THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER
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The Works of
Burton E. Stevenson
♣
The Quest for the Rose of Sharon =$1.25=
♣
The Young Section-Hand =1.50=
The Young Train Dispatcher =1.50=
The Young Train Master =1.50=
♣
L. C. Page & Company, Publishers
New England Building———Boston, Mass.
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[Illustration: “LEAPED OUT INTO THE DARKNESS.”]
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THE
YOUNG TRAIN
MASTER
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_By_ BURTON E. STEVENSON
Author of “The Young Section-Hand,” “The
Young Train Dispatcher,” “The Quest
for the Rose of Sharon,” etc.
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ILLUSTRATED BY
HENRY GOSS
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[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
_Boston_ ❧ L. C. PAGE & COMPANY ❧
_Mdccccix_
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_Copyright, 1909_
BY L. C. PAGE & COMPANY
(INCORPORATED)
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_All rights reserved_
First Impression, August, 1909
_Electrotyped and Printed by
THE COLONIAL PRESS
C.H. Simonds & Co., Boston, U.S.A._
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TO
_The “Beddy Magraw”_
WHOM I KNEW
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CONTENTS
CHAPTER
I. OLD FRIENDS
II. NEW DUTIES
III. THE MIRACLE AT GREENFIELD
IV. AFTERMATH
V. THE NEW TIME-CARD
VI. THE LITTLE CLOUD
VII. A THREAT FROM MR. NIXON
VIII. MR. ROUND’S DECISION
IX. A BUBBLE BURSTS
X. IN THE SWITCH TOWER
XI. ALLAN’S EYES ARE OPENED
XII. THE INTERVIEW WITH NIXON
XIII. MR. SCHOFIELD’S BOMBSHELL
XIV. DECLARATION OF WAR
XV. IN CHARGE AT WADSWORTH
XVI. THE STRIKE BEGINS
XVII. EVENTS OF THE NIGHT
XVIII. THE DERELICT
XIX. THE OLD STONE HOUSE
XX. THE AWAKENING
XXI. “C. Q. D.”
XXII. THE MYSTERY SOLVED
XXIII. COMPLICATIONS
XXIV. ALLAN FINDS HIS MATE
XXV. THE DOWNFALL OF BASSETT
XXVI. NEMESIS
XXVII. THE BOMB
XXVIII. HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD
XXIX. THE YOUNG TRAIN MASTER
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LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
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“LEAPED OUT INTO THE DARKNESS” _Frontispiece_
“THE NEXT INSTANT IT FLASHED INTO VIEW AROUND THE CURVE”
TIME-CHART
“CONTROLLING IT, AS IT WERE, BY A MOVEMENT OF A FINGER, STOOD JIM”
“HE EXPLAINED THE DIFFICULTY TO THE ENGINEER”
“THEN, WITH A HOARSE YELL OF RAGE, HURLED HIMSELF UPON THEM”
“HE HEARD THE BULLETS SING PAST HIS HEAD”
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THE
YOUNG TRAIN MASTER
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CHAPTER I
OLD FRIENDS
NESTLING among the hills of the Scioto valley, in the south-central
portion of the state of Ohio, lies the little town of Wadsworth.
Venerable in its age, proud of its history, the first capital of its
state and the home of men famous in their time, it lives in the past
rather than in the present, and life there moves in a quiet and
dignified manner, conducive to peace but not to progress.
Its streets, shaded by the elms planted by the pioneers, show traces of
those early days; one of the old inns, with its swinging sign still
stands; no roar of traffic disturbs its Sabbath stillness. Just to the
east of it rises Mount Logan, named for the Indian chieftain known to
every train-service, and there is a legend that, standing on the summit
of that hill, the day before his death, he cast a spell over the
surrounding country, in order that the peace of his grave might never be
disturbed. However that may be, certain it is that a dreamy influence
pervades the atmosphere and gives to the town an air of leisure and calm
deliberateness which nothing can dispel.
