Ralph of the Roundhouse: or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man

CHAPTER XXXIV-VICTORY!

In about five minutes the arrangements were completed by Ralph and Van for the transportation of their prisoner to "headquarters."

Ike Slump, tied securely, was snugly propped up in the seat beside Van. Ralph waited until he saw them safely on their way, and then went straight back to the spot where he had discovered Ike.

A cursory view of the raft had already awakened a vivid train of thought. Now, as he looked it over more particularly, Ralph found that he had grounds for suspicions of the most promising kind.

"Ike must have been at work on this for several days," decided Ralph. "I didn't think he had so much patience and constructive ability. It's big enough to carry a house, and of course his making it, as he says, to float himself down stream to a safe distance, is sheer nonsense."

Some large logs formed the basis of the raft. Over these were nailed boards to give its bottom depth and solidity.

It was a sight of those boards that had set Ralph thinking. Such handy timber, he recognized, had no business this far from civilization. Where had they come from?

"Those two are box covers," concluded Ralph, after a close inspection, "and they are the exact size of the boxes I saw at Cohen's back room at Stanley Junction. I must find out what it does mean."

Then Ralph made a second discovery, and knew that he was distinctly on the hot trail of something of importance.

Two corners of the raft were bound with heavy brass pieces used as ornamental clamps on passenger coaches. They were stamped inside "G.N."

"Great Northern property, sure," reflected Ralph, "and of course part of the stolen plunder. That wagon load never went to or through Dover, so far as the police people have been able to find out, but I am sure it did come here, or near here, or what is Ike doing with those pieces?"

Ralph now set about tracing Ike's living quarters. They must be somewhere in the immediate vicinity.

He had little difficulty in following up a worn path across the grass. It led to a snug shakedown, under the lee of a slope roofed over with dry branches and grass.

Here Ralph found a case of canned goods, a box of crackers and a lot of tobacco and cigarette papers. On a heap of dry grass lay a wagon cushion.

Ralph circled this spot. He had to exert the ingenuity and diligence of an Indian trailer in an effort to follow the footsteps leading to and from the place in various directions. Finally he felt that his patience was about to be rewarded. For over two hundred feet the disturbed and beaten down grass showed where some object had been dragged over the ground, probably the boards used in the construction of the raft.

The trail led along the winding shore of the creek and up a continuous slope. Then abruptly it ceased, directly at the edge of a deep, verdure-choked ravine.

Ralph peered down. A gleam of red, like a wagon tongue, caught his eye. Then he made out a rounding metal rim like the tire of a wheel. He began to let himself down cautiously with the help of roots and vines. His feet finally rested on a solid box body.

An irrepressible cry of satisfaction arose from the lips of the lonely delver in the débris at the bottom of the ravine.

When Ralph clambered up again he was warm and perspiring but his eyes were bright with the influence of some stimulating discovery.

He stood still for five minutes, as if undecided just what to do, glanced at the fast-setting sun, and struck out briskly in the direction of the road leading to Dover.

It was midnight when he reached the town he had visited earlier in the same day. Ralph went straight to the police station of the place.

For about an hour he was closeted with one of the officers there whom he had met earlier on his visit in the gig. They had a spirited confidential talk.

Ralph was on railroad business now, pure and simple, for he was acting in accordance with Road Detective Matthewson's instructions and on the strength of his written authority.

"I ran catch a Midland Central train west to Osego in about an hour," he planned, as he left the police station and walked towards the depot. "There's a ten-mile cut across country on foot to Springfield, and then I am headed for Stanley Junction by daylight."

Ralph boarded the train at Springfield at about six o'clock in the morning. His pass from Matthewson won him a comfortable seat in the chair car, and he had a sound, refreshing nap by the time the 10.15 rolled into Stanley Junction.

Griscom had this run, but Ralph did not make his presence known to his sturdy engineer friend. He left the train at a crossing near home, and was soon seated at the kitchen table doing ample justice to a meal hurriedly prepared for him by his delighted mother.

Almost her first solicitous inquiry was for Van.

"Van is well and happy, mother," Ralph Answered. "Grateful, too. And, mother, he remembers 'the dear lady who sung the sweet songs.'"

"Ralph, do you mean," exclaimed Mrs. Fairbanks tremulously-"do you mean his mind has come back to him?"

"Yes, mother."

"Oh, God be praised!" murmured the widow, the tears of joy streaming down her beaming face, lifted in humble thankfulness to heaven.

Then Ralph hurriedly went over the details and results of his trip with Van Sherwin.

Later he spent half an hour at a careful toilet, and just as the town clock announced the noon hour Ralph walked into the law office of Jerome Black.

Mr. Black was a well-known attorney of Stanley Junction. He was an austere, highly efficient man in his line, had a good general record, and all Ralph had against him was that he was Gasper Farrington's lawyer.

It was upon this account that Ralph had decided to call upon him. All the way to the attorney's office Ralph had reflected seriously over what he would say and do.

