A SUMMONS IN THE NIGHT
This reminder came that very afternoon while he was working at the
bottom of the deep cut through the spur of the hill which marked the
top of the long, stiff grade just west of the mill switch.
The other members of the gang were at the farther end of the cut,
and Allan had just finished levelling down a pile of gravel, when he
heard a sudden shout of warning from Jack.
“Look out, Allan!” cried the latter. “Look out!”
Allan instinctively sprang aside, and was just in time to escape a
large boulder which came crashing down the side of the cut.
Allan gazed at it in astonishment, drawing a deep breath at his
escape. Then he saw Jack, followed by the others, charging madly up
the side of the hill. Without stopping to reason why, he followed.
[Illustration: “JUST IN TIME TO ESCAPE A LARGE BOULDER”]
“What’s the matter?” he cried, as he came panting up behind the ones
who had just gained the hilltop.
“Matter!” cried Jack, glaring around to right and left over the
hillside. “Matter enough! What d’ y’ suppose made that rock fall
that way?”
“Why,” said Allan, looking around bewildered, “the earth under it
must have given way—”
“Nonsense!” interrupted the foreman, impatiently. “Look, here’s th’
hole it left. Th’ earth didn’t give way a bit. Y’ kin see th’ rock
was pried out—yes, an’ here’s th’ rail that was used to do it with.
Now, who d’ y’ suppose had hold of that rail?”
Allan turned a little giddy at the question.
“Not Dan Nolan?” he said, in an awed whisper.
“Who else but Dan Nolan. An’ he’s hidin’ down there in one o’ them
gullies, sneakin’ along, keepin’ out o’ sight, or I’m mistaken.”
“Did you see him?” asked Allan.
“No, I didn’t see him,” retorted Jack. “If I’d seen him, I’d have
him in jail afore night, if I had t’ hunt this whole county over fer
him. But I know it was him. Who else could it be? You know he’s
threatened y’. He’s been hangin’ around doggin’ y’ ever since I put
y’ at this job. There’s more’n one of us knows that; an’ there’s
more’n one of us knows, too, that he wouldn’t be above jest this
kind o’ work. He lamed a man on my gang, onct, jest because he had a
grudge ag’in him—dropped th’ end of a rail on his foot an’ mashed it
so bad that it had t’ be taken off. He said it was an accident, an’
I believed him, fer I didn’t know him as well then as I do now. He
wouldn’t stop at murder, Dan Nolan wouldn’t—why, that rock would ’a’
killed you in a minute, if it had hit you!”
“Yes, I believe it would,” said Allan, and he shivered a little at
the thought of his narrow escape.
Jack took another long look around at the hills and valleys, but if
Nolan was anywhere among them, the trees and underbrush hid him
effectually. And Allan was loth to believe Jack’s theory; bad as
Nolan was, it seemed incredible that he should be so savage, so
cold-blooded, as to lie there on the brink of the precipice,
waiting, moment by moment, until his victim should be in the precise
spot where the rock would strike him. That seemed too fiendish for
belief.
“I wouldn’t like to think Nolan did it,” he said, a little hoarsely,
“unless I had some proof. You didn’t see him, you know—”
“See him!” echoed Jack. “No—I didn’t need to see him! There’s th’
hole th’ stone was pried out of, an’ there’s th’ rail that was used
fer a lever. Now who had hold o’ that rail? Ain’t Nolan th’ only
enemy you’ve got in th’ world?”
“Yes,” said Allan, in a low voice; “yes, I believe he is.”
“An’ do you suppose a feller would lay fer you like that unless he
had somethin’ ag’in you? I tell you, Dan Nolan’s hidin’ down there
in the bushes somewhere, an’ lookin’ up here at us an’ swearin’
because he didn’t git you!” and Jack shook his fist impatiently at
the horizon. “If I had him under my heel, I’d kill him like I would
a snake!”
Which, of course, Jack wouldn’t have done, but his honest Irish
blood was boiling at this moment, and he said more than he meant.
“Come on, boys,” he added, calming himself by a mighty effort, “we
can’t ketch him now, but we’ll git th’ scoundrel yet!” and he
started down the hill, a savage scowl still on his face.
