“CAN YOUR ROAD SAVE ITS CHARTER NOW?”
“Oh, I guess the train will go through, all right,” replied Tom
Reade, with much more confidence expressed in his tone than he
really felt.
“Stay with us and see it go through,” mocked ’Gene Black.
“If it’s just the same to you I’d rather ride on,” Tom proposed.
“But it isn’t all the same to us,” Black chuckled.
“Then I guess I prefer to ride on, anyway.”
“You won’t, though,” snapped Black. “You’ll get off that horse
and do as we tell you.”
“Eh?” demanded the young chief engineer. He appeared astonished,
though he was not.
“You came down the line to meet your railroad detective, Fulsbee,”
Black continued sneeringly. “You’d better give it up.”
“You seem to think you know a good deal about my business,” Tom
continued.
“I know all about the telegram,” ’Gene retorted. “I sent it---or
ordered it sent.”
Tom started in earnest this time.
“Did you ever hear of ways of cutting out a telegraph wire and
then attaching one of the cut ends to a box relay?” queried the
scoundrel.
“I---I believe I have heard of some such thing,” Reade hesitated.
“Was that the trick you played on me?”
“Yes,” nodded Gene Black. “We cut the wire just below here.
We’ve got a box relay on the wire going both ways. Your operators
can’t use the wire much tonight. Your company can’t use it from
Lineville at all.”
Tom’s face showed his dismay. ’Gene Black laughed in intense
enjoyment.
“So you cut the wire, oh, and attached box relays?”
“Surely,” Black nodded.
“I’m glad you confess it,” replied Tom slowly. “Cutting telegraph
wires, or attaching box relays without proper authority is a felony.
The punishment is a term in state’s prison.”
“Bosh!” sneered Black. “With all the political pull our crowd
has behind it do you suppose we fear a little thing like that?”
“I’ll talk the crime over with Dave Fulsbee,” Tom continued.
“A lot of good Fulsbee will do you,” jeered ’Gene. “We have him
attended to as well as we have you.”
“That’s a lie,” Reade declared coolly.
“Do you want us to show him to you?”
“Yes,” nodded Tom. “You’d have to show me Dave Fulsbee before
I’d believe you.”
“Yank the cub off that horse!” ordered ’Gene Black harshly.
Three or four men seized Reade, dragging him out of the saddle
and throwing him to earth. Tom did not resist, for he saw other
men standing about with revolvers in their hands. He did not
believe that this desperate crew of worthless characters would
hesitate long about drilling holes through him.
“Take the horse, you, and ride it away,” directed Black, turning
to one of the men, who promptly mounted and rode off into the
darkness. “Tie that cub’s hands behind him,” was Black’s next
order. “Now, bring him along.”
’Gene Black led the way back from the track and into the woods
for a few rods. Then the party wheeled, going eastward in a line
parallel with the track.
Tom did not speak during the journey. It was not his nature to
use words where they would be worse than wasted.
After proceeding a quarter of a mile or so, Black parted the bushes
of a dense thicket and led the way inside. At the centre the
brush had been cleaned out, clearing a circular space about twenty
feet in diameter and dimly lighted by a lantern placed in the
centre of the inclosure.
“A snug little place, Reade,” chuckled the scoundrel, turning about
as Reade was piloted into the retreat. “How do you like it?”
“I like the place a whole lot better than the company,” Tom answered
promptly.
“What’s the matter with the company?” jeered Black.
“A hangman would feel more at home in a crowd like this.”
“See here, cub! Don’t you try to get funny,” warned Black, his
eyes snapping dangerously. “If you attempt any of your impudence
here you’ll soon find out who’s master.”
“Master?” scoffed Tom, his own eyes flashing. “Black, do you
draw any comfort from feeling that you’re boss of such an outfit?
Though I daresay that the outfit is better than its boss. However,
you asked my opinion, and you got it. I’ll give you a little
more of my opinion, Black, and it won’t cost you a cent.”
He looked steadily into his enemy’s eyes as he continued:
“Black, a good, clean dog wouldn’t willingly stand by this crowd!”
