CHAPTER XIMORE FRICTIONRalph Fairbanks disliked to do it. But it seemed that he was the first responsible person about the railroad building to mark the beginning of the wildcat strike of the shopmen. Somebody had to tell Barton Hopkins, and it seemed the duty devolved upon him.“The old man will be mighty sore,” said Johnny, the operator. “I’d better shoot the news to main headquarters, hadn’t I?”“Yes,” replied Ralph, going into the telephone booth.He asked the operator for Mr. Hopkins’ house number. It was not very late in the evening and he knew Mr. Hopkins could not have gone to bed. But it was several minutes during which he heard the indicator buzzing again and again, before he received any answer.Then it was not the supervisor’s sharp voice that said: “Mr. Hopkins’ residence. What is wanted?”“Oh, my gracious, Miss Cherry! Is that you?” asked the young train dispatcher, anxiously.“Ralph Fairbanks! What has happened?”In spite of his excitement Ralph noted—and was glad!—that the girl recognized his voice so quickly.“I am at headquarters, Miss Cherry! Something has happened that your father should know about.”“He has gone out. We expect him back any moment. Tell me what it is, Mr. Fairbanks!”“The men have struck!”“What—what made them?”“Oh, it was coming. It could not be helped,” Ralph hastily assured her. “I don’t know how far it will spread. Tell your father as soon as you see him, will you, please? I will stay here till he comes. Don’t know: Maybe the yardmen will go out. If they do——”He hung up without finishing his sentence. Through the glass door of the cabinet he had seen one of the call boys rush into the outer office.“Hey! Where’s Fairbanks?” the boy demanded. “Hey, Mist’ Fairbanks! Dooley wants you down the yard.”“Dooley? At the switch shanty? What for?”“The feller driving the kettle has flew the coop!” answered the excited boy. “They are all striking!”“Not one of the engineers?” gasped Ralph.“Aw, that feller’s a new one. He wasn’t long on the job. Been talking strike ever since he started to work here,” explained the call boy, keeping alongside of Ralph as the latter started down the wide stairs. “He is a no-good, take it from me. Dooley’s near ’bout crazy. He started to chase the feller back on the kettle with a switchbar, but the man could run too fast. Somebody’s got to take the throttle on that kettle or there won’t be no more switchin’ done in this yard to-night.”“Why haven’t you been sent for a substitute?” the train dispatcher asked the voluble youth.“Ain’t one on the list that ain’t done his eight-hour shift and four overtime. All but the crews for the regular runs. You wouldn’t expect me to go after old By Marks, would you, to drive that yard kettle?”Ralph laughed shortly. He was very well aware how short the division was of engineers and firemen. The twelve-hour rule, while it was a good thing and a needed improvement, had disorganized the entire Great Northern crew system. The system had never got properly into step with the new idea.Just why Dooley should have called him, Ralph did not guess at first. Save that he might be the only person in authority about the headquarters at this hour. Dooley never had shown much initiative as yardmaster. But he was a good worker.He came at the young train dispatcher, swinging his arms and yelling at the top of his voice:“What do you know about this? These—these puppy-dogs! That fried egg that run the switcher—Aw! What’s the use talkin’? He’s took it on the run. He’d better. I’d have knocked his head off if he hadn’t run twice as fast as I could with my game leg.”“What’s the answer, Dooley? What do you suppose I can do for you?”“You can handle that kettle. You’ve got to——”“What,me?” gasped Ralph. “I’m not an engineer any more. You want to ruin my reputation, Dooley?”“Stop blitterin’,” scolded the old yardmaster. “I know you, Ralph Fairbanks. You are workin’ for the Great Northern just as I am. Look at the fireboy there, Jimmy. He stuck. But he ain’t allowed by the rules to handle the throttle that his superior deserted.”“And you expect me to break the rules?”“You still have your Brotherhood card. I know it. You are in good standing. We have got to show these mutts that real men don’t throw the road down—and cut off their own food supply—to run after that crazy Andy McCarrey.”