THE TRAP AT THE FINISH
A number of days passed, days full of worry for the young chief
engineer. Yet, outwardly, Tom Reade was as good-humored and cheery
as ever.
He was sure that his eyes had played him no trick, and that he
really had seen ’Gene Black in the brush.
The presence of that scoundrel persuaded Tom that someone working
in the interests of the W.C. & A. Railroad Company was still employing
Black in an attempt to block the successful completion of the
S.B. & L.
Moreover, the news that Dave Fulsbee received from Denver showed
that two of the officials of the W.C. & A. were in that city,
apparently ready to proceed to get possession of the rival road.
Politicians asserted that it was a “cinch” that the new road would
fall short of the charter requirement in the matter of time.
“All this confidence on the part of the enemy is pretty fair proof
that the scoundrels are up to something,” Tom told Mr. Newnham.
“Or else they’re trying to break down our nerve so that we’ll
fail through sheer collapse,” replied the president of the S.B.
& L., rubbing his hands nervously. “Reade, why should there be
such scoundrels in the world?”
“The president is all but completely gone to pieces,” Reade confided
to his chum. “Say, but I’m glad Mr. Newnham himself isn’t the
one who has to get the road through in time. If it rested with
him I’m afraid he’d fizzle. But we’ll pull it through, Harry,
old chum---we’ll pull it through.”
“If this thing had to last a month more I’m afraid good old Tom
would go to pieces himself,” thought Harry, as he watched his
friend stride away. “Tom never gets to his cot now before eleven
at night, and four thirty in the morning always finds him astir
again. I wonder if he thinks he’s fooling me by looking so blamed
cheerful and talking so confidently. Whew! I’d be afraid for
poor old Tom’s brain if anything should happen to trip us up.”
Harry himself was anxious, but he was not downright nervous.
He did not feel things as keenly as did his chum; neither was
Hazelton directly responsible for the success of the big undertaking.
Mile after mile the construction work stretched. Trains were
running now for work purposes, nearly as far as the line extended.
The telegraph wires ran into the temporary station building at
Lineville, and the several operators along the line were busy
carrying orders through the length of the wire service.
Back at Stormburg, where the railroad line began, three trains
lay on side tracks. These were passenger trains that were to
run the entire length of the road as soon as it was opened.
Back at Stormburg, also, the new general superintendent slept
at his office that he might receive messages from President Newnham
the more quickly.
At Bakerstown a division superintendent was stationed, he, too,
sleeping at his office.
Once more Tom Reade had brought his work within sight of Lineville.
In fact, the track extended all but the last mile of the line.
Ties were down nearly all of the way to the terminal station.
This was the state of affairs at two o’clock in the afternoon.
Before midnight the last rail must be laid, and the first through
train from Stormburg must run in. If, at the stroke of midnight,
the first train had failed to go through, then the charter of
the S.B. & L. would be forfeited and subject to seizure and sale
by the state.
Up from Denver some of the worst politicians had come. They were
quartered at the new little hotel in Lineville. Dave Fulsbee had
detailed three of his men covertly to watch these same politicians.
Tom, inwardly consumed with fever, outwardly as cheery as human being
might be, stood watching the laying of the rails over that last
stretch. The men who could be prevented from dropping in their tracks
must work until the last rail had been spiked into place. Away up in
Lineville Harry Hazelton was personally superintending the laying of
the last ties.
The honk of an automobile horn caused Tom Reade to glance up.
Approaching him was President Newnham, himself driving the runabout
that he had had forwarded.
“Reade!” called the president of the S.B. & L., stopping his car, and
Tom went over to him.
“The suspense is over, at last, Reade,” exclaimed Mr. Newnham, smiling
broadly. “Look! the road is all but completed. Hundreds of men are
toiling. The first train left Stormburg this morning. By seven tonight
you’ll have the last rails in place. Between eight and nine this
evening the first through train will have rolled into Lineville and we
shall have won the fight that has brought me many gray hairs. At last
the worry is over!”
“Of course, sir,” nodded Tom.
“Reade, don’t you really believe that the stress is over---that
we shall triumph tonight?”
“Of course we shall, sir,” Tom responded. “I have predicted,
all along, that we’d have the road through in time, haven’t I?”
“And the credit is nearly all yours, Reade,” admitted Mr. Newnham
gleefully. “Nearly all yours, lad!”
