The old master-mechanic, who had insisted that Dan Moran was innocent,
from the first, had gone away; but the new man was willing to give him
an engine after the confession of Bill Greene. Having secured work the
old engineer called upon the widow, for he could tell her, now, all
about the dynamite. Three years had brought little change to her. She
might be a little bit stouter, but she was handsomer than ever, Dan
thought. The little girl, whom he remembered as a toddling infant, was a
sunny child of four years. Bennie was now fourteen and was employed as
caller at the round-house, and his wages, thirty dollars a month, kept
up the expenses of the home. He had inherited the splendid constitution
of his father with the gentleness and honesty of his mother. The foreman
was very fond of him, and having been instructed by the old general
manager to take good care of the boy, for his mother's sake, he had
arranged to send him out firing, which would pay better, as soon as he
was old enough. So Moran found the little family well, prosperous, and
reasonably happy. Presently, when she could wait no longer, Mrs. Cowels
asked the old engineer if he had come back to stay, and when he said he
had, her face betrayed so much joy that Moran felt half embarrassed, and
his heart, which had been so heavy for the past four years, gave a thump
that startled him. "Oh! I'm _so_ glad," she said earnestly, looking down
and playing with her hands; and while her eyes were not upon his, Moran
gazed upon the gentle face that had haunted him day and night in his
three years' tramp about the world.
"Yes," he said at length, "I'm going back to the 'Q.' It's not
Blackwings, to be sure, and the Denver Limited, but it's work, and
that's something, for it seems to me that I can bear this idleness no
longer. It's the hardest work in the world, just to have nothing to do,
month in and month out, and to be compelled to do it. I can't stand it,
that's all, and I'm going out on a gravel train to-morrow."
Moran remembered now that Bennie had come to him that morning in the
round-house and begged the engineer to "ask for him," to go out as
fireman on the gravel train, for it was really a boy's work to keep an
engine hot on a side track, but he would not promise, and the boy had
been greatly disappointed.
"I'd like to ask for the boy," said Moran, "with your permission. He's
been at me all morning, and I'm sure the foreman won't object if you
consent."
"But he's so young, Dan; he could never do the work."
"I'll look out for him," said the engineer, nodding his head. "I'll keep
him busy waiting on me when we lay up, and when we have a hard run for a
meeting-point there's always the head brakeman, and they can usually
fire as well as a fireman."
"I will consent only to please him," she said, "and because I should
like to have him with you."
He thanked her for the compliment, and took up his hat to go.
"And how often shall I see you now? I mean--how soon--when will Bennie
be home again?"
They were standing close together in the little hall, and when he looked
deep into her eyes, she became confused and blushed like a school-girl.
"Well, to be honest, we never know on a run of this sort when we may get
back to town. It may be a day, a week, or a month," said Moran. "But
I'll promise you that I will not keep him away longer than is necessary.
We don't work Sundays, of course, and I'll try and dead-head him in
Saturday nights, and you can send him back on the fast freight Sunday
evenings. The watchman can fire the engine in an emergency, you know."
"But the watchman couldn't run her in an emergency?" queried the little
woman.
"I'm afraid not," said Moran, catching the drift of her mind, and
feeling proud of the compliment concealed in the harmless query. "But I
shall enjoy having him come to you once a week to show you that I have
not forgotten my promise."
"And I shall know," she answered, putting up a warning finger, "by his
actions whether you have been good to him."
"And by the same token I can tell whether you are happy," rejoined the
engineer, taking both her hands in his to say good-bye.
Moran went directly to the round-house and spoke to the foreman, and
when Bennie came home that evening he threw himself upon his mother's
neck and wept for very joy. His mother wept, too, for it means something
to a mother to have her only boy go out to begin life on the rail. After
supper they all went over to the little general store, where she had
once been refused credit--where she had spent their last dollar for
Christmas presents for little Bennie and his father, chiefly his
father--and bought two suits of bright blue overclothes for the new
fireman. "Mother, I once heard the foreman say that Dan Moran had been
like a father to papa," said Bennie that evening. "Guess he'll start in
being a father to me now, eh! mother?"