“All right. I’m with you, as far as that goes,” said Ralph quickly. “But I don’t know about this thing you ask me to do. My own job——”“You are not on the job now. That I know full well,” said the anxious yardmaster. “Do, for the love of Mike, Ralph, get aboard that dirty little kettle and kick together the cars for west-bound Eighty-seven. She’s scheduled to leave the yard, as you well know, in twenty-five minutes,” and he snapped his big watch back into his pocket.“What will the super say?” asked Ralph weakly.The idea was taking hold of him. After all, the blood in his veins was the blood of the engine-driver! Once an engineer, always an engineer. Ralph could not get away from the fact that his fingers thrilled—and always would thrill—to the touch of the throttle and the Johnson bar.Dooley wildly said his say about the supervisor while he grabbed Ralph’s arm and half dragged him over to the steaming switch engine. Jimmy, the faithful fireman, stood on the little deck.“You know Mist’ Fairbanks, Jimmy,” said the yardmaster. “He’ll help us out. The saints will be good to you, boy, for sticking to the fireshovel and bar. Now, git busy. Here’s the list for Eighty-seven, Ralph. I’ve kept the crew together. Nagle is captain. Go to it!”He hurried away as Ralph slowly climbed aboard. The young fellow had no more right on the little switcher than an outsider. But the situation demanded drastic action. And if Mr. Hopkins did not appear to interfere, Ralph might help out the old yardmaster in this emergency.In a way, too, he was helping himself. If Eighty-seven did not get out of the yard somewhere near on time, the train would ball up the train dispatcher’s schedule.Ralph grabbed the suit of overalls the fireman threw him and struggled into them. The steam was up and there was plenty of coal in the bunker. He tried the water-gauge himself, then felt out the various levers and cocks under his hand. A lantern was giving him the “high sign” down the yard. He opened her up carefully and trundled the little engine out on the cluttered track.Under the radiance of the fixed bull’s-eye beside him, Ralph scrutinized the numbers of the cars in the string he was expected to pick up. Here were four gondolas loaded with pig-iron first on the list. Really, in making up a well-balanced freight, these four cars should come about the middle of the train, to “stiffen her back.” So much weight next the locomotive made hard switching and, when the regular engine crew took the train for the western pull, they certainly would blame the yard crew for making it up so clumsily.But Ralph saw that the four gondolas fairly “blanked” the remainder of the train—like a broken cork in the neck of a bottle. Had there been full and plenty of time, he would have shunted the heavy cars upon a siding and picked them up after laying out about half the cars that were on the list the yardmaster had given him.Nagle, the conductor of Eighty-seven, ran along and boarded the switcher as Ralph dropped her down to couple on to the gondolas. Nagle’s eyes popped open like a scared cat’s when he saw who was handling the switcher’s throttle.“Jerusalem! is the G. M. himself going to take a hand in this strike, too, I dunno?” he demanded.“I shouldn’t wonder. I have seen him take to the deck of a mountain hog himself on occasion, Nagle,” admitted Ralph.“It’s right you are. And more than me is remembering that same, Ralph, when these crazy loons ask us to go out with them against the orders of our Brotherhood chiefs. We’ve worked hand in hand with the old G. M. and many another of the brass-collared crew on this road. These poor simps that are following McCarrey will be sorry enough in the end.”“I am glad to hear one man talking sense, Nagle,” said Ralph. “Now, how do these cars stand?”“Of course, you know, these four you’ve grappled are the worst of the lot?”“It looks so. And whoever drove them in here must have known he was going to make the yard crew trouble.”“Like enough. There are more soreheads on this division at the present time than you can shake a stick at! And no wonder. That super——”“Old stuff! Old stuff, Nagle!” advised Ralph, in haste. “Time is flying.”“What will you do with these four gondolas?”