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

CHAPTER XXII
THE LIMITED MAIL

“All aboard!”

The conductor of the Limited Mail gave the signal cheerily. Ralph swung in from his side of the cab on the crack locomotive of the road. Old John Griscom gave a chuckle of delight and the trip to the city began.

It was ten days after the adventure in the scow – ten days full of activity and progress in the railroad interests of the Great Northern. This was the morning when old-time schedules were resumed and every part of the machinery of the line went back to routine.

“I tell you, lad, it feels good to start out with clear tracks and the regular system again. I’m proud of you, Fairbanks. You did up those strikers in fine style, and it will be a long time before we shall have any more trouble in that line.”

“I hope so, Mr. Griscom,” said Ralph. “The company seems determined to teach the strikers a lesson.”

This was true. Immediately after the visit of Ralph to the city, the railroad people had set at work to make the most of the evidence in their hands. A statement of the facts they had discovered was given to the public, a series of indictments found against Gasper Farrington, Bartlett, Jim Evans and others, and a vigorous prosecution for conspiracy was begun. Among the most important witnesses against them was Zeph Dallas. Farrington and Bartlett disappeared. Evans and the others were sent to jail.

A great revulsion in popular sentiment occurred when the true details of the strike movement were made known. The respectable element of the old union had scored a great victory, and work was resumed with many undesirable employes on the blacklist.

It seemed to Ralph now as though all unfavorable obstacles in the way of his success had been removed. He believed that Slump and Bemis were powerless to trouble him farther. As to Farrington, Ralph expected at some time to see that wily old schemer again, for the railroad was in possession of papers of value to the discredited railroad magnate.

Ralph had now become quite an expert at his work as a fireman. There was no grumbling at any time from the veteran engineer, for Ralph had a system in his work which showed always in even, favorable results. The locomotive was in splendid order and a finer train never left Stanley Junction. At many stations cheers greeted this practical announcement of the end of the strike.

There was no jar nor break on the route until they reached a station near Afton. The engine was going very fast, when, turning a curve, Griscom uttered a shout and turned the throttle swiftly.

“Too late!” he gasped hoarsely.

The young fireman had seen what Griscom saw. It was an alarming sight. At a street crossing a baby carriage was slowly moving down an incline. A careless nurse was at some distance conversing with a companion. The shrill shriek of the whistle caused her to discover the impending disaster, but she had become too terrified to move.

Ralph readily saw that speed would not be greatly diminished by the time the locomotive overtook the child in the baby carriage, and in a flash he acted. He was out on the running board and onto the cowcatcher so quickly that he seemed fairly to fly. Grasping a bracket, the young fireman poised for a move that meant life or death for the imperiled child.

The locomotive pounded the rails and shivered under the pressure of the powerful air brakes. Ralph swung far down, one hand extended. The baby carriage had rolled directly between the rails and stood there motionless.

It contained a beautiful child, who, with an innocent smile, greeted the approaching monster of destruction as if it were some great, pleasing toy. Ralph’s heart was in his throat.

“Grab out!” yelled Griscom, fairly beside himself with fear and suspense.

The young fireman’s eyes were dilated, his whole frame trembled. Quick as lightning his hand shot out. It met in a bunch of the clothing of the child. He lifted; the vehicle lifted, too, for a strap held in its occupant.

There was a terrific tension on the arm of the young railroader. The lower part of the vehicle was crunched under the cowcatcher and the child was almost borne away with it. Then the pressure lightened. With a great breath of relief and joy Ralph drew the child towards him, tangled up in the wreckage of the baby carriage.

The train stopped. Griscom did not say a word as they backed down. His face was white, his eyes startled, his breath came hard, but he gave his intrepid young assistant a look of approbation and devotion that thrilled Ralph to the heart.

A crowd had gathered around the distracted nurse at the street crossing. She was hysterical as the rescued child was placed in safety in her arms. Other women were crying. A big policeman arrived on the scene. Griscom gave the particulars of the occurrence.

“Name, please?” said the officer to Ralph.

“Oh, that isn’t necessary at all,” said Ralph.

“Isn’t it? Do you know whose child that is?”

“No,” said Ralph.

“The father is Judge Graham, the richest man in the town. Why, he’d hunt the world over to find you. A lucky fellow you are.”