The lawyer nodded curtly to Ralph as he came into his presence. He knew the youth by sight, knew nothing against him, and because of this had granted him an audience, supposing Ralph wanted his help in securing him work, or something of that kind.

But the leading lawyer of Stanley Junction was never so astonished in his life as now, when Ralph promptly, clearly and in a business-like manner outlined the object of his visit.

"Mr. Black," Ralph said, "I know you are the lawyer of Mr. Gasper Farrington. I also know you to have the reputation of being an exact and honorable business man. I do not know the ethics of your profession, I do not know how you will treat some information I am about to impart to you, but I feel that you will in any case treat an honest working boy, looking only for his rights, fairly and squarely."

"Why, thank you, Fairbanks," acknowledged Black, looking very much mystified at this strange preface-"but what are you driving at?"

Then Ralph told him. He did not tell him all-there was no occasion to do so. He simply said that he could produce evidence that Gasper Farrington had treated his dead father in a most dishonorable manner, and that, further, he could produce a sworn affidavit showing that the mortgage on his mother's homestead was in reality only a deed of trust.

The lawyer's brows knitted as Ralph told his story. He could not fail to be impressed at Ralph's straightforwardness. When Ralph had concluded he said briefly:

"Fairbanks, you are an earnest, truthful boy, and I respect you for it. What you tell me is my client's personal business, not mine. But I see plainly that he must adopt some action to avoid a scandal. Your grounds seem well taken, and I am pleased that you came to me instead of making public what can do you no good, and might do Mr. Farrington considerable harm. What do you want?"

"Simply two things-they are my right. After that let Mr. Farrington leave us alone, and we will not disturb him."

"What are those two things?" inquired the lawyer.

"The cancellation of the mortgage on my mother's home, and the alleged forged note upon which Mr. Farrington bases a criminal charge against one Farwell Gibson."

"Why!" exclaimed the lawyer, very much amazed. "What has Farwell Gibson got to do with this matter?"

"Mr. Black," replied Ralph, "I can not tell you that. You have my terms. Mr. Farrington is a bad man. He can make some restitution by giving me those two documents. That ends it, so far as we are concerned."

"And if he does not agree to your terms?" insinuated the lawyer.

"I shall go to some other lawyer at once, and expose him publicly," said Ralph.

Mr. Black reflected for some moments. Then he arose, took up his hat, and said:

"Remain here till I return, Fairbanks. Mr. Farrington has been sick for some days-"

"I should think he would be!" murmured Ralph, to himself.

"But this is an important matter, and can not brook delay. I will see him at once."

Ralph had to wait nearly an hour. When the lawyer returned he closed the office door and faced his visitor seriously.

"Fairbanks," he said, "I have faith in your honor, or I would never advise my client to do as he has done. You are sure you control this matter sufficiently to prevent any further trouble being made for Mr. Farrington, or any unnecessary publicity of this affair?"

"Yes," assented Ralph pointedly-"unless I ever find out that we have any just claim to the twenty thousand dollars in railroad bonds which once belonged to my father."

"I fancy that is a dead issue," said the lawyer, with a dry smile. "Very well, there are your papers."

He handed Ralph an unsealed envelope. Ralph glanced inside.

Gasper Farrington had been forced to swallow a bitter dose of humiliation and defeat.

The inclosures were the Farwell Gibson forged note, and a deed of release which gave to Ralph's mother her homestead, free and clear.

CHAPTER XXXV-CONCLUSION

Ralph stepped across the turntable entrance to the roundhouse at Stanley Junction just as the one o'clock whistles were blowing.

It was like coming home again. Limpy, shining up a locomotive headlight, gave a croak of welcome, jumped down from the pilot, and slapped his greasy, blackened hand into that of his young favorite with genuine fervor.

The engineers, firemen and extras in the dog house called out the usual variety of cheery chaff, but all pleasant and interested.

"This is a great place to find friends!" smiled Ralph, and then hurried his steps, for the roundhouse foreman at that moment appeared at the door of his little office.

"This way, Fairbanks," he hailed, quite eagerly. "Well," as he ushered Ralph into the grimy sanctum, "back again, I see?"

"Yes, Mr. Forgan," answered Ralph, "and glad to be here."

"What news?"

"About the stolen plunder," began Ralph.

"Of course. That's the one considerable freight on my mind, just at present," acknowledged the foreman, with an anxious sigh. "We show a mortgage on our inventory, and a big railroad system don't take kindly to that sort of thing, you know."

"Very well, Mr. Forgan," said Ralph brightly, "you can change your inventory."

"What! you don't mean-"

"I have found the wagon load of brass fittings," answered Ralph. "They are in safe charge at the present time, subject to your order. Here is my report to the special agent, Mr. Matthewson, and I guess, Mr. Forgan, I'm out of a job again, for I don't see anything further in sight."

"Fairbanks, you're a trump!" shouted the delighted foreman, slapping the young railroader vigorously on the shoulder. "You've saved me some uneasiness, I can tell you! That your report?" with a glance at a neatly-directed envelope Ralph had produced. "Come with me. We want to catch Matthewson before he gets away. He's going down to Springfield this afternoon-on your business, too."

