ALLAN MAKES A DISCOVERY
During all this time, Allan had been taking his trick of
track-walking with the other men on Section Twenty-one. Jack had
arranged it so that the boy’s trip over the road was made in the
early morning, from four o’clock to seven, when, in his opinion,
there was the minimum of danger. For Jack still feared Dan Nolan,
although that rascal had not been seen in the neighbourhood for
months. But Jack had an uneasy feeling that Nolan was still plotting
mischief, that he was still watching his opportunity to do Allan an
injury.
The boy himself, confident in his growing manhood, laughed at these
fears.
“Nolan has cleared out for good,” he said to Jack. “He’s gone
somewhere where he’s not known, and has got another job. We’ll never
see him again.”
But Jack shook his head stubbornly.
“I know better,” he said. “Mebbe he’s gone away for awhile, but
he’ll come back ag’in, an’, if he ever gits a good chance t’ hit y’
from behind, he’ll take it. I’ve got a sort of idee that Nolan’s at
th’ bottom of most of th’ devilment that’s been goin’ on on this
here road. Th’ tramps would ’a’ cleared out long ago if there hadn’t
been somebody back of them urgin’ ’em on.”
“Oh, come, Jack,” protested Allan, “you’ve let that idea get such a
hold on you that you can’t shake it off.”
“Anyway,” said Jack, “I want you t’ keep your eyes about you when
you’re out there by yourself. An’ you’re t’ carry that club I made
fer you, an’ t’ use it, too, if Nolan ever comes near enough for you
t’ git a good lick at him.”
Allan laughed again, but he carried the club with him, nevertheless,
more to quiet Jack’s fears and Mary’s than because he thought he
would ever need it. Jack had gone down to the carpenter shop the
first day the order to patrol the track was posted, and had selected
a piece of seasoned hickory, which he had fashioned into an
effective weapon. Most of the other section-men were similarly
armed, and were prepared to meet force with force.
But Jack’s fears were to be verified in an unexpected way a few days
later. One of the detectives employed by the road had succeeded in
disguising himself as a tramp so effectively that he was admitted to
their councils, and one night a force of men was gathered at
headquarters for an expedition of which none of them knew the
destination. It happened to be Jack’s trick, and, when he reported
for duty, the train-master called him to one side.
“Welsh,” he said, “we’re going on a little expedition to-night which
promises some fun. I thought maybe you’d like that boy of yours to
go along,—you seem to want to get him in on everything going.”
“What is it, Mister Schofield?” Jack asked. “Anything dangerous?”
“No,” answered the train-master, “I don’t think there’ll be any real
danger, but there may be some excitement. I want you to go and you’d
better bring the boy.”
“All right, sir,” said Jack, resolving, however, to keep the boy
close to himself.
A caller was sent after Allan, who appeared at the end of a few
minutes, his eyes big with excitement.
“What is it?” he asked, as he saw the men grouped together, talking
in low tones. “Another wreck?”
“No,” said Jack; “it ain’t a wreck. I don’t know what it is. It’s
got something t’ do with th’ tramps, I think. Mebbe you’d better not
go.”
“Of course I’ll go,” protested the boy. “I wouldn’t miss it for
anything.”
A moment later the men, of whom there were twenty, were divided into
parties of four each, and each man was given a short, stout
policeman’s club loaded with lead at the end.
“Now, boys,” said the train-master, after the clubs had been
distributed, “I want you to remember that it’s an easy thing to kill
a man with one of those clubs, so don’t strike too hard if we get
into a row. Only, of course, don’t hesitate to defend yourselves.
Now I guess we’re ready to start.”
Each party was placed in charge of one of the road’s detectives, and
left the yards by a different route. The night was very dark, with
black clouds rolling overhead and sending down a spatter of rain now
and then, so that the men could scarcely see each other as they
walked along. The party that Jack and Allan were with followed the
railroad track as far as the river-bank; then they turned aside,
crossed the long bridge which spanned the river, and pushed their
way along a path which led to the right along the opposite bank.
It was anything but easy walking, for the path was a narrow and
uneven one, nearly overgrown by the rank underbrush along the river,
so that they had to proceed in single file, the detective in the
lead, stumbling over rocks, stepping into mudholes, with branches
slapping them in the faces, and briars catching at their clothing.
At last they came out upon an open field, which they crossed. Beyond
the field was a road, which they followed for half a mile or more,
then they struck off along another path through an open hickory
wood, and finally halted for breath at the base of a high hill.