Ralph gave his name and the train proceeded on its way amid the cheers of the passengers, who had learned of the brave act of the young fireman. When terminus was reached, a fine-looking old lady approached the locomotive.

“Mr. Fairbanks,” she said to Ralph, “the passengers desire you to accept a slight testimonial of their appreciation of your bravery in saving that young child.”

Ralph flushed modestly.

“This looks like being paid for doing a simple duty,” he said, as the lady extended an envelope.

“Not at all, Mr. Fairbanks. It was a noble act, and we all love you for it.”

“I think more of that sentiment than this money,” declared Ralph.

The envelope contained fifty dollars. Griscom told the story of the rescue all over Stanley Junction next day, and the local newspapers made quite an article of it.

The next morning Ralph had just completed his breakfast, when his mother went to the front door to answer the bell. She showed some one into the parlor and told Ralph that a gentleman wished to see him.

The young fireman was somewhat astonished, upon entering the parlor, to be grasped by the hand and almost embraced by a stranger.

“I am Judge Graham,” spoke the latter, in a trembling, excited tone. “Young man, you saved the life of my only child.”

“I was glad to,” said Ralph modestly.

The judge went on with a description of the joy and gratitude of the mother of the child, of his sentiments towards Ralph, and concluded with the words:

“And now, Mr. Fairbanks, I wish to reward you.”

“That has been done already,” said Ralph, “in your gracious words to me.”

“Not at all, not at all,” declared the judge. “Come, don’t be modest. I am a rich man.”

“And I a rich mother in having so noble a son,” spoke Mrs. Fairbanks, with deep emotion. “You must not think of a reward, sir. He will not take it.”

After a while the judge left the house, but he did so with an insistent and significant declaration that “he would not forget” Ralph.

The young fireman was surprised to see him returning a few minutes later, in the company of two of his own friends, Mr. Trevor, the nephew of the president of the Great Northern, and Van Sherwin.

“Well, this is a queer meeting,” cried Van with enthusiasm, as they entered the house. “Here we met Judge Graham, who is a great friend of Mr. Trevor, and the very man we wished to see.”

This statement was soon explained. It appeared that Mr. Trevor had fully recovered his health, and had come to Stanley Junction with Van to make preparations to issue and sell the bonds of the Short Cut Railroad. The judge was one of the friends he had intended to interview about buying some bonds.

For an hour young Trevor recited to Judge Graham the prospects of the little railway line and their plans regarding the same. Ralph was fascinated at his glowing descriptions of its great future.

Ralph’s visitors went away, but in a short time Van returned to the cottage.

“I say, Ralph,” he remarked, “Judge Graham is going to invest in those bonds.”

“That’s good,” said Ralph.

“And I heard him tell Mr. Trevor to put down an extra block of them in the name of Ralph Fairbanks.”

CHAPTER XXIII
THE PICNIC TRAIN

Zeph Dallas had returned to work. His connection with the strikers had been fully explained to the railroad people by Ralph, and the farmer boy was readily taken back into the service of the company. Zeph boarded with Mrs. Fairbanks, and Limpy Joe did, too, when he was in Stanley Junction.

The enterprising Joe was winning his way famously. His advertising scheme was a grand success, and the nuts he gathered brought in a good many dollars. One day he came to town to announce that he was going to move his traps, thanking Mrs. Fairbanks for her great kindness to him in the past.

“Are you going to leave the Junction permanently, Joe?” asked Ralph.

“I think so,” answered the cripple. “You see, I have been up to the headquarters of the Short Line Railroad. They can use my horse and wagon. They offer me a good salary to cook for them, and the concession of running a restaurant when their line is completed.”

“A good opportunity, that, Joe,” said Ralph, “although the main prospect you mention is far in the future, isn’t it?”

“Not at all,” declared Joe. “I guess you haven’t kept track of proceedings in The Barrens. Their telegraph line is clear through, both ways from headquarters now. The bonds are nearly all sold, and they expect to begin to lay the rails in earnest next week.”

“I noticed a good deal of activity at our end of the line,” said Ralph. “I think the scheme is going to be a success. I almost wish I was going to work with you fellows.”

It was now drawing on towards late fall. For several weeks the young fireman had not been disturbed by his enemies. Work had gone on smoothly. He was learning more and more every day, and his savings amounted to quite a pretentious sum.