“I am going to throw them onto number four switch. They can’t stay there but five minutes, of course, for Number Twenty-eight is due then. But if we work smartly we may get half-a-dozen boxes tacked on ahead of the gondolas.”“Good boy!” and the conductor swung down to the cinder path.“Put a couple of huskies on those gondolas. They must brake at the right time,” warned Ralph.The conductor waved his hand. A moment later, as Ralph eased the heavy quartette of cars into motion, he saw two brakemen climb aboard—one at the head and one at the tail of the four. He knew that, properly governed by the hand brakes, those two brakemen could place the gondolas just right on number four siding.It was a short piece of track. It opened at the lower end right out onto the eastbound main track. The switcher dragged the heavy cars up and out into the clear and then “kicked” them off onto the short siding.The coupling pin was tripped and the switcher came to a stop. Ralph leaned far out to watch the rolling stock slow down.“Looks to me as though that far brakie is taking his time winding up,” the fireman shouted.“Who is that fellow? Hi! Make the switch on the fly, Jimmy, and we’ll run down——”“Here comes Twenty-eight, sir!” said Jimmy quickly. “If that fellow hasn’t stopped her in the clear——”They just then got the high sign from down the yard. The long freight then due was steaming in. Ralph had a feeling that all was not right with those heavy gondolas. They had been stopped, and of course were braked. Yet the fellow on the tail-end seemed to have been very slow about the work. He was the only person who knew whether or not the four cars of pigiron were too near the main track.The switcher had to answer the far signal. Ralph ran her ahead and then backed onto the cross-over and so upon the long siding where he was to pick up the next batch of cars. The whistle of Twenty-eight’s locomotive suddenly emitted a signal.“Something’s the matter, boss!” yelled Jimmy, swinging himself up to the deck again.And on the heels of what he said, and before the switcher carried them within sight of the tail-end of the four gondolas, there sounded a ripping crash that awoke the echoes over half of Rockton! On the instant the head-end of Twenty-eight, save her locomotive, was scattered over both main tracks. The yard was blocked!
Ralph Fairbanks disliked to do it. But it seemed that he was the first responsible person about the railroad building to mark the beginning of the wildcat strike of the shopmen. Somebody had to tell Barton Hopkins, and it seemed the duty devolved upon him.
“The old man will be mighty sore,” said Johnny, the operator. “I’d better shoot the news to main headquarters, hadn’t I?”
“Yes,” replied Ralph, going into the telephone booth.
He asked the operator for Mr. Hopkins’ house number. It was not very late in the evening and he knew Mr. Hopkins could not have gone to bed. But it was several minutes during which he heard the indicator buzzing again and again, before he received any answer.
Then it was not the supervisor’s sharp voice that said: “Mr. Hopkins’ residence. What is wanted?”
“Oh, my gracious, Miss Cherry! Is that you?” asked the young train dispatcher, anxiously.
“Ralph Fairbanks! What has happened?”
In spite of his excitement Ralph noted—and was glad!—that the girl recognized his voice so quickly.
“I am at headquarters, Miss Cherry! Something has happened that your father should know about.”
“He has gone out. We expect him back any moment. Tell me what it is, Mr. Fairbanks!”
“The men have struck!”
“What—what made them?”
“Oh, it was coming. It could not be helped,” Ralph hastily assured her. “I don’t know how far it will spread. Tell your father as soon as you see him, will you, please? I will stay here till he comes. Don’t know: Maybe the yardmen will go out. If they do——”
He hung up without finishing his sentence. Through the glass door of the cabinet he had seen one of the call boys rush into the outer office.
“Hey! Where’s Fairbanks?” the boy demanded. “Hey, Mist’ Fairbanks! Dooley wants you down the yard.”
“Dooley? At the switch shanty? What for?”
“The feller driving the kettle has flew the coop!” answered the excited boy. “They are all striking!”
“Not one of the engineers?” gasped Ralph.
