Ralph on the Engine: or, The Young Fireman of the Limited Mail

CHAPTER XXVIII
THE FREIGHT THIEVES

Two days later Zeph Dallas came to Stanley Junction to purchase some supplies for Mr. Gibson’s construction camp. In the evening he called at the Fairbanks home. The farmer boy had located the relatives of Earl Danvers, and his report verified the story of the latter, who had disappeared from home, and, according to his uncles, his whereabouts was unknown to them.

Ralph related the story of the burglary, and Zeph was at once interested. He believed that some mystery of importance was attached to the old coat. When he had gone away Ralph got to thinking this over.

“Mother,” he asked, “do you know the man to whom you sold that old coat?”

“Why, yes,” replied Mrs. Fairbanks. “He is the man who goes around with an old wagon visiting the different country towns in this district in turn.”

Ralph made some inquiries, and ascertained that the peddler in question made his headquarters at Dover. He resolved upon opportunity to visit the man at a near date, although it was probable that the coat with the rags sold with it had been sent to some mill. A few days later Zeph came again to Stanley Junction and Ralph told him about the peddler.

For a time after this, affairs ran on smoothly for the Limited Mail and her experienced crew, and Ralph had settled down to a quiet enjoyment of congenial employment when there occurred a break in the routine that once more placed him in a position of peril.

One day as he returned from the city run, the roundhouse foreman informed him that he was to report at the office of the master mechanic. Ralph did not go home, but went at once to answer the summons.

The master mechanic was his good friend and received him with his usual cordiality.

“Fairbanks,” he said, “you are pretty well known to the officers of the road, and favorably, too, I suppose you know that.”

“It is a pleasure to have you say so,” answered the young fireman.

“They seem especially to value your ability in running down crookedness and ferreting out criminals,” pursued the master mechanic. “The superintendent wired me today to have one road detective start out on a certain case. I wired back that Mr. Adair was engaged in a special case in the city. The return was to relieve you of regular duty and have you report at Afton this afternoon.”

Ralph nodded to indicate that he understood, but he said:

“I do not like these interruptions to routine duty, but I suppose the company knows where it most needs a fellow.”

Ralph went down the road shortly after noon. He reached Afton and reported at once to the assistant superintendent.

“I have ordered a substitute fireman on the Mail for a week, Fairbanks,” said that official. “I think we shall engage your services for that length of time.”

“Is it some particular case, sir?” asked Ralph.

“A very important case, yes. We seem to have got rid of incompetent employes and strikers, thanks to you and others who stood by the company in time of trouble. There is one thing, however, that is bothering us. It bothers every road more or less, but we won’t have it.”

Ralph waited for a further explanation.

“Freight thieves, Fairbanks,” continued the official. “Some gang is regularly stealing from the road. When, where and how it is done we have been unable to ascertain. A train will leave the city or the Junction, arrive at terminus, and some valuable package will be missing. The car seals will be all right, no one seems to have entered the car, and yet the pilfering goes on. Will you help us run down the thieves?”

“I will try,” answered Ralph. “What trains seem to suffer most?”

“Always the night freights,” replied the assistant superintendent. “Now, take your time, spare no expense, and go to work on this problem in your usual effective way.”

Ralph devoted the remainder of the day to going up and down the road and familiarizing himself with the various freight trains and their schedules.

Just after dark he clambered into the cab of the night freight leaving the city. It was a dark, sleety night, for cold weather had just set in.

The engineer was a tried and trusty veteran in the service. Ralph felt that he understood him, and that he must trust him to a degree in order to facilitate his own programme. He waited till the fireman was busy outside on the engine, then he spoke to the old engineer.

“Mr. Barton, I am on special duty here tonight.”

“That so, lad?” inquired the engineer.

“Yes, I suppose you know there is a good deal of missing freight in these night runs.”

“I heard so,” answered Barton, “but you see that is the business of the conductor, so I haven’t much troubled myself about it.”

“Still, you don’t care to have these things occur in your runs.”

“Should say not! Working on the case, Fairbanks?”

“Frankly, yes, Mr. Barton, and I want you to keep it quiet, but assist me when you can. I will be all over the train and the car tops to-night, and wanted to explain why to you.”

