CHAPTER XIVA TRAGEDYThere was a fight down by one of the stockade gates not long after Ralph telephoned to Mr. Hopkins to learn if the supervisor knew anything about Bob Adair. It might as well be said that the young train dispatcher got no satisfaction from Barton Hopkins.“I am not giving information of railroad affairs to anybody, Fairbanks, and you should know that,” the supervisor had said shortly. “If the chief detective wishes to interview you, he doubtless will know how to find you.”“But I’ve got some information for him!” ejaculated Ralph.Mr. Hopkins hung up without further reply. He evidently considered it sheer impudence for the train dispatcher to have called him. It was within the next ten minutes that the row started at the yard gate.Ralph grabbed his cap and ran down to see what it was all about. The time was verging toward midnight. Freight trains had been made up as usual and sent out. But outside the railroad property a crowd had been gathering, and the yard crews were hooted and threatened.The train dispatcher was too late to take any part in the fight. But he learned that the attack had been made upon several of the members of the night train crews that were coming in by this gate because it was nearest to the roundhouse.The police had charged and aided the railroad men in driving back the strike sympathizers. Missiles had been thrown and one of the men attacked had had his coat torn off. When Ralph got close to this man he saw that it was old Byron Marks, engineer of the fast express.“For pity’s sake, By!” he demanded, as he aided the old engineer away from the center of the mêlée, “why didn’t you come around the other way?”“I didn’t want to see that blamed supervisor again,” gasped the engineer, wiping the blood from his scratched face. Then he held a hand tightly upon his heart as though to still it. He was very pale, save for crimson spots beneath his cheekbones. “I’d rather fight these rats than talk to Hopkins.”“Be a man!” exclaimed Ralph. “Don’t let that man scare you.”“He’s no easy man to meet,” returned the old engineer. “He can put the gaff into you, if he likes.”“The Brotherhood is behind you. Tell him where he gets off. The road is short of engineers. He won’t dare tie the can to you. You know that.”“Don’t talk! Don’t talk, Ralph!” whispered the engineer. “I know what is threatening me better than you do. I’m growing old. And I can’t afford to drop out on a pittance.”“Why, you must have something, Byron,” said the train dispatcher. “After all these years at a good wage——”“Nothing. Just a little home. And that mortgaged. Sickness in the family and an invalid child has taken all I could make. Death in a wreck, or the like, is the only good thing that could come to me.”“My gracious! Don’t talk like that.”“It is true. I carry a big accident policy. If I’m killed my family is well fixed. If I get canned, we’ll starve. That’s about the size of it,” and the old man walked away, leaving Ralph with a lump in his throat.“And I’ve been blaming this old fellow for not pulling out and letting some younger man have his run,” thought the young train dispatcher bitterly. “We never know! Old Byron deserves pity, not blame. A long life gone, and nothing much to show for it. Well!”The rabble was driven back and broken up by the police. Two or three rioters were arrested. And that, as Ralph knew, did more harm than good. Every strike sympathizer that was arrested made a whole family sore at the railroad. The strikers themselves were sharp enough to keep away from the scene of trouble.The big eight-wheeler was being rolled out of the roundhouse as Ralph turned back toward the brick station. He saw By Marks, his face washed of blood, and now in a clean overall suit, sitting on the bench in the driver’s side of the cabin, as the huge locomotive wheeled across the turntable.“Good luck to you, old man!” cried Ralph, and waved his hand to the grave-faced engineer.Afterward Ralph was glad he had given Byron this hail. The long train of varnished cars had been standing under the train shed for half an hour. The train on the other road rolled in at the far end of the station and the passengers piled out and joined those already occupying their staterooms or berths in the coaches of the Midnight Flyer.Suddenly Ralph was halted. A hand had fallen heavily on his shoulder and he turned swiftly to look at the person who had touched him. It was the tall man in the long black coat who had been sitting in the office of the supervisor. Ralph cried out with satisfaction.“Mr. Adair! I certainly am glad to see you!”“I was looking for you, Ralph. But I supposed you were at home at this hour and I hated to disturb your mother,” said the chief detective of the Great Northern system.“Oh, no. I am around the offices now, every night. Until this Midnight Flyer pulls out, at least.”“I don’t suppose the supervisor knows that, does he?” asked Adair dryly.“He knows it to-night, anyway,” said Ralph, grimly. “I was just asking him for you—or if he knew where you were.”“Indeed? And he said he didn’t know?”“He gave me to understand that he was not giving out information to underlings,” and Ralph laughed shortly. “Oh, well! let that pass. I had something to show you, and here it is.”He hauled out the strange message that he believed had come from Zeph Dallas. Mr. Adair read it swiftly.