In a few moments, the other parties came up, panting and
mud-bespattered, and the detectives and Mr. Schofield drew apart for
a little consultation.
“Now, boys,” said Mr. Schofield, in a low voice, when the
consultation was over, “I’ll tell you what we’re after so that
you’ll know what to expect. One of our men here has discovered up on
this hill the place where the ringleaders among the tramps make
their headquarters. If we can capture these ringleaders, all our
troubles with the tramps will be over. We’re going to surround the
place, and we want to capture every one of them. We must creep up on
them as quietly as we can, and then a pistol-shot will be the signal
for a rush. And, remember, we don’t want any of them to get away!”
A little murmur ran through the crowd, and they gripped their clubs
tighter. Jack was glad that they had not been given revolvers,—in
the darkness and confusion, such weapons would be more dangerous to
friend than foe.
They started cautiously up the hill, advancing slowly and painfully,
for there was now no vestige of a path. The uneven ground and
tangled undergrowth made progress very difficult, but they gradually
worked their way upward until they came to the edge of a little
clearing. Against a cliff of rock at one side a rude hut was built.
There was no window, but, through the chinks in the logs, they could
see that there was a light within. The men were spread out along the
edge of the clearing, and waited breathlessly for the signal to
advance.
The pistol-shot rang out, clear and sharp in the night air, and,
even as the men sprang forward, the door of the hut was thrown open
and a man’s figure appeared silhouetted against the light. He stood
an instant listening to the rush of advancing footsteps, then
slammed the door shut, and in a breath the hut was in darkness.
But that single instant was enough for both Allan and Jack Welsh to
recognize the man.
It was Dan Nolan!
In another second, they were hammering at the door, but they found
it strongly barred, and three or four minutes elapsed—minutes that
seemed like centuries—before they got the door down and rushed over
the threshold into the hut. One of the detectives opened his dark
lantern and flashed a brilliant band of light about the place, while
the men stared in astonishment.
For the hut was empty!
They lighted the lamp which stood on a box in one corner and made a
more careful examination of the place. Two or three boxes, an old
stove, a few cooking utensils, and a rude cot in one corner
comprised all the furniture, and one of the detectives, pulling
aside the largest box, which stood against the back of the hut,
solved the mystery of Nolan’s disappearance.
A passage had been dug in the bank which formed the back of the hut,
and the detective, after flashing his dark lantern within, crawled
into it without hesitation. In a few moments, they heard the sound
of steps outside, and the detective came in again at the door.
“He’s got clear away,” he said; “as well as all the rest who were
with him. That tunnel leads off to the left and comes out the other
side of this bank.”
Mr. Schofield’s face showed his disappointment.
“It’s too bad,” he said, “that we didn’t know about that tunnel.
Then we could have placed a guard at the other end.”
“There were precious few knew about it,” said the detective who had
discovered the place. “I’ve been here half a dozen times, and never
suspected its existence.”
“Well,” said the train-master, “the only thing we can do is to go
home, I guess. We can’t hope to find a man in these woods on a night
like this.”
“You knowed that feller who opened th’ door, didn’t you, Mister
Schofield?” questioned Jack, as they left the hut.
“No,” said Mr. Schofield, quickly. “Did you?”
“Yes,” replied Jack, quietly; “it was Dan Nolan.”
“Dan Nolan!” repeated the train-master, incredulously. “Are you
sure?”
“Allan here knowed him, too,” said Jack. “It’s what I’ve been
thinkin’ all along, that Nolan was at th’ bottom of all this
mischief. He’s got t’ be a kind o’ king o’ th’ tramps, I guess.”
“Perhaps you’re right,” agreed Mr. Schofield. “I’ll put our
detectives on his trail. Maybe they can run him down, if he hasn’t
been scared away by his narrow escape to-night.”
“He’ll shift his headquarters,” said Jack, “but I don’t believe
he’ll be scared away—not till he gits what he’s after, anyway.”
“And what is that?” questioned the train-master.
“He’s after Allan there,” said Jack, in a lower tone. “An’ he’ll git
him yet, I’m afraid.”
“Well, we’ll make it hot for him around here,” said Mr. Schofield,
and went forward to impart this information to the detectives.
All of the men were completely tired out by the long night tramp, as
well as chagrined over their ill success, but Allan was up again as
usual next morning and started off upon his tramp along the track.
“Now, be careful of yourself, darlint,” Mary cautioned him, as she
saw him off, and Allan promised to be especially alert.
