GLEN RUNS A LOCOMOTIVE.
Springing from his berth, Glen began hastily to put on his shoes and the
few articles of clothing he had laid aside. Several other passengers
were doing the same thing, and each was asking the others what had
happened; but nobody knew. All the alarming sounds had now ceased, even
the women who had screamed being quiet, in the hope of discovering the
cause of their terror.
Glen was the first to leave the car, and, seeing a confused movement of
lanterns at the forward end of the train, he began to run in that
direction. It was still dark, though there were signs of dawn in the
sky. The train was not stopped at a station, but in a thick woods. As
the boy reached the baggage-car, he was horrified to see that several
men were lifting a limp and apparently lifeless body into it. The sight
made him feel sick and faint. He stood for a moment irresolute. Then,
two men, one of whom carried a lantern, came rapidly towards him.
"Here he is, now!" exclaimed one of them, as the light from the lantern
fell on the boy's face. Glen recognized the voice. It was that of his
recent acquaintance. Now he was coatless and bare-headed. In his hand
was a Colt's revolver. The other man was the conductor of the train.
"This gentleman says you can run a locomotive. Is that so?" asked the
conductor, holding up his lantern and scanning Glen's face keenly.
"Yes," answered the boy, "I can."
"Well, it looks like taking an awful risk to trust a boy as young as
you; but I don't know what else we can do. Our engineer has just been
killed, and the fireman is badly wounded. Two more men are hurt, and
we've got to get them to a doctor as quick as we can. It's fifty miles
to Kansas City, and there's only one telegraph station between here and
there. It's ten miles ahead. We'll stop there, and send a despatch. Will
you undertake to run us in?"
"Let me look at the engine first, and then I'll tell you," answered
Glen, his voice trembling with excitement in spite of his efforts to
appear calm.
The three went to the panting locomotive and swung themselves up into
its cab. Glen shuddered as he thought of the tragedy just enacted in
that cab, and almost drew back as he entered it. Then, controlling
himself by a determined effort, he gauged the water, tested the steam,
threw the lever over and back, opened the furnace door, glanced at the
amount of fuel in the tender, and did it all with such a business-like
air and appearance of knowing what he was about as to inspire both the
men, who were watching him closely, with confidence.
"Yes," he said at length, "I'll take her in; but we shall need some more
water."
"Good for you, son!" cried the conductor. "You're a trump! and I for one
believe you'll do it."
"So do I," said the passenger; "and I'm thankful we've got such a plucky
young engine-driver along."
"But who will fire?" asked Glen, hardly hearing these remarks, though,
at the same time, sufficiently conscious of them to feel gratified that
he had inspired such confidence.
"I will," replied the passenger, promptly.
"You, general!" cried the conductor in astonishment.
"Certainly! Why not I as well as another?"
"Very well," responded the conductor, "I'm only too glad to have you do
it, if you will; then let us be off at once." And, springing to the
ground, he shouted, "All aboard! Hurry up, gentlemen, we are about to
move on."
But Glen would not start until he had taken a flaring torch and the
engine-driver's long-nosed oil-can, and walked all around the
locomotive, examining every part of the huge machine, pouring on a
little oil here and there, and making sure that everything was in
perfect working order.
Then he again swung himself into the cab, pulled the whistle lever for
one short, sharp blast, opened the throttle slowly, and the train was
once more in motion.
It had hardly gone a hundred yards before two rifle-shots rang out of
the forest, and one ball crashed through both windows of the cab, but
without harming its occupants. Glen started; but his hand did not leave
the throttle, nor did his gaze swerve for an instant from the line of
gleaming track ahead. He had no time then to think of his own safety. He
was too busy thinking of the safety of those so suddenly and
unexpectedly intrusted to him.
The new fireman glanced at him admiringly, and murmured to himself,
"That boy is made of clear grit. I would that I had a son like him."
This man, who was heaving great chunks of wood into the roaring furnace
with the strength and ease of a trained athlete, formed no unpleasant
picture to look upon himself. He was tall and straight, with a keen,
resolute face, an iron-gray, military moustache, and close-cropped hair.
He looked not only like a soldier, but like one well accustomed to
command. At the same time he obeyed promptly, and without question,
every order issued by the young engine-driver on the opposite side of
the cab.
As the train dashed along at full speed there was no chance for
conversation between the two, even had they felt inclined for it. Both
were too fully engaged in peering ahead along the unfamiliar line of
track to pay attention to aught else.
Presently the conductor clambered over the tender from the baggage-car,
and stood in the cab with them, to post Glen as to the grades and
crossings.
It lacked a few seconds of fifteen minutes from the time of their
starting, when they slowed down for the telegraph-station, the lights of
which were twinkling just ahead. Here, while the conductor roused the
operator, and sent his despatch, the locomotive was run up to the tank,
and a fresh supply of water was taken aboard.
Then they were off again--this time for a run of forty miles without a
stop or check. Daylight was coming on so rapidly now that the track was
plainly visible by it, and thus one source of anxiety was removed.
Up to this time Glen had no idea of what had happened, nor of the cause
of the shooting that had resulted so disastrously. Now, though he did
not turn his head, he learned, from the conversation between the
conductor and his fireman, whom the former called "General," that an
attempt had been made to rob the train of a large sum of money that the
latter had placed in a safe in the express-car. He had received secret
information that such an attempt would probably be made, and had engaged
two detectives in St. Louis to guard his treasure. When the train was
stopped in the woods by a danger signal waved across the track, the
engine-driver had been ordered by the would-be robbers, who had cut the
express-car loose from those behind it, to go ahead. His refusal to obey
them had cost him his life, and the fireman an ugly wound.
The general, who left the sleeper, and ran ahead at the first alarm, had
shot and severely injured two of the robbers, and with the aid of his
men had driven the rest to the shelter of the forest after a few minutes
sharp fighting. The three wounded men, together with the body of the
dead engine-driver, were now in the baggage-car; while the train-load of
passengers, thanks to the practical knowledge of a sixteen-year-old boy,
and the pluck that enabled him to utilize it, were rapidly nearing their
journey's end in safety.
An anxious crowd was gathered about the Kansas City station as the train
rolled slowly up to its platform. The general wrung Glen's hand warmly
as he said,
"God bless you, boy, for what you have just done. I will see you again
in a few minutes. Now I must look after the wounded men."
Thus saying, he sprang to the platform, leaving Glen in the cab of the
locomotive; but when he returned, fifteen minutes later, the boy had
disappeared, and was nowhere to be found.