“Aw, that feller’s a new one. He wasn’t long on the job. Been talking strike ever since he started to work here,” explained the call boy, keeping alongside of Ralph as the latter started down the wide stairs. “He is a no-good, take it from me. Dooley’s near ’bout crazy. He started to chase the feller back on the kettle with a switchbar, but the man could run too fast. Somebody’s got to take the throttle on that kettle or there won’t be no more switchin’ done in this yard to-night.”
“Why haven’t you been sent for a substitute?” the train dispatcher asked the voluble youth.
“Ain’t one on the list that ain’t done his eight-hour shift and four overtime. All but the crews for the regular runs. You wouldn’t expect me to go after old By Marks, would you, to drive that yard kettle?”
Ralph laughed shortly. He was very well aware how short the division was of engineers and firemen. The twelve-hour rule, while it was a good thing and a needed improvement, had disorganized the entire Great Northern crew system. The system had never got properly into step with the new idea.
Just why Dooley should have called him, Ralph did not guess at first. Save that he might be the only person in authority about the headquarters at this hour. Dooley never had shown much initiative as yardmaster. But he was a good worker.
He came at the young train dispatcher, swinging his arms and yelling at the top of his voice:
“What do you know about this? These—these puppy-dogs! That fried egg that run the switcher—Aw! What’s the use talkin’? He’s took it on the run. He’d better. I’d have knocked his head off if he hadn’t run twice as fast as I could with my game leg.”
“What’s the answer, Dooley? What do you suppose I can do for you?”
“You can handle that kettle. You’ve got to——”
“What,me?” gasped Ralph. “I’m not an engineer any more. You want to ruin my reputation, Dooley?”
“Stop blitterin’,” scolded the old yardmaster. “I know you, Ralph Fairbanks. You are workin’ for the Great Northern just as I am. Look at the fireboy there, Jimmy. He stuck. But he ain’t allowed by the rules to handle the throttle that his superior deserted.”
“And you expect me to break the rules?”
“You still have your Brotherhood card. I know it. You are in good standing. We have got to show these mutts that real men don’t throw the road down—and cut off their own food supply—to run after that crazy Andy McCarrey.”
“All right. I’m with you, as far as that goes,” said Ralph quickly. “But I don’t know about this thing you ask me to do. My own job——”
“You are not on the job now. That I know full well,” said the anxious yardmaster. “Do, for the love of Mike, Ralph, get aboard that dirty little kettle and kick together the cars for west-bound Eighty-seven. She’s scheduled to leave the yard, as you well know, in twenty-five minutes,” and he snapped his big watch back into his pocket.
“What will the super say?” asked Ralph weakly.
The idea was taking hold of him. After all, the blood in his veins was the blood of the engine-driver! Once an engineer, always an engineer. Ralph could not get away from the fact that his fingers thrilled—and always would thrill—to the touch of the throttle and the Johnson bar.
Dooley wildly said his say about the supervisor while he grabbed Ralph’s arm and half dragged him over to the steaming switch engine. Jimmy, the faithful fireman, stood on the little deck.
“You know Mist’ Fairbanks, Jimmy,” said the yardmaster. “He’ll help us out. The saints will be good to you, boy, for sticking to the fireshovel and bar. Now, git busy. Here’s the list for Eighty-seven, Ralph. I’ve kept the crew together. Nagle is captain. Go to it!”
He hurried away as Ralph slowly climbed aboard. The young fellow had no more right on the little switcher than an outsider. But the situation demanded drastic action. And if Mr. Hopkins did not appear to interfere, Ralph might help out the old yardmaster in this emergency.
In a way, too, he was helping himself. If Eighty-seven did not get out of the yard somewhere near on time, the train would ball up the train dispatcher’s schedule.
Ralph grabbed the suit of overalls the fireman threw him and struggled into them. The steam was up and there was plenty of coal in the bunker. He tried the water-gauge himself, then felt out the various levers and cocks under his hand. A lantern was giving him the “high sign” down the yard. He opened her up carefully and trundled the little engine out on the cluttered track.