The incident had cast a shadow over the spirits of the gang, and
they worked the rest of the afternoon in silence. Indeed, ever since
Reddy’s accident, the gang had lacked that spirit of optimism and
gaiety which had marked it; a new man had been taken on, but while
he did Reddy’s work fairly well, he could not take Reddy’s place in
the hearts of the men. Their day’s work lacked the savour which
Reddy’s wit had given it, and they went home at night more weary
than had been their wont. Jack saw, too, that their work had lost
some of its alacrity, and yet he had no heart to find fault with
them.
But he took no more chances of Allan’s suffering any treacherous
injury. He had talked the matter over with his wife, and between
them, they had laid out a plan of action. Whenever possible, Jack
kept Allan near him. When that was not possible, he took care that
the boy should not be alone at any spot where his enemy could sneak
up on him from behind. He knew if the boy was injured through any
carelessness or lack of foresight on his part, he would never dare
to go home again and face his wife!
All of this was, of course, plain enough to Allan, and chafed him
somewhat, for he did not want the rest of the gang to think him a
baby who needed constant looking after. Besides, he had an honest
reliance on his ability to look after himself. So, one day, he
ventured to protest.
“See here, Jack,” he said, “I’m not afraid of Dan Nolan. In fact, I
think I’d be rather glad of the chance to meet him in a fair
stand-up fight.”
“An’ that’s just th’ chance he’ll never give ye,” retorted Jack. “I
wouldn’t be afeerd o’ him, either, if he’d fight fair—I believe y’
could lick him. But he won’t fight fair. Th’ coward’ll hit y’ from
behind, if he kin—an’ he’s waitin’ his chance. That’s his kind, as
y’ ought t’ know by this time. Oh, if I could only ketch him!”
But since the afternoon that great rock had fallen, Nolan had
utterly disappeared from his accustomed haunts. Jack made diligent
inquiries, but could get no news of him. The gang of scalawags who
were his usual companions professed to be utterly ignorant of his
whereabouts. He had been sleeping in a little closet back of one of
the low railroad saloons, paying for board and lodging by cleaning
out the place every morning, but the proprietor of the place said he
had not been near there for a week. So at last Jack dropped his
inquiries, hoping against hope that Nolan had taken alarm and left
the neighbourhood.
Reddy continued to improve physically from day to day, but mentally
he grew worse and worse. His broken arm had healed nicely, and the
wound in his head was quite well, but the injury to the brain
baffled all the skill of his physicians. He would sit around the
house, moping, seemingly taking notice of nothing; then he would
suddenly start up and walk rapidly away as though he had just
remembered some important engagement. Frequently he would be gone
all day, sometimes even all night. He was rarely at home at
meal-times, and yet he never seemed to be hungry.
Mrs. Magraw could never find out from him where he spent all this
time. He refused to answer her questions, until, seeing how they
vexed him, she ceased from bothering him, and let him go his own
way. Of her bitter hours of despair and weeping, she allowed him to
see nothing, but tried always to present to him the same cheerful
and smiling countenance she had worn in the old days before his
injury. In spite of this, he grew more and more morose, more and
more difficult to get along with. The doctor advised that he be
taken to an asylum, but the very word filled his wife with a
nameless dread, and she prayed that he might be left in her care a
little while longer. Perhaps he might grow better; at any rate,
unless he grew worse, she could look after him.
One morning, about a week after the attempt upon Allan’s life, he
and Jack were working together on the embankment by the river’s
edge, when the foreman stopped suddenly, straightened himself, and,
shading his eyes with his hand, gazed long and earnestly across the
water. Allan, following his look, saw two men sitting by a clump of
willows, talking earnestly together. Their figures seemed familiar,
but it was not until one of them leaped to his feet, waving his arms
excitedly, that he recognized him as Reddy Magraw.
“Who is the other one?” he asked.
“It’s Dan Nolan,” said the foreman between his teeth. “What deviltry
d’ y’ suppose he’s puttin’ int’ that poor feller’s head?”
Allan did not answer, but a strange foreboding fell upon him as he
watched Reddy’s excited oratory. Then the two watchers saw Nolan
suddenly pull Reddy down, and together they vanished behind the
trees.
What could it mean? Allan asked himself. What villainy was Dan Nolan
plotting? Was he trying to make poor, half-witted Reddy his
instrument for the commission of some crime?
Jack, too, worked away in unaccustomed silence and unusual heaviness
of heart, for he was asking himself the same questions. Something
must be done; Reddy must not be led into any mischief; and no
influence which Nolan might gain over him could be anything but bad.
