SMILER, THE RAILROAD DOG.
As Rod stood gazing at the receding train he noticed a human figure step
from the lighted interior of the caboose, through the open doorway, to the
platform, apparently kick at something, and almost instantly return into
the car. At the same time the boy fancied he heard a sharp cry of pain;
but was not sure. As he resumed his tiresome walk, gazing longingly after
the vanishing train lights, he saw another light, a white one that moved
toward him with a swinging motion, close to the ground. While he was
wondering what it was, he almost stumbled over a small animal that stood
motionless on the track, directly in front of him. It was a dog. Now Rod
dearly loved dogs, and seemed instinctively to know that this one was in
some sort of trouble. As he stopped to pat it, the creature uttered a
little whine, as though asking his sympathy and help. At the same time it
licked his hand.
While he was kneeling beside the dog and trying to discover what its
trouble was, the swinging white light approached so closely that he saw
it to be a lantern, borne by a man who, in his other hand, carried a
long-handled iron wrench. He was the track-walker of that section, who
was obliged to inspect every foot of the eight miles of track under his
charge, at least twice a day; and the wrench was for the tightening of
any loose rail joints that he might discover.
"Hello!" exclaimed this individual as he came before the little group,
and held his lantern so as to get a good view of them. "What's the matter
here?"
"I have just found this dog," replied Rod, "and he seems to be in pain. If
you will please hold your light a little closer perhaps I can see what has
happened to him."
The man did as requested, and Rod uttered an exclamation of pleasure as
the light fell full upon the dog; for it was the finest specimen of a bull
terrier he had ever seen. It was white and brindled, its chest was of
unusual breadth, and its square jaws indicated a tenacity of purpose that
nothing short of death itself could overcome. Now one of its legs was
evidently hurt, and it had an ugly cut under the left ear, from which
blood was flowing. Its eyes expressed an almost human intelligence; and,
as it looked up at Rod and tried to lick his face, it seemed to say, "I
know you will be my friend, and I trust you to help me." About its neck
was a leathern collar, bearing a silver plate, on which was inscribed:
"Be kind to me, for I am Smiler the Railroad Dog."
"I know this dog," exclaimed the track-walker, as he read these words,
"and I reckon every railroad man in the country knows him; or at any rate
has heard of him. He used to belong to Andrew Dean, who was killed when
his engine went over the bank at Hager's two years ago. He thought the
world of the dog, and it used to travel with him most always; only once in
a while it would go visiting on some of the other engines. It was off that
way when Andrew got killed, and since then it has travelled all over the
country, like as though it was hunting for its old master. The dog lives
on trains and engines, and railroad men are always glad to see him. Some
of them got up this collar for him a while ago. Why, Smiler, old dog, how
did you come here in this fix? I never heard of you getting left or
falling off a train before."
"I think he must have come from the freight that just passed us," said
Rod, "and I shouldn't wonder," he added, suddenly recalling the strange
movements of the figure he had seen appear for an instant at the caboose
door, "if he was kicked off." Then he described the scene of which he had
caught a glimpse as the freight train passed him.
"I'd like to meet the man who'd dare do such a thing," exclaimed the
track-walker. "If I wouldn't kick him! He'd dance to a lively tune if any
of us railroad chaps got hold of him, I can tell you. It must have been an
accident, though; for nobody would hurt Smiler. Now I don't know exactly
what to do. Smiler can't be left here, and I'm afraid he isn't able to
walk very far. If I had time I'd carry him back to the freight. She's
side-tracked only a quarter of a mile from here, waiting for Number 8 to
pass. I'm due at Euston inside of an hour, and I don't dare waste any more
time."
"I'll take him if you say so," answered Rod, who had been greatly
interested in the dog's history. "I believe I can carry him that far."
"All right," replied the track-walker. "I wish you would. You'll have to
move lively though; for if Number 8 is on time, as she generally is, you
haven't a moment to lose."
"I'll do my best," said the boy, and a moment later he was hurrying down
the track with his M. I. P. bag strapped to his shoulders, and with the
dog so strangely committed to his care, clasped tightly in his arms. At
the same time the track-walker, with his swinging lantern, was making
equally good speed in the opposite direction. As Rod rounded a curve, and
sighted the lights of the waiting freight train, he heard the warning
whistle of Number 8 behind him, and redoubled his exertions. He did not
stop even as the fast express whirled past him, though he was nearly
blinded by the eddying cloud of dust and cinders that trailed behind it.
But, if Number 8 was on time, so was he. Though Smiler had grown heavy
as lead in his aching arms, and though his breath was coming in panting
gasps, he managed to climb on the rear platform of the caboose, just as
the freight was pulling out. How glad he was at that moment of the three
weeks training he had just gone through with. It had won him something,
even if his name was not to be engraved on the railroad cup of the Steel
Wheel Club.
As the boy stood in the rear doorway of the caboose, gazing doubtfully
into its interior, a young fellow who looked like a tramp, and who had
been lying on one of the cushioned lockers, or benches, that ran along the
sides of the car, sprang to his feet with a startled exclamation. At the
same moment Smiler drew back his upper lip so as to display a glistening
row of teeth, and, uttering a deep growl, tried to escape from Rod's arms.
"What are you doing in this car! and what do you mean by bringing that dog
in here?" cried the fellow angrily, at the same time advancing with a
threatening gesture. "Come, clear out of here or I'll put you out," he
added. The better to defend himself, if he should be attacked, the boy
dropped the dog; and, with another fierce growl, forgetful of his hurts,
Smiler flew at the stranger's throat.