It had been founded more than a century before, when the country for a
hundred miles around was an unbroken forest, by a little band of
pioneers who, acquiring title to unnumbered acres by virtue of their
service in the Revolution, pushed their way over the mountains from
Virginia. Some of them brought their slaves with them, only to free them
when they reached their new home. Other families from Virginia joined
the little settlement and lent their hands to the battle with the
wilderness. That southern flavour had never been lost, nor the southern
deliberateness and dislike of innovation, nor the southern preference
for agriculture rather than for manufacture.
By mere chance of geographical position, Wadsworth lies half way between
Parkersburg, a hundred miles away to the east, and Cincinnati, a hundred
miles away to the south-west; so, when the great P. & O. railway,
looking for new fields to conquer, purchased the local line which
connected those two cities, and which was fast degenerating into a
“streak of rust,” it saw that Wadsworth must be the centre of the new
division, since it was the most economical place from which to handle
the business of the division and at which to maintain the division
shops. All this, however, it carefully concealed from public view, but,
expressing a supreme indifference as to whether the shops were placed at
Wadsworth or somewhere else, offered to bring them there for a bonus of
a hundred thousand dollars. After long delay and hesitation, the town
was bonded for that amount, and the shops were formally established at
the spot where they must, of necessity, have been placed.
Here also were the division offices, from which the business of the
division was handled. They were upon the second floor of the dingy depot
building which has been described more particularly in “The Young Train
Dispatcher,” and need not be dwelt upon here, except to observe that the
passing years had added to its dinginess and disreputable appearance.
* * * * *
From these offices there descended, one bright October evening,
lunch-basket in hand, a young man, who, springing lightly across the
branching tracks of the yards, reached the street beyond and turned
eastward along it. It was noticeable that he seemed to know everyone
employed around the yards and that they seemed to know him, and greeted
him with a cordiality evidently genuine.
Ten minutes’ walk brought him to a trim cottage standing back from the
street, amid a bower of vines. Its grounds were ample, and well-kept. At
one side was a little orchard, whose trees showed the glint of ripening
fruit. Farther back, near the barn, a cow was grazing, and the busy
clatter of chickens came from an enclosure to the right. The place
somehow gave the impression that those who lived within were happy and
contented people; not rich, but able, by the labour of their hands, to
assure themselves a comfortable livelihood—which is, perhaps, the
happiest condition vouchsafed to human beings.
Through the gate of this house the young man turned, and went slowly up
the walk leading to the door. But as he stretched out his hand to turn
the knob, the door flew open and a girl of about sixteen fairly flung
herself into his arms.
“Why, Mamie!” he cried. “_Is_ it Mamie?” and he held her off for a
moment’s inspection. “When did you get back?”
“On Number Three,” she answered. “I had a notion to wait for you, and
then I thought it would be nicer to come home and surprise you.”
The words “Number Three” stamped both speakers as of the railroad. For
who but one raised in the atmosphere of the road would know that “Number
Three” was the west-bound flier?
“See how brown I am,” she added, holding her face up for his inspection.
“Yes,” he agreed, looking down at her, “you are. Did you have a good
time?”
“Only so-so,” she answered, smiling up at him. “I can have the best time
of all right here at home.”
“So can I,” he agreed. “It’s been a little lonesome with you away.”
“Has it, Allan?” she asked, quickly, her eyes shining with the glint of
sudden tears. “It’s nice of you to say that.”
“Well, it’s true: and it won’t hurt to say it, now you’re back. But I
didn’t dare tell you when I wrote. I wanted you to enjoy your visit. I
thought you were going to stay till Tuesday.”
“Oh, I couldn’t stay any longer than to-day!” she protested, quickly.
“Why not?” he asked, looking at her in surprise. “What’s going to happen
to-day?”
“Come in and you’ll see,” she answered, and led him triumphantly into
the house.
Through the hall they went, into the dining-room beyond, where a
bright-faced woman, just entering middle-age, was putting the finishing
touches to a table immaculately spread.
“Oh, there ye are!” she cried, turning as they entered. “What kept you
so long, Allan?”
“I’ve been out here gossiping with Mamie,” he explained, laughing.
