TO THE RESCUE
For an instant, Allan scarcely understood. He sat as one stunned by a
terrific blow. Then the truth burst upon him like a lightning-flash.
He had overlooked the order; two of the flimsy pieces of tissue-paper
had stuck together, and he had not perceived it! The accident, had it
occurred, would have been his fault; that it did not occur was due to no
act of his, but to some mysterious, unexplainable Providence. Morally,
he was as guilty as though the trains had dashed together at full speed.
Even now, because of his carelessness, they might have been one piled-up
mass of twisted iron and splintered wood, with a score of human beings
buried in the wreckage. The utter horror of the thought turned him a
little dizzy. Then he arose, and took down his coat.
"What are you going to do?" demanded the trainmaster, who had been
watching him closely.
"There's only one thing for me to do, isn't there?" asked Allan, with a
wan little smile. "That is to get out. I see I'm not fit for anything
better than section-work, after all. I'll ask Jack Welsh for my old
job--that is, if the road will have me."
"Sit down," commanded Mr. Schofield, sternly. He saw how overwrought the
boy was. "There's no use jumping at conclusions. Besides, you've got to
stay your trick out here, no matter how guilty you are. There's your call
now," he added, as the key sounded.
Allan answered it mechanically, took down the message, repeated it, and
had it O. K.'d. By the time that was done, he had partially regained his
self-control.
"Of course I'll serve out the trick," he said. "But I didn't suppose I'd
ever have a chance to serve another. A mistake like that deserves the
severest punishment you can inflict."
"You mean you think Nevins left the order on the hook and that you
overlooked it?"
"Certainly," said the boy. "How else could it have happened?"
"I don't know. But neither can I understand how you could have overlooked
it if you were at all careful. There are only three others on the hook."
"I wasn't as careful as I should have been," said Allan in a low voice,
"that's certain."
He was sure that he, and he only, had been at fault. Any other
explanation seemed ridiculous.
"Did Nevins say anything about this train when you came on duty?" pursued
the trainmaster.
Allan made a mighty effort at recollection.
"No," he said, at last; "I'm sure he didn't. We talked a moment about the
special, and he spoke of the heavy day's work he'd had. That was all. If
he'd said he had an order for it, I certainly shouldn't have forgotten it
right away."
"Then Nevins broke the rules, too," said Mr. Schofield, and got out
his book of rules. "The second paragraph on page seventy-six reads as
follows: 'When both day and night operators are employed, one must not
leave his post until relieved by the other, and the one going off duty
must inform the one coming on respecting unfinished business and the
position of trains.'"
"He waited until I had looked over the orders," said Allan, with a
lively remembrance of Nevins's attitude toward that particular rule. "He
supposed that I could read, and if there was anything I didn't understand
I'd have asked him."
Mr. Schofield put his book back into his pocket, and got out another
cigar. His nerves were jangling badly, and he felt the need of something
to quiet them.
"Well," he said, at last, "I'm sorry."
And Allan bowed his head. He accepted the sentence of dismissal which
the words implied; it was just. He saw all the air-castles which he had
builded so hopefully come tumbling about him; he was overwhelmed in the
ruins. He realized that there was no future for him in railroading; no
place at the top. He had forfeited his right to serve the road, to expect
promotion, by that one mistake, that one piece of carelessness. At least,
he told himself, it had taught him a lesson, and one that he would never
forget. It had taught him--
[Illustration: "IN THE NEXT INSTANT THE TALL FIGURE HAD BEEN FLUNG
VIOLENTLY INTO THE ROOM."]
Some one stumbled heavily up the steps to the door, and Mr. Schofield
uttered a sharp exclamation of astonishment. Allan started around to see
upon the threshold the strangest apparition his eyes had ever rested on.
Two figures stood there so daubed with mud, so bedraggled with dirty
water, so torn and bruised and soiled as scarcely to resemble human
beings. One was tall and thin, the other not so tall and much heavier.