“That’s all right, lad. Just call on me if I can help you. Hello, you, Woods!” bawled the engineer suddenly to a fellow who appeared near the cab side, “what you doing there?”

The man slunk out of view at being addressed, with a muttered remark that it was his own business.

“Don’t like that fellow – caboose look-out,” explained Barton.

“I hope he did not overhear our conversation,” spoke Ralph.

About mid-way of the train there was a gondola oil car. It had an elevated runway so that train hands could pass over it readily. Ralph selected this car as a vantage point, and got aboard as the train started on its way for Stanley Junction.

He was dressed as a tramp, looked the character completely, and the false moustache he wore effectually changed his face so that no persons except familiar friends would easily recognize him.

Ralph got down at one side of the big oil tank. For the next hour he remained quiet. Finally, as a brakeman passed over the platform, he climbed up and kept track of his movements.

The man, however, simply passed up and down the train and then returned to the caboose. Then there was a stop. Ralph leaned from the car and looked up and down the train.

“Why,” exclaimed Ralph suddenly, “there is that fellow Woods working at the doors of the cars a little ahead there.”

The brakeman in question now came down the length of the train. The engine was taking water. He halted almost opposite the car Ralph was hiding on. Suddenly he uttered a low, sharp whistle, and it was answered. Three men appeared from the side of the track, spoke to him, bounded up on to the oil car, and crouched down so near to Ralph that he could almost touch them.

Woods stood on the next track with his lantern as if waiting for the train to start up.

“Cars marked,” he spoke. “I’ll flash the glim when the coast is clear. You’ll know the cases I told you about.”

There was no response. The locomotive whistled, and the brakeman ran back to the caboose. Ralph lay perfectly still. The three men sat up against the railing of the car.

“Got the keys to the car ventilators?” asked one of the men, finally.

“Sure,” was the response. “Say, fellows, we want to be wary. This is a clever game of ours, but I hear that the railroad company is watching out pretty close.”

“Oh, they can’t reach us,” declared another voice, “with Woods taking care of the broken seals, and all kinds of duplicate keys, we can puzzle them right along.”

Just then one of them arose to his feet. He stumbled heavily over Ralph.

“Hello!” he yelled, “who is this?”

CHAPTER XXIX
A PRISONER

The three men almost instantly confronted Ralph, and one of them seized him, holding him firmly.

Ralph quickly decided on his course of action. He yawned in the face of the speaker and drawled sleepily:

“What are you waking a fellow up for?”

One held Ralph, another lit a match. They were rough, but shrewd fellows. Instantly one of them said:

“Disguised!” and he pulled off Ralph’s false moustache. “That means a spy. Fellows, how can we tell Woods?”

“S – sh!” warned a companion – “no names. Now, young fellow, who are you?”

But “young fellow” was gone! In a flash Ralph comprehended that he was in a bad fix, his usefulness on the scene gone. In a twinkling he had jerked free from the grasp of the man who held him, had sprung to the platform of the oil car and thence to the roof of the next box car.

Almost immediately his recent captor was after him. It was now for Ralph a race to the engine and his friend Barton.

The running boards were covered with sleet and as slippery as glass, yet Ralph forged ahead. He could hear the short gasps for breath of a determined pursuer directly behind him.

“Got you!” said a quick voice. Its owner stumbled, his head struck the young fireman and Ralph was driven from the running board.

He was going at such a momentum that in no way could he check himself, but slid diagonally across the roof of the car. There destruction seemed to face him.

His pursuer had fallen flat on the running board. Ralph dropped flat also, clutching vainly at space. His fingers tore along the thin sheeting of ice. He reached the edge of the car roof.

For one moment the young fireman clung there. Then quick as a flash he slipped one hand down. It was to hook his fingers into the top slide bar of the car’s side door. The action drew back the door about an inch. It was unlocked. Ralph dropped his other hold lightning-quick, thrust his hand into the interstice, pushed the door still further back, and precipitated himself forward across the floor of an empty box car.

There he lay, done up, almost terrified at the crowding perils of the instant, marveling at his wonderful escape from death.