Under the radiance of the fixed bull’s-eye beside him, Ralph scrutinized the numbers of the cars in the string he was expected to pick up. Here were four gondolas loaded with pig-iron first on the list. Really, in making up a well-balanced freight, these four cars should come about the middle of the train, to “stiffen her back.” So much weight next the locomotive made hard switching and, when the regular engine crew took the train for the western pull, they certainly would blame the yard crew for making it up so clumsily.
But Ralph saw that the four gondolas fairly “blanked” the remainder of the train—like a broken cork in the neck of a bottle. Had there been full and plenty of time, he would have shunted the heavy cars upon a siding and picked them up after laying out about half the cars that were on the list the yardmaster had given him.
Nagle, the conductor of Eighty-seven, ran along and boarded the switcher as Ralph dropped her down to couple on to the gondolas. Nagle’s eyes popped open like a scared cat’s when he saw who was handling the switcher’s throttle.
“Jerusalem! is the G. M. himself going to take a hand in this strike, too, I dunno?” he demanded.
“I shouldn’t wonder. I have seen him take to the deck of a mountain hog himself on occasion, Nagle,” admitted Ralph.
“It’s right you are. And more than me is remembering that same, Ralph, when these crazy loons ask us to go out with them against the orders of our Brotherhood chiefs. We’ve worked hand in hand with the old G. M. and many another of the brass-collared crew on this road. These poor simps that are following McCarrey will be sorry enough in the end.”
“I am glad to hear one man talking sense, Nagle,” said Ralph. “Now, how do these cars stand?”
“Of course, you know, these four you’ve grappled are the worst of the lot?”
“It looks so. And whoever drove them in here must have known he was going to make the yard crew trouble.”
“Like enough. There are more soreheads on this division at the present time than you can shake a stick at! And no wonder. That super——”
“Old stuff! Old stuff, Nagle!” advised Ralph, in haste. “Time is flying.”
“What will you do with these four gondolas?”
“I am going to throw them onto number four switch. They can’t stay there but five minutes, of course, for Number Twenty-eight is due then. But if we work smartly we may get half-a-dozen boxes tacked on ahead of the gondolas.”
“Good boy!” and the conductor swung down to the cinder path.
“Put a couple of huskies on those gondolas. They must brake at the right time,” warned Ralph.
The conductor waved his hand. A moment later, as Ralph eased the heavy quartette of cars into motion, he saw two brakemen climb aboard—one at the head and one at the tail of the four. He knew that, properly governed by the hand brakes, those two brakemen could place the gondolas just right on number four siding.
It was a short piece of track. It opened at the lower end right out onto the eastbound main track. The switcher dragged the heavy cars up and out into the clear and then “kicked” them off onto the short siding.
The coupling pin was tripped and the switcher came to a stop. Ralph leaned far out to watch the rolling stock slow down.
“Looks to me as though that far brakie is taking his time winding up,” the fireman shouted.
“Who is that fellow? Hi! Make the switch on the fly, Jimmy, and we’ll run down——”
“Here comes Twenty-eight, sir!” said Jimmy quickly. “If that fellow hasn’t stopped her in the clear——”
They just then got the high sign from down the yard. The long freight then due was steaming in. Ralph had a feeling that all was not right with those heavy gondolas. They had been stopped, and of course were braked. Yet the fellow on the tail-end seemed to have been very slow about the work. He was the only person who knew whether or not the four cars of pigiron were too near the main track.
The switcher had to answer the far signal. Ralph ran her ahead and then backed onto the cross-over and so upon the long siding where he was to pick up the next batch of cars. The whistle of Twenty-eight’s locomotive suddenly emitted a signal.
“Something’s the matter, boss!” yelled Jimmy, swinging himself up to the deck again.
And on the heels of what he said, and before the switcher carried them within sight of the tail-end of the four gondolas, there sounded a ripping crash that awoke the echoes over half of Rockton! On the instant the head-end of Twenty-eight, save her locomotive, was scattered over both main tracks. The yard was blocked!