CONCLUSION
At these words even the brief hope that had been in Tom Reade’s
mind, died out.
With the roadbed gone at this point also, he did not see the slightest
chance for the S.B. & L. to save its charter or its property rights.
“Here’s the racketty stuff,” went on Hoskins, indicating the boxes.
“That small box has the fuses. Get the stuff along, and I’ll lay
the magneto wire.”
“Not quite so hastily!” sternly broke in a new voice.
Tom Reade fairly yelled for joy, for the new speaker, as he knew
at the first sound, was Dave Fulsbee.
The amazed and dismayed scoundrels huddled closer together for a
moment in the middle of the thicket.
“Spread, men! Don’t let one of ’em get out alive!” sounded Dave
Fulsbee’s voice.
The scurrying steps of Fulsbee’s men could be heard apparently
surrounding the thicket.
With an exclamation of rage, Black made a dash for freedom.
“Stand where you are, Black, if you want to live!” warned Dave.
“No use to make a kick you rascals! We’ve got you covered, and
the first man who makes a move will eat his breakfast in another
world. Now, listen to me. One at a time you fellows step up
to me, drop your weapons on the ground, where I can see you do
it, and then come out here, one at a time. No tricks---for, remember,
you are covered by my men out here. We don’t want to shoot the
whole lot of you up unless we have to, but we won’t stand for
any fooling. Reade, you come through first. Any man who offers
to hinder Mr. Reade will be sorry he took the trouble---that’s
all!”
His heart bounding with joy, Tom stepped through the thicket,
going straight toward the sound of Fulsbee’s voice.
“I’ve got a knife in my left hand,” announced Fulsbee, as Tom
neared him in the dark. “Turn around so that I can cut the cords
at your wrists.”
In a moment this was done.
“You might stay here and help me,” whispered Dave. Tom nodded.
“Now, Black, you can be the first,” called Dave in a brisk,
business-like tone. “Step up here and drop your weapons on the ground.”
Wincing under a bitter sense of defeat, ’Gene Black stepped forward.
He was not really a coward, but he valued his life, little as it was
actually worth. So he dropped a revolver to the ground.
“What I have to say to you, Black, applies to the others,” Dave
continued from outside the thicket. “If any man among you doesn’t drop
all his weapons, we’ll make it lively for him when we get him out here.”
A look of malignant hate crossed his face, then ’Gene Black dropped
also a knife to the ground.
“Come on out, Black,” directed Dave Fulsbee. “Mr. Reade, will
you oblige me by running your hands over the fellow’s clothing
to see if he, has any more weapons.”
Tom promptly complied. A hasty search revealed no other weapons.
“Now, step right along over there, Black, where you’ll find two
of my men,” nodded Dave Fulsbee.
Again Black obeyed. He saw, dimly, two men some yards further
away in the darkness and joined them.
Click-click! Then the scoundrel cried out in the bitterness of
his rage, for the two railway detectives had handcuffed him.
“You, with the black hair, next,” summoned Fulsbee, his vision
aided by the lantern in the centre of the thicket. “You come
here, but first stop and drop your weapons on the pile---all the
trouble-makers you happen to have.”
Thus they came, one at a time, the operator being the last of
all. The crowd of prisoners under guard of the two railway detectives
grew steadily, and each was handcuffed as he reached the detectives
after having been searched by Tom Reade.
“Good job,” nodded Dave coolly, as he am approached the captives.
“Now, we have you all under lock and key. My, but you’re a
pretty-looking outfit!”
“Come on, men. March ’em up the track. Then we’ll come back,
or send someone else after the dynamite and other stuff. That’ll
be handy as evidence.”
Guarded by Fulsbee and his two detectives, the prisoners marched
along a few rods.
“Mr. Reade,” called Dave, pointing, “you’ll find your horse tied
to that tree yonder. I reckon you’ll be glad to get in saddle
again.”
Indeed, Tom was glad. He ran over, untying the animal, which
uttered a whinny of recognition. In saddle, Tom joined the marching
party.
“You don’t seem to think us a very hard crowd to guard,” remarked
’Gene Black curiously. “Why don’t you call off the men you posted
around the thickets”
“I didn’t post any,” Fulsbee answered simply. “I sent these two
men of mine running around the thicket. Then they had to come
together and attend to handcuffing you fellows.”
“And were you the only man who had the drop on us?” gasped ’Gene
Black.
“I was,” Dave Fulsbee responded. “If you fellows hadn’t had such
bad nerves, you could have escaped. But it’s an old story. When
men go bad their nerves go bad with them.”
As for Black’s followers, now that they knew the nature of the
trick that had fooled them, several of them hung back.
“You fellows needn’t think you can balk now,” observed Fulsbee
grimly. “You’re all of you handcuffed, and there are enough of
us to handle you. I promise you that, if anyone of you tries
to run away, I won’t run after him until I’ve first tried dropping
him with a shot.”
So the party proceeded, and in time reached Lineville. There
was great excitement in that little junction town when the citizens
first heard of the dastardly work that the prisoners had attempted.