“They must think I went clear to the ground,” theorized Ralph. “I am safe for the present, at least. What an adventure! And Woods is in league with the freight thieves! That solves the problem for the railroad company.

“An empty car,” he said, as he finally struggled to his feet. “I’ll wait till the train stops again and then run ahead to Barton. Hello!” he exclaimed sharply, as moving about the car, his foot came in contact with some object.

Ralph stood perfectly still. He could hear deep, regular breathing, as of some one asleep. His curiosity impelled him to investigate farther. He took a match from his pocket, flared it, and peered down.

Directly in one corner of the car lay a big, powerful man. He was dressed in rags. His coat was open, and under it showed a striped shirt.

“Why!” exclaimed Ralph, “a convict – an escaped convict!”

The man grasped in one hand, as if on guard with a weapon of defense, a pair of handcuffs connected with a long, heavy steel chain. Apparently he had in some way freed himself from these.

Ralph flared a second match to make a still closer inspection of the man. This aroused the sleeper. He moved, opened his eyes suddenly, saw Ralph, and with a frightful yell sprang up.

“I’ve got you!” he said, seizing Ralph. “After me, are you? Hold still, or I’ll throttle you. How near are the people who sent you on my trail?”

“I won’t risk that,” shouted the man wildly.

In a twinkling he had slipped the handcuffs over Ralph’s wrists. The latter was a prisoner so strangely that he was more curious than alarmed.

“Going to stop, are they?” pursued the man, as there was some whistling ahead. “Mind you, now, get off when I do. Don’t try to call, and don’t try to run away, or I’ll kill you.”

The train stopped and Ralph’s companion pulled back the door. He got out, forcing Ralph with him, and proceeded directly into the timber lining the railroad, never pausing till he had reached a desolate spot near a shallow creek.

Then the man ordered a halt. He sat down on the ground and forced his captive to follow his example.

“Who are you?” he demanded roughly.

“I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern Railroad,” promptly explained the young fireman.

“Do you know me?”

“I infer from these handcuffs and your under uniform that you are an escaped convict,” answered Ralph.

“Know a good many people, do you?”

“Why, yes, I do,” answered Ralph.

“Where is Stanley Junction?”

“About forty miles north of here. I live there.”

“You do? you do?” cried the convict, springing up in a state of intense excitement. “Here, lad, don’t think me harsh or mean, or cruel, but you have got to stay with me. You would betray me to the police.”

“No, I would not,” declared Ralph.

“You would, I know – it’s human nature. There is a big reward out for me. Then, too, you know people. Yes, you must stay with me.”

“I can’t help you any – why should you detain me?” insisted Ralph.

“I must find a man,” cried the convict, more wildly than ever – “or you must find him for me.”

“What man is that?” spoke Ralph.

“Do you know a Mr. Gasper Farrington?”

“Quite well,” answered Ralph, rather startled at the question.

“That is the man!” shouted the convict.

“And that is singular, for I am very anxious myself to find that same individual,” said the young fireman.

Ralph felt that he was in the midst of a series of strange adventures and discoveries that might lead to important results, not only for the person he had so strangely met, but for himself, as well.

This impression was enforced as he watched his captor pace up and down the ground, muttering wildly. He seemed to have some deep-rooted hatred for Gasper Farrington. “Revenge,” “Punishment,” “Justice,” were the words that he constantly uttered. Ralph wondered what course he could pursue to get the man down to a level of coherency and reason. Finally the man said:

“Come, get up, we must find some shelter.”

After an hour of arduous tramping they came to an old barn that had been partly burned down. There was some hay in it. The convict lay down on this, unloosed one handcuff from the wrist of his prisoner, and attached the other to his own arm and lay as if in a daze until daybreak.

Now he could inspect his prisoner clearly, and Ralph could study the worn, frenzied face of his captor. The latter had calmed down somewhat.

“Boy,” he said, finally, “I don’t dare to let you go, and I don’t know what to do.”

“See here,” spoke Ralph, “you are in deep trouble. I don’t want to make you any more trouble. Suppose you tell me all about yourself and see if I can’t help you out.”