“I was afeerd the supper would git stale,” she said. “I don’t like to
keep things warmed up; they ain’t got the same taste they have when
they’re cooked jest right and served right away.”
“You needn’t wait for me, if there’s company,” he said, seeing that an
extra place had been laid.
“Oh, I reckon the company’s willin’ to wait,” she retorted, with a
laugh. “Only don’t be no longer than ye kin help.”
“I won’t,” Allan promised and hurried away.
Five minutes later, he opened the door of the dining-room again, and saw
who the visitor was.
“Why, Reddy!” he cried, going quickly forward, his hand outstretched.
“How are you? I’m glad to see you.”
“The same here, Allan,” answered Reddy Magraw, warmly gripping the hand
outstretched to him in his own honest palm. “An’ mighty glad I was when
Jack asked me t’ be here t’-day.”
“To-day,” echoed Allan, glancing quickly around at the smiling faces.
“Why, what day is it?”
“Don’t you know?” asked Jack, his face all one broad grin. “Don’t you
know, boy?”
Mamie’s eyes were dancing, as she looked at Allan’s perplexed
countenance.
“Oh, it’s a disgrace, Allan, if you don’t remember!” she cried.
“I’ll tell you what day it is, me boy,” said Reddy, his face beaming.
“It’s jist eight year ago t’-day sence a little scalpeen named Allan
West come along out there on Section Twinty-one an’ asked the foreman,
Jack Welsh, fer a job. We’re meetin’ here t’-night t’ celebrate his good
jedgment in givin’ ye one.”
“’Tis the thing in all my life I’m most proud of,” said Jack.
“An’ the thing that has made me happiest,” added Mary.
“And I’d never have forgiven him, if he hadn’t,” cried Mamie, at which
they all laughed, a little uncertainly, and sat down, their hearts very
tender.
“Can it really be eight years?” asked Allan, after a moment’s silence.
“It doesn’t seem possible. And yet when one thinks what has happened—”
“They has a lot happened,” agreed Reddy. “An’ many a happy day we had
out there on Section Twinty-one. Not that I don’t like the work now,
Jack,” he added. “But my gang don’t seem t’ be loike the old one. Mebbe
it’s because I’m gittin’ old an’ don’t see things with quite so much
gilt on ’em as I used to.”
“Old! Nonsense!” cried Jack. “Why, you’re a young man, yet, Reddy.”
“No, I ain’t,” said Reddy. “I ain’t young by no means. An’ I’ve allers
thought that that belt I got on the head from that runaway ingine had
took some of the ginger out o’ me. But that’s all fancy, most likely,”
he added, hastily, seeing Allan’s eyes upon him.
“Look here, Reddy,” said Allan, “do you think my hitting you that time
had anything to do with it?”
“No, I don’t,” said Reddy. “I think that was the only thing that saved
me. I’ve told ye already that I wouldn’t have complained if ye’d kilt
me. Tell me about it ag’in, boy; I can’t hear that story too often.”
So Allan told again the story of that wild Christmas eve when, as
track-walker, he had found a gang of wreckers tearing up the rails, and
how the pay-car had been saved, and the lives of those in it.
“Oh, it must have been terrible!” cried Mamie, who had been listening
with starting eyes, as though she had never before heard the story.
“Think of creeping up alone on that gang of men! Weren’t you awfully
frightened, Allan?”
“No,” answered Allan, smiling at her earnestness. “I didn’t have time to
get frightened, somehow. But,” he added, laughing, “I don’t mind
confessing, now, that two or three days later, as I lay in bed thinking
the whole thing over, I was scared nearly to death. It’s a fact,” he
went on, seeing their puzzled countenances. “I just turned kind of faint
thinking about it.”
“An’ no wonder,” said Reddy. “’Twas enough t’ make anybody turn faint. I
remember jest sich another case. You knowed Tom Spurling, Jack?” he
added, turning to Welsh.
“Yes,” nodded Jack.
