FIRING ON NUMBER 10.
In regard to Rod Blake's new appointment, nothing more was said that day;
but, sure enough, he received an order the following morning to report to
the master mechanic for duty as fireman on engine number 10.
Proud enough of his promotion, the lad promptly obeyed the order; and when
that same evening he climbed into the cab of number 10, as the huge
machine with a full head of steam on stood ready to start out with Freight
Number 73, he felt that one of his chief ambitions was in a fair way of
being realized. He tried to thank Truman Stump for getting him the job;
but the old engineman only answered "Nonsense, you won the place for
yourself, and I'm glad enough to have such a chap as you. The only trouble
is that you'll learn too quick, and be given an engine of your own, just
as you are getting the hang of my ways. I won't teach you anything
though, except how to fire properly, so you needn't expect it."
That is what he said. What he did was to take every opportunity for
showing the young fireman the different parts of the wonderful machine on
which they rode, and of explaining them to him in the clearest possible
manner. He encouraged him to ask questions, often allowed him to handle
the throttle for short distances, and evidently took the greatest pride in
the rapid progress made by his pupil.
Since first obtaining employment on the railroad, Rod had, according to
his promise, written several times to his faithful friend Dan the stable
boy on his uncle's place with requests that he would keep him informed of
all that took place in the village. Dan sent his answers through the
station agent at Euston, and Rod had only been a fireman a few days when
he received a note which read as follows:
"DEAR MR. ROD:
"They is a man here, who I don't know, but who is asking all about
you. He asked me many questions, and has talk with your uncle. He
may mean good or he may mean bad, I don't know which. If I find out
ennything more I will let you know. Yours respectful,
"DAN."
Rod puzzled over this note a good deal, and wondered who on earth could be
making inquiries about him. If he had known that it was Brown the railroad
detective, he would have wondered still more. He finally decided that, as
he was not conscious of having done anything wrong, he had no cause for
worry. So he dismissed the affair, and devoted his whole attention to
learning to be a fireman.
Most people imagine it to be a very simple matter to shovel coal into a
locomotive furnace, and so it is; but this is only a small part of a
fireman's responsibility. He must know when to begin shovelling coal, and
when to stop; when to open the blower and when to shut it off; when to
keep the furnace door closed, and when to open it; how to regulate the
dampers; when and how to admit water to the boiler; when to pour oil into
the lubricating cups of the cylinder valves and a dozen other places; when
to ring the bell, and when and how to do a multitude of other things,
every one of which is important. He must keep a constant watch of the
steam-gauge, and see that its pointer does not fall below a certain mark.
The water-gauge also comes in for a share of his attention. Above all, he
must learn, as quickly as possible, how to start, stop, and reverse the
engine, and how to apply, or throw off the air brakes, so that he can
readily do any of these things in an emergency, if his engineman happens
to be absent.
In acquiring all this information, and at the same time attending to his
back-breaking work of shovelling coal, Rod found himself so fully and
happily occupied that he could spare but few thoughts to the stranger who
was inquiring about him in Euston. After a few days of life in the cab of
locomotive number 10, he became so accustomed to dashing through tunnels
amid a blackness so intense that he could not see a foot beyond the cab
windows, to whirling around sharp curves, to rattling over slender
trestles a hundred feet or more up in the air, and to rushing with
undiminished speed through the darkness of storm-swept nights, when the
head-lights seemed of little more value than a tallow candle, that he
ceased to think of the innumerable dangers connected with his position as
completely as though they had not existed.
There came a day, however, when they were recalled to his mind in a
startling manner. It was late in the fall, and for a week there had been
a steady down-pour of rain that filled the streams to overflowing, and
soaked the earth until it seemed like a vast sponge. It made busy work for
the section gangs, who had their hands more than full with landslides,
undermined culverts, and overflowing ditches, and it caused enginemen
to strain their eyes along the lines of wet track, with an unusual
carefulness. At length the week of rain ended with a storm of terrific
violence, accompanied by crashing thunder and vivid lightnings. While this
storm was at its height, locomotive number 10, drawing a heavy freight,
pulled in on the siding of a station to wait for the passing of a
passenger special, and a regular express.
Truman Stump sat on his side of the cab, calmly smoking a short, black
pipe; and his fireman stood at the other side, looking out at the storm as
the special, consisting of a locomotive and two cars, rushed by without
stopping. As it was passing, a ball of fire, accompanied by a rending
crash of thunder, illumined the whole scene with an awful, blinding glare.
For an instant Rod saw a white face pressed against one of the rear
windows of the flying train. He was almost certain that it was the face of
Eltje Vanderveer.
A moment later the telegraph operator of that station came running toward
them, bareheaded, and coatless, through the pitiless rain. The head-light
showed his face to be bloodless and horror-stricken.
"Cut loose from the train, Rod!" he cried in a voice husky and choked
with a terrible dread. "True, word was just coming over the wire that the
centre pier of Minkskill bridge had gone out from under the track, and for
me to stop all trains, when that last bolt struck the line, and cut me
off. If you can't catch that special there's no hope for it. It's the only
thing left to try."
Without waiting to hear all this Rod had instantly obeyed the first order,
sprung to the rear of the tender, drawn the coupling-pin, and was back in
the cab in less time than it takes to write of it. Truman Stump did not
utter a word; but, before the operator finished speaking, number 10 was in
motion. He had barely time to leap to the ground as she gathered headway
and began to spring forward on the wildest race for life or death ever run
on the New York and Western road.