“Oh, I don’t dare to trust any one,” groaned the man.

“You spoke of Gasper Farrington,” suggested Ralph. “Is he an enemy of yours?”

“He has ruined my life,” declared the convict.

“And why do you seek him?”

“To demand reparation, to drag him to the same fate he drove me to. Just let me find him – that is all I wish – to meet him face to face.”

Ralph began to quietly tell the story of his own dealings with the village magnate of Stanley Junction. It had a great effect upon his auditor. From dark distrust and suspicion his emotions gradually subsided to interest, and finally to confidence.

It was only by gradations that Ralph led the man to believe that he was his friend and could help him in his difficulties.

The convict told a pitiful story. Ralph believed it to be a true one. To further his own avaricious ends, Farrington had devised a villainous plot to send the man to the penitentiary. He had escaped. He had documents that would cause Farrington not only to disgorge his ill-gotten gains, but would send him to jail.

“I want to get to where those documents are hidden,” said the convict. “Then to find Farrington, and I shall right your wrongs as well as my own.”

Ralph reflected deeply over the matter in hand. He resolved on a course of proceedings and submitted it to his companion.

He offered to take the convict to the isolated home of Amos Greenleaf, where he could remain safely in retirement. Ralph promised to get him comfortable garments and provide for his board and lodging. In a few days he would see him again and help him to find Farrington.

The young fireman was now released from the handcuffs. He calculated the location of the place where Greenleaf lived.

“It is about fifteen miles to the spot I told you of,” he explained to the convict.

“Can we reach it without being seen by any one?” anxiously inquired his companion.

“Yes, I can take a route where we need not pass a single habitation.”

It was afternoon when they reached the home of old Amos Greenleaf.

Ralph experienced no difficulty in arranging that the convict remain there for a few days. He gave Greenleaf some money, and, promising to see the convict very soon, proceeded to Wilmer.

The young fireman took the first train for Afton, and reported what had occurred to the assistant superintendent.

Two days later Woods and his companions were in jail, and a great part of the stolen freight plunder was recovered.

Woods confessed that he had duplicated keys and seals for the doors and ventilators of the freight cars, and the bold thieveries along the Great Northern now ceased.

Ralph obtained leave of absence for a week. He decided that it was worth while to try and find Gasper Farrington. He went to the city, got certain papers belonging to the magnate from Mr. Grant, and went to Wilmer.

He was soon at the junction of the Springfield & Dover Short Cut Railroad and the Great Northern. That terminus was completed. A neat depot had been erected, and on the tracks of the new railroad there stood a handsome locomotive.

“Oh, Ralph!” cried Zeph Dallas, rushing forward to greet his friend, as the young fireman appeared. “Great news!”

CHAPTER XXX
THE LOST DIAMONDS

“Great news, eh?” said Ralph.

“You will say so when you hear what I have got to tell you,” declared Zeph Dallas. “Say, I am going straight to headquarters. Come with me. The news will keep till we get there.”

“All right,” assented Ralph. “There is enough going on around here to keep a fellow interested.”

“The new railroad?” spoke Zeph brightly. “I should say so. Isn’t it just famous? I tell you, some hustling work has been done here in the past few weeks.”

Ralph was amazed and delighted at the progress made by the Short Line Railway. As said, a new locomotive was on the rails at the terminus, and a little depot had been built. Workmen were busy as far down the line as he could see. In fact, everything indicated that the road would soon be in full operation.

“The tracks are laid both ways from headquarters, except for a little distance on the Springfield side,” said Zeph. “We expect passenger and freight cars for the road to-day, and on Monday we open the line.”

“And in what capacity will you appear on that grand occasion, Zeph?” inquired the young fireman pleasantly.

“Conductor!” exploded the farmer boy, drawing himself up proudly. “See here;” he drew back his coat and revealed the biggest and most elaborate “Conductor” badge manufactured. “We expect that Earl Danvers will become our brakeman.”

“Who?” cried Ralph with a start.

“Earl Danvers.”

“Is he here?”