There could be no doubt that it was Dan Nolan they had seen at the
door of the hut the night before, but Allan only half-believed that
Nolan still preserved his enmity toward him. Certainly, he decided,
it was not worth worrying about,—worrying never did any good. He
would be ready to meet danger as it came, but he greatly doubted if
it would ever come, at least, to himself personally.
He had grown to like this duty of patrolling the track. It had been
a pleasant duty, and an uneventful one, for at no time had he found
anything wrong, or met with unpleasant adventure of any kind. But
those long walks through the fresh, cold air, with the dawn just
tingeing the east, opened a new world to the boy. It was no longer
the hot, dusty, work-a-day world of labour, but a sweet, cool, clean
world, where joy dwelt and where a man might grow. He heard the
birds greet the sunrise with never-failing joy; he heard the cattle
lowing in the fields; even the river beside the road seemed to dance
with new life, as the sun’s rays sought it out and gilded its every
ripple. It was not a long walk—three miles out and three back—and
what an appetite for breakfast it gave him! Even these few months
had wrought a great change in him. He was browned by the sun and
hardened by toil, as has been said already; but the change was
greater than that. It was mental as well as physical. He had grown
older, and his face had gained the self-reliant look of the man who
is making his own way in the world and who is sure of himself.
Despite all this extra work, Section Twenty-one was kept in perfect
condition, and the train-master noted it, as he noted everything
else about the road.
“You’re doing good work, Welsh,” he said to Jack one day, when he
chanced to meet him in the yards.
“I’ve got a good gang,” answered the foreman, proudly. “There’s one
o’ my men that’s too good fer section work. He ort t’ have a better
job, Mr. Schofield; one, anyway, where ther’s a chance fer
permotion—in th’ offices.”
“Yes?” and the official smiled good-naturedly. “I think I know who
you mean. I’ll keep him in mind, for we always need good men. This
extra work will soon be over, though. As soon as cold weather sets
in, the hoboes will strike for the South, and I don’t believe
they’ll ever trouble us again.”
“Mebbe not,” agreed Jack, dubiously. “But I’d be mighty glad to hear
that Dan Nolan was locked up safe somewhere. You haven’t found any
trace of him?”
“No. He seems to have disappeared completely. I believe he’s scared
out, and cold weather will rid us of all the rest.”
“Mebbe so,” said Jack; “mebbe so. Anyway, I wish cold weather’d
hurry up an’ come.”
But it seemed in no haste about coming. December opened bright and
warm, and two weeks slipped by. Although it was evident that the
tramps were becoming less numerous, and the management of the road
began to breathe more freely, still the head of the police
department did not relax his caution. He had his ear to the ground,
and, from that hidden, subterranean region of trampdom, he still
heard vague and uncertain, but no less threatening, rumblings.
It was clear that the battle was not yet won, for the petty
annoyances continued, though in an ever lessening degree, and even
in the yards the tramps or their sympathizers managed to do much
harm. A freight-train would be standing in the yards, ready for its
trip east or west; the conductor would give the signal to start, the
engineer would open his throttle, and instantly it would be
discovered that some one had drawn all the coupling-pins; but,
before the engineer could stop his engine, he had torn out all the
air-hose on the train. Or, perhaps, the train would start all right,
but, in the course of half an hour, the fireman would discover he
could not keep the steam up, no matter how hot his fire was; the
pressure would fall and fall until the train would be stalled out on
the road, and an investigation would disclose the fact that some one
had thrown a lot of soap into the tank. Then the whole system would
be tied up until another engine could be sent to the rescue to push
the train into the nearest siding. Or, perhaps, the train would be
bowling along merrily until, of a sudden, the well-trained noses of
conductor and brakemen would detect the odour of a hot box. The
train would be stopped, and it would soon be found that some one had
removed the packing from the boxes.
All of these things were provoking enough, especially since it was
evident that in almost every case the mischief had been done in the
yards under the very noses of the trainmen, although no tramps had
been seen there. Indeed, the trainmen, after wrestling with such
annoyances for a time, came to be of a temper that made it
exceedingly dangerous for a tramp to be found anywhere near railroad
property. Yet the annoyances went on, and became gradually of a more
serious nature. One night a brakeman found the main switch at the
east end of the yards spiked, and it was only by a hair’s breadth
that a serious collision was avoided. But the climax came one
morning when Bill Morrison, on the crack engine of the road, found
that some one had put sand in his boxes, and that the journals were
ground off and ruined.