Thump! ’Gene Blacks clenched fist landed in Reade’s face, knocking
him down.
“Thank you,” murmured Reade, as he sat up.
“Much obliged, are you?” jeered Black.
“Yes,” admitted Tom. “As far as it goes. That was a coward’s
act---to have a fellow’s hands tied before daring to hit him.”
Black’s face now turned livid with passion.
“Lift the fool to his feet, if he wants to stand,” ordered Black
savagely. “He’s trying to make me waste my time talking to him.
Operator, call up Brewster’s and ask if he held the train as
ordered by wire.”
“Oho!” thought Tom. “So that’s your trick? You have the wire
in your control, and you’re sending supposed train orders holding
the train at a station so that it can’t get through You’re a worse
scoundrel than I thought!”
Off at the edge of the brush, on the inner side, a telegraph instrument
had been set up on a barrel. From the instrument a wire ran toward
the track.
In another moment the sounder of the sender was clicking busily.
There was a pause, then the answer came back:
Click-click-click-clickety-click!
The operator, a seedy-looking fellow over whose whole appearance
was written the word “worthless,” swung a lantern so that the light
fell on a pad of paper before him. Pencil in hand, he took off the
message as it came.
“Come over here and read it, sir?” inquired the operator.
Black crossed, bending over the sheet. Despite himself the scoundrel
started. Then he moved so that the light should not fall across
his face. Plainly Black was greatly disappointed. He swallowed
hard, then strolled back to the main group, of which Tom was one.
“That’s the way to do business,” announced ’Gene Black, with a
chuckle. “We sent fake train orders from the top of that barrel,
and your own railroad operator handed the orders to the conductor
of your through train. Therefore the train is switched off on
to the side track at Brewster’s, and the engineer, under the false
orders, is allowing his steam to cool. Now, do you believe you
will get your train through tonight?”
“Oh, yes!” yawned Tom coolly. “For you are lying. The message
that came back over the wire from our operator at Brewster’s read
in these words: ‘Showed your order to train conductor. He refused
order, saying that it was not signed properly. Train has proceeded.’”
It was an incautious speech for Tom Reade Black fairly glared into
his eyes.
“So you can pick up telegraph messages by the sounds” ’Gene demanded.
“’Most anyone can who has ever worked over a telegraph key,” Tom
admitted.
Now that the secret was out, Black plainly showed his anger over
the fact that the conductor had refused train orders at Brewster’s.
“You S.B. & L. fellows have put up some trick to beat us off!” he
declared, looking accusingly into Tom’s face.
“What of it?” Reade inquired. “It’s our railroad, isn’t it? Can’t
we do what we please with our own road?”
“It won’t be your road after tonight!” Black insisted, grinding
his teeth in his rage. “Fortunately, we have other ways of stopping
that train from getting through. You’ll soon know it, too.”
Black called to the tramp operator.
“My man, call up the box relay fellow below here.”
The sounder clicked busily for some moments. “I have the other
box relay man,” declared the operator.
“Then send this, very carefully,” Black continued hoarsely:
“X-x-x---a-a-a---b-b-b.”
The operator repeated it. Black nodded. Once more the instrument
clicked.
“The other box relay man signals that he has it,” nodded Black’s
present operator.
“Listen! Everyone of you! Not a sound in this outfit,” commanded
’Gene Black.
For fully three minutes the intense silence continued. Then Black
turned again to the operator, saying:
“Ask the other box relay man if anything has happened near him?”
A minute later Black’s operator reported:
“He says: ‘Yes; happened successfully.’”
“Good!” laughed Black, a look of fierce Joy lighting up his eyes.
“Now, Reade, I guess you’ll admit yourself beaten. An electric
spark has touched off a charge of giant powder under the roadbed.
The rails have been blown skyward and a big hole torn out of
the roadbed itself. Even if you had a wrecking crew at the spot
at this moment the road couldn’t be prepared for traffic inside
of twenty-four hours. NOW, will your through train reach Lineville
tonight? Can your road save its charter _now_?”
Tom Reade’s face turned deathly white.
’Gene Black stood before him, gazing tauntingly into the eyes
of the Young Chief engineer.