It was like the coward to try to get another man to do what he
himself shrank from doing.
The morning passed and noon came, but neither Jack nor Allan had
relish for their dinner—the incident of the morning had spoiled
their appetites.
“We’ll have t’ look out after Reddy some way,” said Jack, at last,
and then fell silent again.
They were soon back at work, and Allan, busy with his thoughts, did
not notice that the air grew chill and the sky overcast.
“The’ll be a storm t’-night,” observed Jack at last, looking around
at the sky.
“’Fore night,” said one of the workmen. “We’ll be havin’ to quit
work purty soon.”
Even to an unpractised eye, the signs were unmistakable. Down from
the north great banks of black clouds were sweeping, and the wind
felt strangely cold, even for the last days of October. At last came
the swift patter of the rain, and then a swirl of great, soft,
fleecy flakes.
“Snow!” cried Jack. “Well, ’f I ever!”
All stopped to watch the unaccustomed spectacle of snow in October.
It fell thick and fast, the flakes meeting and joining in the air
into big splotches of snow, which melted almost as soon as it
touched the ground. Two of the men, who had been blotted from sight
for a moment, came hurrying toward the others.
“We might as well quit,” said Jack. “We can’t work this kind o’
weather;” and so they started homeward through the storm, an hour
before the usual time.
As the evening passed, the storm grew heavier and more violent.
Looking out from the window after supper, Allan found that the whole
world was shut from sight behind that swirling white curtain. From
time to time he could hear the faint rumble of a train in the yards
below, but no gleam of the engine’s headlight penetrated to him.
“It’s a bad night fer railroadin’,” Jack remarked, looking out
beside him. “A bad night. Th’ rails ’r so slippy th’ wheels can’t
grip ’em, an’ th’ engineer might as well shut his eyes fer all th’
good his headlight does him. An’ th’ brakeman—fancy runnin’ along
th’ two-foot path on the top of a train in a storm like this!”
But trainmen cannot stop for wind or weather, darkness or stress of
storm, and the trains rumbled in and out through the night, most of
them behind time, to be sure, but feeling their way along as best
they could, while up in the offices the despatchers, with tense
nerves and knitted brows, struggled to maintain order in the midst
of chaos. The wires were working badly, every train on the road was
behind the schedule; out at some of the little stations, the
operators, unused to the strain, were growing nervous. The
superintendent closed his desk with a bang, after dictating the last
letter; but instead of going home, as usual, he stood around with
his hands in his pockets, listening to the wildly clicking
instruments, and chewing a cigar savagely.
Allan lay for a long time that night listening to the trains,
thinking of the wonderful system by which the great business was
managed. He could understand, as yet, only a little of this system,
and he was hungering to know more. Then the scene of the morning
came back to him, and he tossed from side to side, thinking of it.
Poor Reddy—yes, he needed looking after if Dan Nolan had got hold of
him. Reddy’s mind was more that of a child than of a man at present.
What an evil influence Dan might have over him if he cared to use
it!
At last sleep came; but in an instant he was back again at the river
bank peering across at the figures on the other side. They were
talking together; they seemed to be quarrelling. Then, suddenly,
Nolan caught the other by the throat and hurled him backward over
the bank into the water. Reddy sank with a wild cry; then his head
reappeared, and he caught a glimpse of the boy standing on the
farther bank.
“Allan!” he cried, stretching out his arms imploringly. “Allan!”
Allan sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes, straining his ears to hear
the call again.
“Allan!”
It was Jack’s voice,—he knew it now,—but the dawn was not peeping in
at the window, as was usual when Jack called him. He realized that
the night had not yet passed. He caught a glimmer of yellow light
under his door and heard Jack putting on his boots in the room
below.
Fully awake at last, he sprang out of bed and opened the door.
“What is it?” he called down the stair. “Do you want me?”
“Yes. Hurry up,” answered Jack’s voice.
Allan threw on his clothes with trembling hands, and hastened
down-stairs. He found Jack already at table, eating hastily.
“Set down,” said the latter, “an’ fill up. It’s mighty uncertain
when ye’ll git another square meal.”
“We’re going out?” asked the boy. “Then there’s a wreck?”
“Yes, a wreck—freight, near Vinton. Th’ caller jest come fer me.
It’s so bad all th’ section-gangs on this end ’r ordered out. Eat
all y’ kin. Better drink some coffee, too. Y’ll need it.”