HEMMED IN
The boys found a group of worried trainmen gathered about the engine,
and it needed but a glance to show what the trouble was. The piston rod
had broken while the ponderous engine was going at full speed, and the
driving rods, which had broken off from where they were fastened to the
wheels, had been driven deep into the ground. This had served to fairly
lift the engine from the rails, and, in its mad journey it had pulled
several cars with it.
The piston rod, threshing about with nothing to hold it, had broken
several parts of the engine, and some pieces of the driving rods had
been hurled up into the cab, narrowly missing the engineer.
“It sure is a bad break,” said the fireman as he got down from the cab,
after opening the door of the fire box, so that the engine would cool
down. “Never saw a worse.”
“Me either,” fairly growled the conductor.
“Why couldn’t it have held off a couple of hours more and we’d been
near some place where we could telegraph for help.”
“You don’t mean to say we are away out on the prairies not near a
telegraph station, do you?” asked an excited man.
“That’s just what I do mean to say,” replied the conductor. “I’ve got
to send a brakeman on foot eight miles to wire the news of this
accident.”
“You ought to have a telegraph instrument on the train,” said the
excited man. “This delay is a bad thing for me. If I don’t arrive on
time I’ll sue the road. Why don’t you have a telegraph instrument on
the train?”
“I don’t know,” replied the conductor wearily, for he realized he was
now in for a cross-fire of all sorts of questions.
“How long will we have to wait here?” asked another man.
“It’s hard to say. The brakeman will go as fast as he can, but it will
take some time to get the wrecking crew here with a new engine, and
then it will take some time to get all the cars back on the track.”
“Railroads oughtn’t to have such accidents!” declared the excitable
man. “I’ll sue ’em, that’s what I’ll do. What made the piston rod
break, conductor?”
“Oh—I guess it got tired of going in and out of the cylinder,” retorted
the conductor, starting towards the baggage car.
“Humph! I’ll report you for impertinence!” declared the now angry
passenger, taking out his notebook and making a memorandum lest he
forget the conductor’s retort. “It’s a disgrace the way this road is
managed,” he went on to the crowd of passengers that had gathered. “I’m
going to write to the newspapers about it. They’re always having
accidents. Why, only last week, they run over a steer, somewhere in
this locality, the engine was derailed, two cars smashed, the road bed
torn up, baggage and express stuff scattered all over, everything
upside down, topsy-turvy and—”
“Was the steer killed?” asked a little boy, who was listening with
opened mouth and eyes to the story the excited passenger was telling.
“What!” fairly roared the man, and then, as he saw who had asked the
question, he turned away, and there was a general laugh.
“Do you think we’ll be here long?” asked Bob of the colored porter of
the sleeping car they had occupied.
“Oh, yes, indeedy!” exclaimed the attendant, “If we gits on de move
befo’ night we’ll be mighty lucky.”
“Then we’ve got to stay out here on the prairie all day,” exclaimed
Jerry.
“Dat’s what,” spoke the negro as cheerfully as though that was the
regular program.
The other passengers were returning to their berths to finish dressing,
and soon the excitement that followed the accident had almost
disappeared. Breakfast was served, and there was nothing to do but to
wait for the arrival of the wrecking crew.
“What’s the matter with taking a stroll across the prairie?” suggested
Jerry, when the boys and the professor had finished their morning meal.
“There’s no fun sitting here in the car all day.”
“Good idea!” exclaimed Ned. “I’m with you. Maybe Chunky will be afraid
to come, for fear train robbers will carry off the dining car while
he’s gone.”
“Oh, you let up!” retorted Bob. “You like to eat as much as I do.”
“Not quite as much, Chunky, but I admit I like my three square meals a
day.”
“Where are you going, boys?” asked the professor, looking up from his
book, as he saw the three chums leaving the car.
“Out for a walk across the prairie,” replied Ned.
“Wait, and I’ll go with you. I might get some new specimens. I must
never waste an opportunity,” and, placing in his pockets several small
boxes to hold any possible captives he might get in his butterfly net,
the scientist was ready.
It was pleasant on the vast plain that stretched away in every
direction from the derailed train. The sun was shining brightly, but
not too warm, and there was a gentle breeze.
“This is fine!” exclaimed Jerry.
The boys and the professor strolled on for several miles, the three
chums enjoying the walk very much, while Mr. Snodgrass was continually
finding some new insect, or a flower, until his specimen boxes were
full.
“Well, we’ve come quite a distance,” said Ned, as they got on top of a
small hill and looked about. “We can’t see the train anywhere. I guess
we’d better be thinking of starting back.”
“Maybe we had,” agreed Jerry. “But what’s that dark line out there?”
and he pointed to the horizon.
“A cloud isn’t it?” asked Bob.
“It’s too low, and it doesn’t move like a cloud,” objected Jerry.
They watched it for some time, as it got larger and larger.
“Why it’s all around us!” suddenly exclaimed Bob.
And so it was. The travelers were hemmed in by a peculiar, moving ring,
that seemed to get smaller and smaller.
“What do you think it is, Professor?” asked Ned.
“That? Why—er that is—um—curious, I can’t just say what it is,” replied
Mr. Snodgrass.
“I have a small telescope,” said Ned, producing it from his pocket,
“We’ll take a look through it,” and he adjusted it, focusing it on the
dark ring, that was, every moment, growing closer and closer to the
little group on the hill.