Dave marched his captives into the waiting room of the station.
All outsiders were ushered forth politely. Mr. Newnham was hurriedly
summoned, and to him Tom Reade disclosed what he had learned of
the work of enemies along the line. Naturally the president of
the S.B. & L. was greatly excited.
“We knew something was wrong, from the nature of the telegraph
messages that came in,” cried Mr. Newnham. “It was your friend,
Hazelton, who first suggested the idea of sending a full train
down the line, with a short pilot train ahead.”
“Good, great old Harry!” murmured Tom admiringly.
Both Fulsbee and the president of the road tried to question ’Gene
Black. That treacherous fellow, however, steadfastly refused
to talk. Two or three of his gang were willing enough to talk,
but they knew little, as Black had carried all his plans and schemes
in his own head.
“No matter!” muttered Dave Fulsbee. “My two men and I were close
to that thicket for some time before we broke in on the affair.
We heard enough to supply all the evidence that the courts will
want against these worthies.”
As the futile questioning was drawing to a close, ’Gene Black
suddenly roused himself to say sneeringly:
“Gentlemen, look at your station clock. It’s fifteen minutes
before midnight. A quarter of an hour left! Where’s your through
train? If it reaches here fifteen minutes from now it will be
too late.”
“Send a message down the line quickly,” gasped Mr. Newnham, turning
pale. Then he wheeled savagely upon the prisoner, exclaiming:
“I forgot, Black. You rascals cut the wires. We could have
mended them at the nearer point, but the wires were cut, too,
at the scene of the blow-out. Oh, but you have been a thorn in
our sides!”
From the crowd that still lingered outside came a cheer. Tom
Reade sprang to the nearest door, throwing it open.
“Listen!” he shouted.
The sound that had started the crowd to cheering was repeated
again.
_Too-oo-oo-oot_!
“It’s the train!” cried Reade joyously. “It can’t be more than
two or three miles below here, either. It will get through on
time!”
With nine minutes to spare, the train rolled into the station
at Lineville. It was not the same train that had left Stormburg,
for that train had been halted, safely, just before reaching the
scene of the disastrous blow-out. At that point the passengers
had alighted and had been conducted on foot to the other side
of the gap caused by the explosion. Here Hazelton’s Lineville
special stood ready to convey them into Lineville. So the road
had been legally opened, since the passengers from Stormburg---among
whom was the lieutenant governor of the state had been brought
all the way through over the line. Within the meaning of the
law a through train had been operated over the new line, and within
charter time.
The S.B. & L. had won! It had saved its charter. On the morrow,
in Wall Street, the value of the road’s stock jumped by some millions
of dollars.
Let us not forget the pilot train. That returned to Lineville
in the rear of the passenger train. Though the pilot train had
a conductor, Harry Hazelton was in real charge.
“Look whom we have here, Tom!” called Harry from the open side
door of the baggage car, as Reade raced up to greet his successful
chum.
A man, bandaged, injured and groaning, lay on the floor of the
baggage car.
“Why, it’s Naughty Peter, himself!” cried Tom. “Peter, I’m sorry
to find you in this shape. I am afraid you have been misbehaving.”
“We found him not far from the track, near the blow-out,” Hazelton
explained. “Whether he attended to that bit of bad work all alone,
or whether his companions believed him dead and fled for their
own safety, I can’t learn. Bad Pete won’t say a word. He was
unconscious when we first discovered him. Now he knows what’s
going on around him, but he’s too badly hurt to do more than hold
his tongue.”
It was only when Bad Pete recovered his health---in jail---and
found himself facing a long term in prison, that he was ready
to open his mouth. He could tell nothing, however, beyond confessing
that he and three other men, including an operator, had attended
to the blow-out. Pete had no knowledge of the real parties behind
the plot. He knew only that he had acted under ’Gene Blanks orders.
So Bad Pete was shown no mercy, but sent behind the bars for
a term of twenty-five years. Owing to Black’s stubborn silence
the outrages were never traced back to any official of the W.C.
& A.
’Gene Black was sentenced to prison for thirty years. The other
rascals, who had worked under his direction, all received long
terms.
The student engineers, wholly happy and well paid, returned to
their college.
The S.B. & L. is still under the same management, and is one of
the prosperous independent railroads of the United States. Dave
Fulsbee continues as the head of its detective system.
Tom Reade and Harry Hazelton had made good in their first professional
undertaking. They were paid in proportion to their services, and
given the opportunity to retain their positions at the head of the
railway’s engineering corps.
For some time they kept their positions, filling them always with
honor. Yet, in the end, the desire to do other great things in
their chosen profession led them into other fields of venture.
Their greatest adventures, their severest trials and deepest
problems, as well as their gravest perils were still ahead of them
in their path of duty.
The Young Engineers were bound to go on and up, yet their way
was sure to be a stormy one.
We shall meet these fine young Americans again in the next volume
of this series, which is published under the title, “The Young
Engineers in Arizona; Or, Laying Tracks on the Man-killer Quicksand.”
It is a rousing narrative of real people and real happenings.