The only outside issue that troubled Ralph was the fact that they had not yet recovered the twenty thousand dollars due his mother from old Gasper Farrington. That individual had disappeared. Ralph kept a sharp lookout, for upon finding the magnate and bringing him to terms depended the last chance of getting the money.

There was the last picnic of the season one day, and Ralph had been assigned to duty to look after things generally. He was surprised when Forgan took him off the run of the Limited Mail.

“It will be a sort of vacation holiday for you, lad,” said the roundhouse foreman. “We want somebody reliable to look after the train, with so many women and children aboard. You will be boss over the engineer, fireman and the whole train crew for the day.”

“Quite an important commission,” said Ralph, “but what will the train crew say about it?”

“Oh, they will be glad to work with the responsibility on somebody else. Here is the schedule. Be careful of your running time, Fairbanks. I wouldn’t have anything happen to the picnic train for worlds.”

Ralph studied out the situation. When the train left Stanley Junction he took a position in the locomotive, attended to reports at all stations they passed, and the train reached the picnic grounds in safety and was run on the siding.

Ralph gave himself up to the enjoyment of a real holiday. He knew nearly everybody on the picnic grounds and nearly everybody there knew him. About the middle of the afternoon a boy living at the Junction came up to him.

“Say, Ralph,” he remarked, tendering the young fireman a note. “A fellow out in the woods gave me this for you.”

Ralph took the missive, and, opening it, read its contents with mingled surprise and suspicion. The note ran:

“If R. F. wants to hear of something to his advantage, come to the old railroad bridge right away.”

There was no signature to the scrawl, but Ralph quite naturally thought of Ike Slump and his crowd. That did not, however, deter him from going to keep the appointment. He cut a stout cudgel and proceeded to the old railroad bridge named in the note.

The young fireman glanced keenly about him, but for some time did not get a view of anybody in the vicinity. Finally from a clump of bushes up the incline a handkerchief waved. Ralph climbed the embankment to find himself facing Ike Slump.

The latter was ragged and starved-looking. To Ralph it appeared that the ex-roundhouse boy had been having a decidedly hard time of it recently.

“You needn’t carry any stick around here,” said Slump, sullenly. “You needn’t be afraid of me.”

“Not at all,” answered Ralph, “although your actions in the past would warrant my having a whole battery around me.”

“That’s done with,” asserted Slump, quite meekly. “Bemis is up there a little ways. You needn’t be afraid of him, either.”

“What are you getting at with all this talk, Ike?” inquired Ralph.

“Why, we want to be friends.”

“What for?”

“Because – because we’re tired of starving and being hunted and the like,” said Slump. “You have won out, we are beaten. We want to work together.”

“I declare I don’t understand what you are driving at,” said Ralph. “Come, Ike Slump, play no more crafty games. It don’t pay. Be honest and straight. What did you bring me here for?”

“To make some money for both of us.”

“In what way?”

“You would give a good deal to find Gasper Farrington, wouldn’t you, now?”

“I certainly am anxious to locate that man, yes,” answered Ralph frankly.

“All right, we know where he is.”

“And you are willing to make amends, I suppose, for your past misconduct by telling me where Farrington is to be found, so that I can have him arrested.”

“Well, I guess not!” cried Mort Bemis, coming upon the scene. “We want pay for what we do. We want a hundred dollars to begin with. A lot more when you get that money he owes you.”

“My friends,” said Ralph, promptly turning from the spot. “Not a cent. I don’t believe you know how to act square. You don’t show it by your present proposition. If you really want to be helped, and if you are sorry for your past wrong doing, come back to Stanley Junction, tell the truth, take your punishment like men, and I will be your good friend.”

“Well, you’re a bold one,” sneered Slump, getting very angry. “You won’t help us out, then?”

“With money – on your promise? No. I shall find Gasper Farrington finally without your aid, and, if you have nothing further to say, I shall return to the picnic grounds.”

“I don’t think you will,” said Bemis, roughly placing himself in Ralph’s path.

“Why not?” inquired the young fireman calmly, grasping his cudgel with a closer grip.

“Because – say, Ike, grab him, quick! If he won’t deal with us and we can get him a prisoner, Farrington will pay us. You know he always wanted to get rid of him.”

Ralph prepared to meet the enemy squarely. Slump and Bemis rushed towards him. Before they could begin the fight, however, a man burst through the underbrush whom Ralph recognized as a Stanley Junction police officer detailed on picnic duty.