“Well, then you’ll remember what a hot-headed feller he was—he had a
head o’ red hair, by the way, purty nigh as red as mine. Well, one
evenin’ he was hurryin’ acrost the yards t’ git his train—he was
conductor on the west-bound accommodation. He was carryin’ his cap an’
his dinner-bucket an’ his lantern an’ his little red tin dickey-box, an’
he was hittin’ it up lively, bein’ a minute or two late. It was a kind
o’ foggy night, an’ jest as he got to the platform, Bill Johnson’s yard
ingine come up behind an’ poked him in the legs with its footboard.
Well, everybody expected t’ see Tom ground up in about two winks, but
some way the ingine throwed him up on the platform, where he fell
sprawlin’. Bill stopped the ingine an’ got down t’ see if Tom was
hurted. Tom was settin’ up rubbin’ his head an’ glarin’ down at the
lunch his missus had fixed up fer him an’ which was now scattered all
over the platform and purty well mixed with cinders.
“‘Are ye hurted, Tom?’ asked Bill.
“‘Hurted!’ roared Tom. ‘No, o’ course not, ye blame fool! But look at
them victuals!’
“‘Jumpin’ Jehosaphat!’ says Bill. ‘Ye ain’t worryin’ about them are ye?’
“‘Yes, I am!’ yells Tom, jumpin’ to his feet. ‘Why don’t ye look where
ye’re goin’ with thet ole mud turtle o’ yourn? Fer jest about half a
cent—’
“But some o’ the fellers got ’em apart, an’ Tom climbed on his train a
minute later, still cussin’ Bill fer the loss o’ his lunch.
“Well, sir, he run his train down t’ Cinci all right, an’ next mornin’
started back with her, an’ they’d got as fer back as Midland City, when
one o’ the passengers come an’ told the brakeman that the conductor was
sick. An’ mighty sick he was, layin’ in a seat, white as a sheet,
lookin’ like his last hour had come.
“‘Fer Heaven’s sake, Tom,’ says the brakeman, ‘what’s the matter?’
“‘Oh, I was nearly kilt!’ groans Tom, hoarse as a frog.
“‘Kilt!’ says the brakeman. ‘Where? Shall I holler fer a doctor? Mebbe
they’s one on board.’
“‘No,’ says Tom. ‘I ain’t hurted.’
“The brakeman thought he’d gone crazy.
“‘What you talkin’ about, anyhow?’ he says.
“‘No,’ goes on Tom, ‘but it’s God’s providence I wasn’t chewed into
mincemeat.’
“‘When?’ says the brakeman.
“‘Last night,’ says Tom, ‘by thet yard ingine at Wadsworth. It’s jest
come to me what a narrer escape I had.’
“Well, the brakeman told me, Tom was about the sickest man he ever seen
fer an hour or more, an’ then he peckered up a little, an’ finally was
all right ag’in.”
“I can imagine just how he felt,” said Allan, amid the laughter caused
by Reddy’s story. “I fancy it’s a good deal like seasickness. It just
swoops down on you and takes the nerve out of you and leaves you limp as
a rag.”
From one story, they passed to another—the wreck at Vinton, the fight at
Coalville, Dan Nolan’s death—stories which have already been told in the
earlier books of this series, and which need not be repeated here.
“Did ye ever hear anything more o’ that snake, Nevins, what I chased all
over creation that night he tried t’ wreck the president’s special?”
inquired Jack.
“Yes,” Allan answered, “I heard about him just the other day. Mr.
Schofield told me that he had seen him at Cincinnati—passed him on the
street.”
“What’s he doin’?” asked Jack, quickly.
“I don’t know. Earning an honest living, I hope. Mr. Schofield said he
was well-dressed and seemed to be prosperous.”
“Well, mebbe he _is_ earnin’ an honest livin’, but I doubt it,” said
Jack. “I don’t think he knows how. That reminds me. I heard this
arternoon that Hayes is goin’ to Springfield.”
“Yes,” said Allan. “He’s to be train master on the Illinois division.”
“Then that means that they’ll be a chief dispatcher to appoint here.
Who’ll get it? Goodwood?”
“Yes; he’s next in line.”