The shorter figure held the tall one by the back of the neck in a grip
so tight and merciless that such of the latter's face as was visible
through its coating of mud was convulsed and purple. One eye was closed
and swollen, while the other seemed starting from its socket. Both men
had lost their hats, and their hair was matted with mud, reddened, in the
case of the shorter one, with blood.
All this Allan saw at a glance, for in the next instant, the tall figure
had been flung violently into the room, while the other entered after
him, closed the door, and stood leaning against it, breathing heavily.
For a moment, not a word was spoken. The trainmaster and Allan stared
in amazement from one of these strange figures to the other. The tall
one lay where he had fallen, gasping for breath; the other, having
recovered somewhat, got out a handkerchief from some recess, and made an
ineffectual effort to blow his nose. Then, as he caught the expression
of the others' faces, he grinned so broadly that some of the mud on his
cheeks cracked and scaled off.
"Ye don't happen t' have a bath-tub handy, do ye, Allan?" he inquired,
in a voice so familiar that the boy jumped in his chair, and even Mr.
Schofield started perceptibly.
"Jack!" cried Allan. "Why, what--"
He stopped, unable to go on, breathless with sheer astonishment.
"Is it really you, Welsh?" asked the trainmaster.
"Yes, Misther Schofield; it's me, or what's left o' me," said Jack,
passing his hand ruefully over his head, and gazing down at his tattered
garments.
"And who's this?" asked the trainmaster, with a gesture toward the
prostrate figure on the floor.
"I don't know th' dirty scoundrel's name," answered Jack, "but you'll
know him, I reckon, as soon as we scrape th' mud off. But afore I tell
th' story, I _would_ loike t' wash up."
"All right," said Allan, starting from his chair, "here you are," and he
poured some water from a bucket into a wash-pan which stood on a soap-box
beside the window. A towel hung from a roller on the wall, and a piece
of soap lay on the window-sill. It was here he washed up every night
before he ate his midnight lunch.
Jack took off the remains of his coat, one sleeve of which had been torn
out at the shoulder, rolled up his shirt-sleeves, and plunged his head
into the water with a grunt of satisfaction. He got off the worst of the
mud, threw out the dirty water, and filled the pan with fresh. From this
he emerged fairly like his old self, and rubbed face and head violently
with the towel. When he had finished, an ugly cut was visible high on his
forehead, near the roots of his hair. He touched it tenderly, and held
the towel against it, for the washing had started it to bleeding again.
"Here, let me see that," said Mr. Schofield, peremptorily. He led Jack
near the lamp, despite his protests that it was only a scratch, examined
the cut, got out his handkerchief, dipped it in clean water, and washed
the wound carefully. Then he took from his pocket a little case of
court-plaster, drew the edges of the cut together, and stuck a sheet of
the plaster over it.
"There," he said, when the operation was finished, "that will soon be
all right. And let me give you a piece of advice, Welsh, and you, too,
Allan--never go about this world without a case of court-plaster in your
pocket. Men, especially railroad men, are always getting little knocks
and cuts, not worth considering in themselves, but which may become
poisoned, if left open, and cause a great deal of trouble. A snip of
court-plaster stops all chance of that. So take my advice--"
There was a sudden movement behind them, and Jack hurled himself toward
the door just in time to catch the other mud-bespattered figure as it was
disappearing over the threshold. There was a moment's struggle, then Jack
got his deadly neck-grip again, and walked his captive back into the room.
"So ye thought ye'd git away, did ye?" he demanded, savagely. "Thought
ye'd give me th' slip! Not after th' hard work I had gittin' ye here, me
boy!"
He closed the door with his disengaged hand, then led his prisoner up to
the light.
"Do ye know him?" he asked of Allan and the trainmaster, but neither of
them saw anything familiar in the distorted and mud-grimed features which
the rays of the lamp disclosed. They noticed, however, with what an agony
of fear the prisoner stared at them with the single eye which was open.
