THE STRIKE LEADER
Ralph felt that he had done a decidedly timely and clever act in
outwitting the train robbers. He had left the car almost as it
stopped, and under the cover of the dark night had gained the shelter
of the timber lining the track.
The young fireman waited until the men came rushing out of the car.
They were dismayed and furious, and, leaving them in a noisy and
excited consultation, Ralph started back towards the trestle work.
"They won't get the safe, that is sure," said the young railroader in
tones of great satisfaction, as he hurried along in the pelting storm.
"They will scarcely pursue me. It is pretty certain, however, that
they will be pursued, and I may meet an engine before I reach Dover."
Just as he neared the end of the trestle Ralph saw at some distance
the glint of a headlight. It was unsteady, indicating the uncertain
character of the roadbed.
"About two miles away," decided the young fireman. "I must manage to
stop them."
With considerable difficulty, Ralph secured sufficient dry wood and
leaves in among some bushes to start a fire between the rails and soon
had a brisk blaze going. The headlight came nearer and nearer. A
locomotive halted. Ralph ran up to the cab.
It contained Griscom, the city fireman and two men armed with rifles.
The old engineer peered keenly at the figure, quickly springing to the
step of the engine.
"You, lad?" he cried heartily. "I'm glad of that. Where is the
train?"
"About two miles further on beyond the trestle."
"And the pay car?"
"The robbers were in possession when I left them."
"Then they will get away with the safe!" cried the engineer
excitedly.
"Hardly," observed Ralph, with a smile.
"Eh, lad, what do you mean?"
"What I say. Truth is, I saw what was coming. There was only one thing
to do. There were tools in the car. I sawed a hole through the floor
of the car, rolled the safe to it, and dumped it through. It went
between two rotten ties, and lies in the swamp--safe."
With a shout of delight old John Griscom slapped his young assistant
admiringly on the shoulder.
"Fairbanks," he cried, "you're a jewel! Mate," to the fireman, "this
is glad news."
"It is, indeed," said his companion. "I wouldn't like the record of
losing that safe. Can you locate the spot, Fairbanks?"
"It may take some trouble," answered Ralph. "The best thing to do is
to get a wrecking car here; meantime, the trestle should be guarded."
They ran on and up to the spot where the stolen train was halted, but
found the vicinity deserted. It seemed that whatever the robbers had
guessed out as to the mystery of the safe, they did not consider there
was any chance of recovering it.
The two men armed with rifles remained at the trestle, while the
others took the stolen pay car back to Dover. Once there, Griscom kept
the wires busy for a time. About daylight a wrecking crew was made up.
Ralph accompanied them to the scene of the attempted robbery.
He could fairly estimate the locality of the sunken safe, and some
abrasions of the ties finally indicated the exact spot where the safe
had gone through into the water below. It was grappled for, found,
and before noon that day the pay car train arrived at Stanley Junction
with the safe aboard.
Affairs at the terminal town were still in an unsettled condition. The
presence of armed guards prevented wholesale attacks on the railroad
property, but there were many assaults on workmen at lonely spots,
switches tampered with and shanty windows broken in.
Ralph reported to Tim Forgan and then went home. He went to sleep at
once, awoke refreshed about the middle of the afternoon, and then told
his mother all the occurrences of that day and the preceding one.
While Mrs. Fairbanks was pleased at the confidence reposed in her son
by the railroad authorities, she was considerably worried at the
constant turmoil and dangers of the present railroad situation. Ralph,
however, assured her that he would take care of himself, and left the
house trying to form some plan to follow out the instructions of the
president of the Great Northern.
He could not go among the strikers, and without doing so, or sending a
spy among them, it would be difficult to ascertain their motives and
projects. Coming around a street corner, the young fireman halted
abruptly.
A procession of strikers was coming down the street. They were a
noisy, turbulent mob, cheered on by like rowdyish sympathizers lining
the pavements.
"Why, impossible!" exclaimed Ralph, as he noticed by the side of Jim
Evans, the leader of the crowd, his young friend, Zeph Dallas.
The latter seemed to share the excitement of the paraders. He acted as
if he gloried in being a striker, and the familiar way Evans treated
him indicated that the latter regarded him as a genuine, first-class
recruit.
Zeph caught Ralph's eye and then looked quickly away. The young
fireman was dreadfully disappointed in the farmer boy. He went at once
to the roundhouse, where the foreman told him that Zeph had deserted
the afternoon previous.
"I don't understand it," said Forgan. "The lad seemed to hate the
strikers for attacking him the other night. I suppose, though, it's
with him like a good many others--there's lots of 'relief money' being
given out, and that's the bait that catches them."
"I must manage to see Zeph," mused Ralph. "I declare, I can hardly
believe he is really on their side. I wonder how near I dare venture
to the headquarters of that mob."
The young fireman went to the vicinity of the hall occupied by the
strikers, but he did not meet Zeph. Then Ralph proceeded to the
business portion of Stanley Junction. He visited the bank and several
other leading local business institutions. He made a great many
inquiries and he felt that he was on the edge of some important
discoveries.
When he got home he found Zeph sitting on the porch, smiling as ever.
Ralph nodded seriously to him. Zeph grinned outright.
"What's that kind of a welcome for, eh?" he demanded.
"Sorry to see you in the ranks of the strikers to-day, Zeph," observed
Ralph.
"Ought to be glad."
"What?"
"I suppose a fellow is free to follow out his convictions, isn't he?"
"Certainly."
"Well, I'm following out mine," declared Zeph--"the conviction that of
all the mean rascals in this burg, Jim Evans is the meanest. See here,
Fairbanks, have you lost your wits? Do you really for one minute
suppose I sympathize with those fellows?"
"You seemed pretty close to Evans."
"Grand!" chuckled Zeph. "That's just what I was working for. See
here, I made up my mind that those fellows were up to more mischief
than what they have already done. I concluded there was something
under the surface of this pretended strike. I wanted to find out. I
have."
Ralph looked very much interested now. He began to see the light.
"Go on, Zeph," he said.
"Well, I found out just what I suspected--some one is furnishing the
strikers with money, and lots of it."
"Do you know who it is?"
"I don't, but I do know one thing: every day Evans goes to the office
of a certain lawyer in town here. They have a long consultation. Evans
always comes away very much satisfied and with more money."
"What's the lawyer's name, Zeph?" inquired Ralph.
"Bartlett."
Just then they were called in to supper by Mrs. Fairbanks. Ralph was
silent and thoughtful during most of the meal.
The young fireman had learned that afternoon that a stranger named
Bartlett had been buying up all the stock of the railroad he could
secure. The man was not in good repute at Stanley Junction. He had
come there only the week previous, Ralph was told, and occupied a
mean little room in the main office building of the town.
After supper Ralph strolled down town. He entered the building in
question and ascended its stairs. He knew the occupants of most of the
offices, and finally located a room which contained a light but had no
sign on the door.
Footsteps ascending the stairs caused the young fireman to draw back
into the shadow. A man came into view and knocked noisily at the
closed door.
"Here I am, Bartlett," said the fellow, lurching about in an unsteady
way.
"I see you are," responded the man inside the room, "primed for work,
too, it seems to me."
Ralph could not repress some excitement. The man Bartlett he instantly
recognized as the person who had delivered to him in the city the
papers from Gasper Farrington. His visitor he knew to be a discharged
telegraph operator of the Great Northern.
"Yes," said the latter, as the door closed on him, "I'm ready for
work, so bring on your wire-tapping scheme soon as you like."