Honk! honk! Unable to remain long at one spot, Mr. Newnham started
his car again.
Reade felt a depression that he could not shake off.
“It’s just the reaction following the long train,” Tom tried to
tell himself. “Whew! Until within the last two or three days
I haven’t half realized how much the strain was taking out of
me! I’ll wager I’ll sleep, tonight, after I once have the satisfaction
of seeing the first train roll in!”
By six o’clock Tom felt as though he could hardly stand up. Be
wondered if his teeth were really chattering, or whether he merely
imagined it.
To take up his time Tom tried a brisk canter, away from the railroad.
At seven o’clock he rode into Lineville.
“Tom, Tom!”, bawled Harry, from the centre of a group of workmen.
“We’ve been looking for you! Come here quickly!”
Tom urged his pony forward to the station from which Hazelton had
called him.
“Watch this---just watch it!” begged Harry.
Clank! clank! clank! Tom Reade, gazing in fascination, saw
the last spike of the last rail being driven into place.
“Two sidetracks and switches already up!” called Harry.
Tom threw his bridle to one of the workmen, then sprang from his
horse. Out of the station came Mr. Newnham, waving a telegram.
“Our first train, with passengers, has just left the station at
Brand’s Ranch junction, a hundred and ten miles away,” shouted
the president of the road. “The train should be here long before
ten o’clock.”
From the crowd a cheer greeted the announcement.
“There’s nothing left but to wait to win,” continued Mr. Newnham.
Five hundred voices in the crowd cheered the announcement. A
group of five Denver politicians smiled sardonically.
Tom pushed his way gently through the crowd, glancing inside the
station. There was no one there, save an operator. Closing the
door behind him, Tom crossed to a seat and sank wearily upon it.
Here he sat for some minutes, to be discovered by the telegraph
operator when the latter came out to light the lamps in the waiting
room.
“Mr. Reade is all in, I guess,” thought the operator. “I don’t
wonder. I hope he goes to sleep where he sits.”
Ten minutes later the receiver of one of the up the terminal station.
The operator broke in, sending back his response. Then a telegram
came, which he penned on paper.
“Mr. Reade,” called the operator, “this is for you.”
Tom sat up, brushing his eyes, and read:
“If you can spare time wish you would ride down track to point
about two miles west of Miller’s where brook crosses under roadbed.
Have something to show you that will interest you. Nothing serious,
but will fill you with wonder. My men all along line report all
safe and going well. Come at once.” (signed) “Dave Fulsbee.”
Tom’s first instinct was to start and tremble. He felt sure that
Fulsbee had bad news and was trying to conceal the fact until
he could see the young chief engineer in person.
“But that’s really not Dave’s way,” Reade told himself in the
next breath. “Fulsbee talks straight out from the shoulder.
What has he to show me, I wonder! Gracious, how tired I am!
If Fulsbee knew just how I feel at this moment he wouldn’t send
for me. But of course he doesn’t know.”
Stepping outside, Tom looked about, espying his pony standing
where it had been tied to one of the porch pillars of the station.
“I’ll get Harry to ride with me,” Reade thought, but he found
his chum engaged in testing a stretch of rails near the station,
a dozen of the college students with him.
“Pshaw! I’m strong enough to ride five miles alone,” muttered
Tom. “Thank goodness my horse hasn’t been used up. Never mind,
Tom Reade. To-morrow you can ride as far as you like on the railroad,
with never a penny of fare to pay, either!”
Unnoticed, the young chief engineer untied his horse in the dark,
mounted and rode away.
How dark and long the way seemed. Truth to tell, Tom Reade was
very close to the collapse that seemed bound to follow the reaction
once his big task was safely over. Only his strength of will
sustained him. He gripped the pony’s sides with his knees.
“I wouldn’t want anyone to see me riding in this fashion!” muttered
the lad. “I must look worse than a tenderfoot. Why, I’ll be
really glad if Dave Fulsbee can ride back with me. I had no idea
he was so near. I believed him to be at least fifty or sixty
miles down the line.”
Tom was nearing the place appointed when a sudden whistle rang
out from the brush beside the track.
Then half a dozen men leaped out into view in the darkness, two
of them seizing the bridle of his horse.
“Good evening, Reade!” called the mocking voice of ’Gene Black.
“Down this way to see your first train go through? Stay with
us, and we’ll show you how it doesn’t get through---not tonight!”