Mrs. Cowels smiled and kissed him, and then she cried a little, but only
a little, for in spite of all her troubles she felt almost happy that
night.
It was nearly midnight when Bennie finished trying on his overclothes
and finally fell asleep. It was only four A. M. when he shook his mother
gently and asked her to get up and get breakfast.
"What time is it, Bennie?"
"I don't know, exactly," said Bennie, "but it must be late. I've been up
a long, long time. You know you have to put up my lunch, and I want to
get down and draw my supplies. Couldn't do it last night 'cause they
didn't know what engine we were going to have."
Mrs. Cowels got up and prepared breakfast and Bennie ate hurriedly and
then began to look out for the caller. He would have gone to the
round-house at once but he wanted to sign the callbook at home. How he
had envied the firemen who had been called by him. He knew just how it
would be written in the callbook:
_Extra West, Eng.--Leave 8:15 A. M._
_Engineer Moran,--D. Moran 7:15._
_Fireman Cowels._--
And there was the blank space where he would write his name. At six
o'clock he declared to his mother that he must go down and get his
engine hot, and after a hasty good-bye he started. Ten minutes later he
came into the round-house and asked the night foreman where his engine
was.
"Well," said the foreman, "we haven't got _your_ engine yet," and the
boy's chin dropped down and rested upon his new blue blouse. "I guess
we'll have to send you out on one of the company's engines this trip."
There was a great roar of laughter from the wiping gang and Bennie
looked embarrassed. He concluded to say no more to the foreman, but went
directly to the blackboard, got the number and found the engine which
had been assigned to the gravel train because she was not fit for road
work. A sorry old wreck she was, covered with ashes and grease, but it
made little difference to Bennie so long as she had a whistle and a
bell, and he set to work to stock her up with supplies.
He had drawn supplies for many a tired fireman in his leisure moments
and knew very nearly what was needed. But the first thing he did was to
open the blower and "get her hot." He got the foreman hot, too, and in a
little while he heard that official shout to the hostler to "run the
scrap heap out-doors, and put that fresh kid in the tank."
Bennie didn't mind the reference to the "fresh kid," but he thought the
foreman might have called her something better than a scrap heap, but he
was a smart boy and knew that it would be no use to "kick."
It was half-past seven when Mrs. Cowels opened the door in answer to the
bell, and blushed, and glanced down at her big apron.
"I thought I'd look in on my way to the round-house," said Moran,
removing his hat, "for Bennie."
"Why, the dear boy has been gone an hour and a half, but I'm glad (won't
you come in?) you called for he has forgotten his gloves."
"Thank you," said the engineer, "the fact is I'm a little late, for I
don't know what sort of a scrap pile I have to take out and I'd like, of
course, to go underneath her before she leaves the round-house, so I
can't come in this morning."
When Mrs. Cowels had given him the gloves he took her hand to say
good-bye, and the wife of one of the new men, who saw it, said
afterwards that he held it longer than was necessary, just to say
good-bye.
When Dan reached the round-house Bennie was up on top of the old engine
oiling the bell. What would an engine without a bell be to a boy? And
yet in Europe they have no bells, but there is a vast difference between
the American and the European boy.
Moran stopped in the round-house long enough to read the long list of
names on the blackboard. They were nearly all new to him, as were the
faces about, and he turned away.
The orders ran them extra to Aurora, avoiding regular trains. Moran
glanced at the faces of all the incoming engineers as he met and passed
them, but with one exception they were all strangers to him. He
recognized young Guerin, who had been fireman on Blackwings the night
George Cowels was killed, and he was now running a passenger engine.
"How the mushrooms have vegetated hereabouts," thought Moran, as he
glanced up at the stack of the old work engine, but he was never much of
a kicker, so he would not kick now. This wasn't much of a run, but it
beat looking for a better one.
"Not so much coal, Bennie. Take your clinker hook and level it off.
That's it,--see the black smoke? Keep your furnace door shut. Now look
at your stack again. See the yellow smoke hanging 'round? Rake her down
again. Now it's black, and if it burns clear--see there? There is no
smoke at all; that shows that her fire is level. Sweep up your deck now
while you rest."