“Found you, my friends, have I?” he hailed the two fellows. “Grab one of them, Fairbanks, I’ve got the other. I was on the lookout for them. They stole a purse from the basket of an old lady in the picnic grounds a few hours ago. Slump? Bemis? Well, you are a fine pair, you are!”

The officer insisted on arresting them, the more so that upon recognizing them now he suddenly remembered that a reward had been offered for their apprehension by the railroad company. The crestfallen plotters were taken to the train and locked up in one end of the express car.

Ralph went to them after a spell and tried to learn something more from them, but they were now sullen and vengeful.

In due time the train was backed down to the main track, the engine detached made a run for water, and, returning, stood some little distance from the cars.

The fireman and engineer left the engine to help their families gather up their traps and take them aboard the train. Ralph was busy in the cab. He was looking over the gauges when a sudden blow from behind stretched him insensible on the coal of the tender.

As he slowly opened his eyes Ralph saw Slump and Bemis in the cab. In some way they had escaped, had stolen the locomotive, and were speeding away to liberty.

“Just heard a whistle. It must be the Dover Accommodation,” Slump was remarking. “Get off and open the siding switch, Mort.”

This Bemis did, and the engine started up again. Ralph thrilled at the words Slump had spoken. He was weak and dizzy-headed, but he made a desperate effort, staggered to his feet and sprang from the cab.

Had the locomotive remained at the picnic grounds, the train would have been switched to the siding again until the Accommodation passed. As it was, unwarned, the Accommodation would crash into the train.

Ralph heard its whistle dangerously near. He looked up and down the tracks. Ahead, a bridge crossed the tracks, and near it was a framework with leather pendants to warn freight brakemen in the night time. Towards this Ralph ran swiftly. Weak as he was, he managed to scale the framework, gained its center, and sat there panting, poised for the most desperate action of his young career.

The Accommodation train came into view. Ralph sat transfixed, knowing that he would soon face death, but unmindful of the fact in the hope that his action would save the lives of those aboard the picnic train.

The Accommodation neared him. The young fireman got ready to drop. He let go, crashed past the roof of the cab, and landed between the astonished engineer and fireman.

“The picnic train – on the main, stop your locomotive!” he panted, and fainted dead away.

CHAPTER XXIV
IN “THE BARRENS”

Ralph Fairbanks had taken a terrible risk, and had met with his first serious accident since he had commenced his career as a young fireman. When he next opened his eyes he was lying in his own bed, a doctor and his mother bending solicitously over him.

Slowly reason returned to him. He stared wonderingly about him and tried to arise. A terrible pain in his feet caused him to subside. Then Ralph realized that he had suffered some serious injury from his reckless drop into the locomotive cab near the picnic grounds.

“What is it, doctor?” he asked faintly.

“A bad hurt in one arm and some ugly bruises. It is a wonder you were not crippled for life, or killed outright.”

“The train – the picnic train!” cried Ralph, clearly remembering now the incidents of the stolen engine.

“The Accommodation stopped in time to avert a disaster,” said Mrs. Fairbanks.

Ralph closed his eyes with a satisfied expression on his face. He soon sank into slumber. It was late in the day when he awoke. Gradually his strength came back to him, and he was able to sit up in bed.

The next day he improved still more, and within a week he was able to walk down to the roundhouse. Forgan and all his old friends greeted him royally.

“I suppose you have the nerve to think you are going to report for duty,” observed Forgan. “Well, you needn’t try. Orders are to sick list you for a month’s vacation.”

“I will be able to work in a week,” declared Ralph.

“Vacation on full pay,” continued the roundhouse foreman.

Ralph had to accept the situation. He told his mother the news, and they had a long talk over affairs in general. The doctor advised rest and a change of scene. The next day Van Sherwin called on his way back to The Barrens. That resulted in the young fireman joining him, and his mother urged him to remain with his friends and enjoy his vacation.

A recruit to the ranks of the workers of the Short Cut Railroad presented himself as Ralph and Van left for the depot one morning to ride as far as Wilmer. This was Zeph Dallas.

“No use talking,” said the farmer boy. “I’m lonesome here at Stanley Junction and I’m going to join Joe.”

“All right,” assented Van, “if you think it wise to leave a steady job here.”