"Ye don't know him, hey?" said Jack, seeing their blank countenances.
"Well, ye wouldn't know yer own father under such a layer o' mud. Let's
wash him off. Then he'll look more nateral."
He shoved the prisoner toward the bucket of water, in spite of his
suddenly desperate struggles. Then, pinching his neck savagely, he bent
him down toward the bucket, and with his free hand splashed the water
over his face. Then he forced him up to the towel, rubbed his face
vigorously, and finally spun him around toward the astonished onlookers.
Allan gave a gasp of amazement.
"Why, it's Nevins!" he said.
"Nevins!" echoed Mr. Schofield, coming a step nearer. "Why, no--yes it
is, too!"
"And who may Nevins be?" demanded Jack.
"Nevins is the day operator here," said Mr. Schofield. "Let him go, Jack;
he can't escape."
Jack reluctantly released his grip of the unlucky operator's neck.
"I don't know," he said, dubiously. "If you'd chased him five mile, an'
fought him at th' bottom of a ditch, an' had him hit you in th' head with
a rock, mebbe you wouldn't be so sure o' that!"
"But what has he done?" demanded Mr. Schofield.
"Well, I don't exactly know," answered Jack, deliberately, moving again
between the prisoner and the door, and sitting down there. "But it was
some deviltry."
Mr. Schofield also sat down, more astonished than ever.
"See here, Welsh," he said, "you're not drunk?"
"Hain't drunk a drop fer a matter o' tin year, Mr. Schofield. Th' effects
wore off long ago."
"He _is_ drunk, Mr. Schofield," broke in Nevins, quickly. "I smelt it on
his breath. I'll have the law on him. He assaulted me out there in a
ditch and nearly killed me. I'll see if a man's to be treated that way by
a big, drunken bully--"
But Mr. Schofield stopped him with a gesture.
"That will do," he said, coldly. "Don't lie about it. I know that Welsh
isn't drunk. We'll have his story first, and then yours. Fire away, Jack."
"Well," began Jack, "jest as th' torpedy went off--"
"Which torpedo?"
"Why, th' one that th' special exploded."
"Oh, begin further back than that--begin at the beginning."
"Well, then, jest as I jammed th' torpedy on th' track--"
"Was it _you_ put it on the track?" cried Mr. Schofield.
"Why, sure," said Jack. "Didn't ye know that? Who else could it 'a' been?"
"But how did you come to do that?"
"Why," said Jack, "whin I heerd th' special whistling away off up th'
line, an' th' signal showin' a clear track, an' knowed they was a freight
comin' up th' grade, what else should I do but plant a torpedy? I didn't
have time t' git t' th' office--besides, I knowed they was some diviltry
on an' I wanted t' lay low till I could git Nolan--"
"Nolan!" echoed the trainmaster, more and more amazed.
"Sure, Nolan--Dan Nolan--you raymimber him. I thought it was him I had,
an' mighty dissipinted I was whin I found my mistake. But I thought I'd
better bring this feller along, anyhow, an' find out what it was he done
when he raised th' windy there an' leaned in--"
A flash of understanding sprang into Mr. Schofield's eyes, and he glanced
quickly at Nevins. But the latter's face was turned away.
"See here, Jack," said the trainmaster, leaning forward in his chair,
"we'll never get anywhere in this way. I want you to begin at the very
beginning and tell us the whole story."
"Well, sir," said Jack, "I would, but I'm afeerd th' story'd be too long."
"No, it wouldn't. We want to hear it."
"All right, then," Jack agreed, and settled back in his chair. "Ye may as
well set down, Misther Nevins," he added.
"Yes, sit down," said Allan, moved with pity at the other's bedraggled
and exhausted condition. He brought forward the box which served as
washstand, and pressed Nevins gently down upon it.
The latter resisted for a moment; then, suddenly, he collapsed in a heap
upon the box and buried his face in his hands, his whole body shaken by a
dry, convulsive sobbing.