"On my business?" repeated Ralph. "That sounds like a good omen."

"Don't you worry about omens, my young friend!" chuckled the foreman. "You've about won your spurs, this time. How did you run across that stolen stuff, when those smart, experienced specials never got a sniff of it?"

"Quite by accident," replied Ralph. "I found Ike Slump. As near as I can figure it out, he and his tramp friend had a breakdown near Dover. The tramp appears to have got discouraged or frightened, cut away with Cohen's horses, sold them and decamped, leaving Ike in the lurch. Ike got the wagonload over into a ravine to hide it till he could raft the stuff to a distance, and dispose of it and disappear, too. I nipped his scheme just in time."

Matthewson appeared as glad to see Ralph as Forgan had been. He expressed the liveliest satisfaction at the contents of the report Ralph handed to him.

"I think this will be a final spoke in the wheel of Mr. Inspector Bardon," he said significantly. "Hope you attended to your writing and spelling in this report, Fairbanks?"

"Why so?" inquired Ralph.

"Because the president of the Great Northern is likely to see it before nightfall," announced Matthewson, with a grim chuckle.

The foreman and Ralph returned to the roundhouse. After a while Big Denny came in, full of animation and welcome. Ralph learned that Mrs. Slump was better, but hers was a sad household. The parents had about given up ever redeeming their scapegrace son from his evil ways, and the stricken mother insisted to her husband that they would never know good luck again until he gave up selling strong drink.

With a promise to come up to his house and see little Nora, "who so prettily says her prayers for you every night," Forgan told Ralph, the foreman allowed his friend to go home late in the afternoon.

That was a quiet, happy evening at the Fairbanks homestead.

It seemed to mother and son as though after a brave, patient struggle they had reached some sublime height, from which they could look back over all difficulties overcome, and forward to golden promises for the future.

Ralph valued the friends he had made in the railroad service and also the experience he had gained.

There had been ups and downs. There was hard work ahead. But, brighter than ever, shone the clear star of ambition at the top of the ladder of the railroad career.

Ralph felt that he was in the hands of his friends, and could afford to await their exertions in his behalf.

The next day he was returning from a stroll, turning over in his mind a plan to learn Matthewson's decision as to what, if anything, the company wanted done with Ike Slump, and to make a visit to Farwell Gibson with the joyful news that would make him a free man, when nearing home, Ralph hurried his steps at the sounds of animated conversation within the cottage.

In the cozy little parlor sat his mother, and on a stool at her feet was Van. His bright, ingenuous face was aglow with happiness, and he was chatting away to a loving, interested listener merry as a magpie.

"Hello, there, Van Sherwin!" challenged Ralph, in mock severity. "I can't have any prodigal son pushing me out of my place this way!"

"I have two boys now," said Mrs. Fairbanks, with a proud smile, as the two manly young fellows joined hands in a brotherly welcome.

"What brings you here?" was Ralph's first query.

"Slump, mainly," answered Van.

"What about him?"

"Sloped, bag and baggage-and some of Mr. Gibson's baggage to boot. He played it pretty fine on Mr. Gibson, who allowed him more liberty than he deserved. Yes, Ike cut out last night, and we thought you ought to know about it at once."

"That's right," nodded Ralph. "However, maybe it is better he should drop out of the affair in just that way. It will save trouble and complications. He may sometime see the errors of his ways, and turn over a new leaf."

"I doubt it," dissented Van. "I think he's an all-around bad one. What about Mr. Gibson's business, if I may ask? He's terribly anxious."

"Nothing but good news," answered Ralph heartily. "Mr. Gibson is free to introduce the Dover & Springfield Short Line Railroad to the great traveling public just as soon as he likes, now."

"Bet you he'll have it running inside of a year!" predicted the exuberant Van. "Bet you in two I'm a first-class, bang-up locomotive engineer, and you're master mechanic of the road!"

"That's a far look into the future, Van," said Ralph, with an indulgent smile. "Just now, I'm getting restless for work of 'most any kind-I wish they would put me back in the roundhouse."

There was a vigorous knock at the front door of the cottage at that moment.

Mrs. Fairbanks answered the summons. She reëntered the parlor holding an envelope in one hand.

"A telegram," she announced.

"For me?" questioned Ralph, as she extended it towards him.

"For you, Ralph."

It was the first telegram Ralph Fairbanks had ever received, and, his mind on a working strain already, he looked conscious and expectant as he opened it.

The telegram was dated at Springfield, the headquarters of the road.

It was signed: "James Blake, Master Mechanic."

At a glance Ralph comprehended that the mission of his friend, Matthewson, had been successful.

"The first step up the ladder!" he said, with shining eyes, to his mother and Van.

The telegram read:

"Ralph Fairbanks will report Monday morning at the roundhouse, Stanley Junction, for duty as a regularly appointed switch towerman on the Great Northern Railroad."

THE END