Afton, and took the sidings
to gather in half-a-dozen gondolas.
The spot was remote from the main tracks. Ralph had to do the
coupling. He had run back, bound on this duty in the present instance,
when, just as he reached the end of their train, three ill-appearing
men stepped into view from a dismantled switch shanty.
"Drop your signaling," spoke one of the three, advancing menacingly
towards Ralph.
"Hardly," responded Ralph calmly, "seeing we want these cars."
"You don't take them," retorted the man, placing himself between the
halted train and the cars beyond.
Ralph calmly gave the signal to the engine. The train backed. The man
had to jump quickly out of the way. Ralph set the coupling pin, gave a
quick signal and sprang into the first empty car. The man who had
spoken to him followed him through the opposite open doorway.
"Fetch him out!" cried his two companions, running along the side of
the car. "Maul him, and send him back to Stanley Junction as a lesson
to the others."
The man attempted to seize Ralph and the latter resisted. The fellow
called to his companions, and they sprang into the car. Ralph, trying
to reach the doorway to leap out, was tripped up, and he fell quite
heavily.
"Toss him out!" growled his first assailant, but Ralph recovered
himself, managed to gain his feet, and leaped to the ground outside.
The three men followed. Ralph ran behind a pile of railroad ties. His
pursuers gained upon him. He stumbled, fell flat, and they pounced
upon him.
"Hold on there," suddenly spoke a new voice. "Get back and stay back,
or I'll know the reason why."
Something whizzed through the air. It was a heavy cudgel. Whack!
whack! whack! the three fellows retreated as their shoulders were
assailed good and hard.
Ralph in some surprise regarded his new friend. He was a queer-looking
old man, carrying a formidable cudgel, and this he now brandished
recklessly in the faces of his adversaries, beating them back step by
step.
"Now, you mind your own business," he warned the men. "Pitching onto a
boy--three big loafers that you are!"
The men were cowards and sneaked sullenly away. Ralph's rescuer went
back to the pile of ties and took up a little open memorandum book
lying there.
Ralph noticed that its pages bore a list of numbers, as of cars.
"I am very grateful to you," said the young fireman.
"That's all right," responded the stranger, and ran his eye over the
cars as they passed by as if looking at their numbers. Ralph concluded
that he had some business on the spot.
"Are you in the service of the railroad?" he asked.
"Yes," nodded the man--"of many railroads. I am a professional car
finder."