A rigid investigation was ordered at once, but no clue to the
perpetrator of the mischief was discovered. Yet it seemed certain
that it could not have been done by a tramp. No tramp had been in
the yards—the yard-men were sure of that—and the officials were
forced to the unwelcome conclusion that some one whom they did not
suspect—some one who was permitted to enter the yards—some one
connected with the road, perhaps—was guilty. It was a disquieting
thought, for there was no telling what might happen next.
And then, one morning, Allan solved the mystery. It was a little
after four o’clock and still quite dark as he passed through the
yards to start on his morning walk. A freight-train stood ready to
start east, with its great mogul of an engine puffing and blowing
with impatience. Just as Allan passed it, he saw a figure emerge
from underneath it. He thought at first it was the engineer, but,
instead of mounting to the cab, the figure slunk away into the
darkness, carefully avoiding the glare of the headlight. Then the
boy saw the conductor and engineer standing, with heads together, a
little distance away, reading their orders by the light of the
conductor’s lantern. He ran toward them.
“Mr. Spurling,” he said to the engineer, “I just saw a man come out
from under your engine.”
“You did!” and engineer and conductor, with compressed lips, hurried
back to where the engine stood. The former flashed his torch
underneath, and then straightened up with a very grim face.
“Look at that link-motion,” he said, and the conductor stooped and
looked. Then he, too, straightened up.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t get started,” he said. “I’ll go and
report it. It’s lucky for us you saw that scoundrel, my boy,” he
added, as he hurried away, and the engineer clapped Allan on the
shoulder.
“Mighty lucky,” he said. “It’s a good thing there’s one man around
here who keeps his eyes open.”
But Allan, as he started away at last upon his six-mile tramp, knew
not whether to be glad or sorry. If only some one else had passed
the engine at that moment instead of him. For, as that crouching
figure slunk away through the darkness, he had recognized it!
So he had a battle to fight on that six-mile tramp; but it was
fought and won long before the walk was ended. And when, at last, he
got back to the yards, instead of turning away toward home, he
mounted the stairs to the train-master’s office. That official was
busy, as always, with a great pile of correspondence, but he looked
up and nodded pleasantly as Allan entered.
“Good morning, West,” he said. “Want to speak to me?”
“Yes, Mr. Schofield,” answered Allan. “This morning, as I was
starting out on my trick, I saw a man come out from under Mr.
Spurling’s engine.”
The train-master nodded.
“Yes,” he said, “I’ve got a report of it here. I’m mighty glad you
happened to come along just when you did, and had your eyes about
you.”
“I’d much rather it had been somebody else,” said Allan, “for I knew
the man, and I think it’s my duty to tell you.”
The train-master looked at him keenly.
“You knew him?” he repeated. “Better and better. No doubt he’s the
one who’s been giving us all this trouble. Who was he?”
Allan gulped down a lump which had arisen suddenly in his throat.
“Reddy Magraw,” he answered, hoarsely.
“Reddy Magraw!” echoed the train-master, with a stare of
astonishment. “Are you sure?”
“I wouldn’t say so if I wasn’t sure, sir,” answered Allan, with a
little flush of resentment. “I couldn’t be mistaken.”
“Of course,” agreed the train-master, kindly. “But I didn’t think
Reddy would do anything like that.”
“I don’t believe he would have done it, sir,” said Allan, “if Dan
Nolan hadn’t got hold of him,” and he told of the conference he and
Jack had witnessed on the river-bank. “I believe Dan put all this
meanness into his head,” he concluded. “I’m sure it’s with Dan he
stays all the time he’s away from home.”
Mr. Schofield nodded again.
“No doubt you are right,” he assented. “Perhaps we ought to have
suspected him before. Of course, the boys never thought of watching
him, and so let him stay around the yards as much as he wanted to.
But we’ll have to protect ourselves. This sort of thing can’t go
on.”
“You mean Reddy will have to be arrested?” questioned Allan, with
sinking heart.
“No,” and the train-master smiled at his anxious face. “I’ll file an
affidavit of lunacy against Reddy before the probate judge, and
we’ll have him sent to the asylum at Athens. He’ll be well taken
care of there, and maybe will get well again much sooner than he
would at home. He’s not getting any better here, that’s certain; and
he’s caused us a lot of trouble. Besides, he’s only a burden to his
wife.”
“Oh, she never thinks of that,” said Allan, quickly. “It’s his
staying away that hurts her.”
“Yes,” agreed Mr. Schofield, “I know. I’ve talked with her. She’s
like all the rest of these big-hearted Irish women,—ready to work
herself to death for the people she loves. Though,” he added,
“that’s a characteristic of nearly all women.”