“Why, you’ll soon be able to give me a better one, won’t you?” insisted Zeph. “It just suits me, your layout down there in The Barrens. Take me along with you.”

When they reached Wilmer and left the train, Van pointed proudly to a train of freight cars on the Great Northern tracks loaded with rails and ties.

“That’s our plunder,” he said cheerily. “Mr. Trevor is hustling, I tell you. Why, Ralph, we expect to have this end of the route completed within thirty days.”

As they traversed the proposed railroad line, Ralph was more and more interested in the project. Little squads of men were busily employed here and there grading a roadbed, and the telegraph line was strung over the entire territory.

They reached the headquarters about noon. A new sign appeared on the house, which was the center of the new railroad system. It was “Gibson.”

A week passed by filled with great pleasure for the young railroader. Evenings, Mr. Gibson and his young friends discussed the progress and prospects of the railroad. There were to be two terminal stations and a restaurant at the Springfield end of the route. There were only two settlements in The Barrens, and depots were to be erected there.

“We shall have quite some passenger service,” declared Mr. Gibson, “for we shorten the travel route for all transfer passengers as well as freight. The Great Northern people do not at all discourage the scheme, and the Midland Central has agreed to give us some freight contracts. Oh, we shall soon build up into a first-class, thriving, little railroad enterprise.”

One evening a storm prevented Ralph from returning to headquarters, so he camped in with some workmen engaged in grading an especially difficult part of the route. The evening was passed very pleasantly, but just before nine o’clock, when all had thought of retiring, a great outcry came from the tent of the cook.

“I’ve got him, I’ve caught the young thief,” shouted the cook, dragging into view a small boy who was sobbing and trembling with grief.

“What’s the row?” inquired one of the workmen.

“Why, I’ve missed eatables for a week or more at odd times, and I just caught this young robber stealing a ham.”

“I didn’t steal it,” sobbed the detected youngster. “I just took it. You’d take it, too, if you was in our fix. We’re nearly starved.”

“Who is nearly starved?” asked Ralph, approaching the culprit.

“Me and dad. We were just driven to pick up food anywhere. You’ve got lots of it. You needn’t miss it. Please let me go, mister.”

“No, the jail for you,” threatened the cook direfully.

“Oh, don’t take me away from my father,” pleaded the affrighted youngster. “He couldn’t get along without me.”

“See here, cook, let me take this little fellow in hand,” suggested Ralph.

“All right,” assented the cook, adding in an undertone, “give him a good scare.”

Ralph took the boy to one side. His name was Ned. His father, he said, was Amos Greenleaf, an old railroader, crippled in an accident some years before. He had become very poor, and they had settled in an old house in The Barrens a few miles distant. Ralph made up a basket of food with the cook’s permission.

“Now then, Ned,” said Ralph, “you lead the way to your home.”

“You won’t have me arrested?”

“Not if you have been telling me the truth.”

“I haven’t,” declared the young lad. “It’s worse than I tell it. Dad is sick and has no medicine. We have nearly starved.”

It was an arduous tramp to the wretched hovel they at last reached. Ralph was shocked as he entered it. It was almost bare of furniture, and the poor old man who lay on a miserable cot was thin, pale and racked with pain.

“I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern,” said the young railroader, “and I came with your boy to see what we can do for you.”

“A railroader?” said Greenleaf. “I am glad to see you. I was once in that line myself. Crippled in a wreck. Got poor, poorer, bad to worse, and here I am.”

“Too bad,” said Ralph sympathizingly. “Why have you not asked some of your old comrades to help you?”

“They are kind-hearted men, and did help me for a time, till I became ashamed to impose on their generosity.”

“How were you injured, Mr. Greenleaf?” asked Ralph.

“In a wreck. It was at the river just below Big Rock. I was a brakeman. The train struck a broken switch and three cars went into the creek. I went with them and was crippled for life. One of them was a car of another road and not so high as the others, or I would have been crushed to death.”

“A car of another road?” repeated Ralph with a slight start.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know what road it belonged to?”

“No. They recovered the other two cars. I never heard what became of the foreign car. I guess it was all smashed up.”

“Gondola?”

“No, box car.”

Ralph was more and more interested.

“When did this occur, Mr. Greenleaf?” he asked.

“Five years ago.”

“Is it possible,” said Ralph to himself, “that I have at last found a clew to the missing car Zeph Dallas and that car finder are so anxious to locate?”