“An’ that’ll make you senior dispatcher?”
“Yes.”
“When I think,” said Jack, “that eight year ago, this here felly was a
kid lookin’ fer a job an’ that now he’s senior dispatcher, with a mighty
good chance o’ bein’ superintindent some day, I begin t’ believe that a
felly has a fair chance in this country, arter all. You know they’s
allers sayin’ we’re all ground down by wealth; but I’ve noticed that the
fellies who’s ground down are them that spends most o’ their time in
some bar-room hollerin’ about it.”
“That’s true,” Allan agreed. “And don’t forget that you’ve gone up from
section foreman to division roadmaster in the same time, and that you’re
not done yet.”
“Yes, I am, me boy,” said Jack, gravely. “I haven’t got th’ eddication
t’ go any furder. I’ve got the experience, but that’s only half the
equipment a felly has to have to reach the top. I don’t know jest how it
is, but eddication—the real thing—seems t’ kind o’ give a man a bigger
grasp of things. He kin put two and two together quicker—he kin see
furder.”
“Jack’s right,” said Reddy. “Now I’ve reached my limit in section
foreman. It’s as fur as I kin go. I ain’t complainin’. I’m contented.
But some of us is built fer speed, an’ some of us is built fer strength.
Some of us has to pull freight, and some gits to pull polished Pullmans,
but I reckon it all comes to th’ same thing in the end.”
“Yes,” said Allan, quietly, “passenger and freight all have the same
destination. And you know, as well as I do, that it’s the freight that
counts most when it comes to figuring results.”
The ringing of the telephone bell interrupted them, and Mamie ran to
answer it. She was back in a moment.
“Somebody wants you, Allan,” she said. “Mr. Schofield, I think.”
Anxious eyes followed him, as he arose and went to the ’phone. A call
from the superintendent might mean so many things—usually did mean
disaster of some kind. He was gone a long time, and as the minutes
lengthened, the shadow on the faces of those about the table deepened.
They tried at first to keep up a semblance of conversation, but that
finally dropped away and they sat silent. That it was something serious
was evident.
But Allan came back at last, and as he caught sight of their anxious
faces, he laughed outright.
“No, it’s not a wreck,” he said, “and I’m not fired.”
He sat down, and the others waited. If it was anything he could tell
them, they knew he would. If it was official business, they did not wish
to question him.
“The fact is,” he went on, slowly, watching
Mamie’s face with evident amusement, “a very unusual thing has
happened.”
“Oh, Allan!” Mamie burst out, “if you’re going to tell us, please hurry
and do it.”
“A very unusual thing,” Allan proceeded with provoking deliberation.
“You know I told you that Mr. Hayes is going to Springfield.”
“Yes,” said Mamie, encouragingly, bouncing in her seat.
“Ain’t he goin’?” asked Jack.
“Oh, yes; he’s going. He went this afternoon. But the fact is, Goodwood
don’t want his job.”
“Why?”
“He says the hours are too long, and the added responsibility more than
the added salary. He says he’s contented where he is.”
“Ho!” said Reddy. “Reached his limit jest like me, an’ knows it. Well,
it’s a wise man that knows when to let well enough alone.”
But Mamie’s face suddenly gleamed with understanding, and she jumped
from her seat and rushed around the table to Allan’s side.
“I know!” she cried. “I know! Oh, you stupid people! Don’t you see?
Allan’s to be chief dispatcher!”
They were all on their feet now.
“What, Allan! Is it?” cried Jack, incoherently.
“Yes,” answered Allan, “I guess it is.”
Jack came over to him and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Eight year ago to-day,” he said, looking him in the eyes. “I’m proud of
ye, me boy. But I don’t need t’ tell ye that.”
“And he’ll make the best chief this division ever had,” added Reddy with
conviction. “Where’s my hat?”
“But you ain’t goin’!” protested Mrs. Welsh. “It’s early yet.”
“I know it is,” said Reddy. “But I can’t stay. Not with this news in my
craw. I must tell the old woman and the boys. They ain’t a man on the
division that won’t be glad.”
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