“He is at headquarters,” said Zeph. “Don’t bother asking me about him now. You will soon see him, and he will tell you his own story. Then, too, Mr. Gibson wishes to see you particularly. Here’s our hand-car, jump aboard. We’ll spin along at a fine rate, I tell you, for the roadbed is splendid.”

Ralph found it so. It was a most interesting journey to headquarters. There was only one track, and on this the men had spent their energies to great advantage, and commendable results followed.

He was warmly welcomed by his friends, particularly so by Earl Danvers. Just as soon as mutual greetings were over Ralph took Earl to a pile of ties a little distance away.

“Now then, young man,” he said, “seeing we are alone, suppose you give an account of yourself.”

Earl Danvers was thin and pale. He looked as if he had gone through some recent severe hardships, but he smiled serenely as he said:

“It’s easy to tell my story, now I am out of my troubles, but I tell you, Ralph, I have had a hard time of it.”

“With Slump and Bemis?”

“Yes. The afternoon I left Stanley Junction, they were the fellows who forced me to go away with them. They broke into your house, and I found them ransacking it. They pitched on to me, and tied me up. Then they recognized me.”

“What, had you known them before?” exclaimed Ralph, in some surprise.

“I found out that I had. You remember the first day that you saw me?”

“Yes,” nodded Ralph.

“Well, I had run away from my uncles that morning. I had made up a package hurriedly, containing shoes, coat and cap, and got away through a window in the attic. I went about five miles, when I ran right into two fellows in the woods. They were Slump and Bemis. They got mad at my stumbling over them, took away my parcel and began to belabor me. I had to run to keep from being terribly beaten. Then I sneaked around, hoping to recover my parcel. They had gone in swimming. My parcel had disappeared. I had to have a coat. I grabbed one and ran away with it. They yelled after me, but I outdistanced them. Then later I ran across my uncles looking for me. The rest you know.”

“And what about the coat?”

“Well,” related Earl, “when those fellows broke into your house, they inquired about that coat. I at once saw that they had a great interest in it. I told them I didn’t know where it was. They insisted that I did. They ransacked the house from top to bottom. They took me away from town to a miserable hut where they were staying. Until yesterday I was a prisoner there, tied up, half-starved, and every day Slump would come and demand to know if I was going to tell him what had become of that coat. From the first I knew that coat was what they were after when they burglarized your house, and wrote what words I could on the wall of your sitting room.”

“Yes,” said Ralph, “we found your message there. Did you learn what their especial interest was in the coat?”

“Yes, I overheard some of their conversation a few days ago,” replied Earl. “That coat contained some diamonds they found in an old box car.”

“What!” cried Ralph. “Is it possible?”

“It seems so. I escaped yesterday. You had told me about this place, and so I came here. Zeph Dallas was my friend at once, when I told him my story. Here he is now.”

Zeph approached with a beaming face.

“Fairbanks,” he said, “I suppose Danvers has told you how he came here, and his troubles with Slump and Bemis.”

“Yes,” nodded Ralph.

“Well, I went to Dover yesterday and saw the old rag man. He ransacked his stock and we found the coat.”

“You did?” spoke Ralph, expectantly.

“Yes, and in an inside pocket were the diamonds. Here they are.”

Zeph handed Ralph a moldy chamois skin bag. With interest the young fireman inspected the contents.

“This is a rich find, Zeph,” he said. “You must report to the car finder at once.”

“I am going to the city to-day to see him,” explained the former farmer boy.

Zeph left headquarters about noon. The next morning he reappeared. He was fairly gorgeous attired in the uniform of a conductor.

“One thousand dollars I get as a special reward for the recovery of the diamonds,” he said, “and more when the car finder has seen their original owner. I am to divide with you, Fairbanks.”

“Not at all,” dissented Ralph.

“Oh, yes, I shall,” insisted Zeph. “And, by the way, I have some news of importance for you.”

“Indeed?” said Ralph.

“Yes. You know where Trafton is?”

“On the Midland Central.”

“Exactly. Well, this morning on the platform there, I saw a man in whom you are considerably interested.”

“Who was that?” inquired the young fireman.

“Bartlett, the fellow who was a partner of Gasper Farrington in that wire-tapping scheme.”