“That’s just the thing I wanted to know!” he exclaimed. “Hang that Hopkins, anyway! He takes himself as altogether too important. Why, Malone is the man I am after!”“You don’t really think that poor, half-witted fellow can be of real importance in any conspiracy against the road?” asked Ralph, wonderingly.“He has got wit enough to give evidence in court. And he is the sort to turn state’s evidence if he is cornered. The use of such fellows as Malone by men of the calibre of McCarrey is our main chance in bringing the latter to book.“McCarrey has to engage Whitey Malone and others like him to do his dirty work. He has some plan against the division that Malone is to help put through. If the latter is down there at Shadow Valley, as Zeph intimates, I am going to make that neighborhood the main point of my investigation.”“But the strikers are here in Rockton!” cried Ralph.“Foolish as these shopmen and the other strikers are, I would not accuse any of them of being angry enough to commit an overt act against the road. Especially of the nature of train wrecking.”“I should hope not!” gasped Ralph.“Yet we have received written threats to that effect,” said Adair gloomily. “This very train,” and he nodded toward the long line of Pullmans standing beside the platform waiting for the locomotive to back down, “is on the list of those that somebody has threatened to stop.”“The Midnight Flyer?”“Yes. Here comes the old mill. Wait. By Marks is not the fellow for this job, Ralph,” and the detective shook his head.“He’s all right!” exclaimed the young train dispatcher hastily. He was determined to commend the aged engineer after this, not criticize him. “I know that nobody could take that express through to Hammerfest much better than he does. And I am the fellow who makes the schedule.”“Indeed?” rejoined his friend, with a curious look at Ralph. “Suppose you were pulling this train?”“Humph! Think I would be any better than an experienced old engineer like By? What nonsense, Mr. Adair!”But the latter only laughed. They were at the head of the train. There was a little group of station employees and others on the platform. Ralph was watching the slowly backing locomotive. He saw the pallid face of Marks thrust out of the window as the great machine backed against the head coach. The red spots in Mark’s cheeks, Ralph thought, were slowly fading out.The couplings came together with a crunch of steel. The locomotive was stopped on the instant—a pretty connection. Nobody but a skilled operative could have done it.“He’s all right, old as he is!” muttered Ralph, as the two firemen leaped down to make the air-hose and water-hose connections on either side of the tender.The train dispatcher walked forward on the engineer’s side of the cab. He looked up again at the old man in the window. Then he cried out and leaped up the steps to the locomotive’s deck.Byron Marks’ head had fallen upon the window sill. His eyes were still staring, wide open. But the color had now entirely receded from his cheeks. When Ralph put a tentative hand upon the old man’s shoulder the torso of his body wabbled dreadfully.The hand on the throttle relaxed and fell. At the instant the engineer had made the nicely balanced coupling, he had lost consciousness!
There was a fight down by one of the stockade gates not long after Ralph telephoned to Mr. Hopkins to learn if the supervisor knew anything about Bob Adair. It might as well be said that the young train dispatcher got no satisfaction from Barton Hopkins.
“I am not giving information of railroad affairs to anybody, Fairbanks, and you should know that,” the supervisor had said shortly. “If the chief detective wishes to interview you, he doubtless will know how to find you.”
“But I’ve got some information for him!” ejaculated Ralph.
Mr. Hopkins hung up without further reply. He evidently considered it sheer impudence for the train dispatcher to have called him. It was within the next ten minutes that the row started at the yard gate.
Ralph grabbed his cap and ran down to see what it was all about. The time was verging toward midnight. Freight trains had been made up as usual and sent out. But outside the railroad property a crowd had been gathering, and the yard crews were hooted and threatened.
The train dispatcher was too late to take any part in the fight. But he learned that the attack had been made upon several of the members of the night train crews that were coming in by this gate because it was nearest to the roundhouse.
The police had charged and aided the railroad men in driving back the strike sympathizers. Missiles had been thrown and one of the men attacked had had his coat torn off. When Ralph got close to this man he saw that it was old Byron Marks, engineer of the fast express.
“For pity’s sake, By!” he demanded, as he aided the old engineer away from the center of the mêlée, “why didn’t you come around the other way?”
“I didn’t want to see that blamed supervisor again,” gasped the engineer, wiping the blood from his scratched face. Then he held a hand tightly upon his heart as though to still it. He was very pale, save for crimson spots beneath his cheekbones. “I’d rather fight these rats than talk to Hopkins.”
“Be a man!” exclaimed Ralph. “Don’t let that man scare you.”
“He’s no easy man to meet,” returned the old engineer. “He can put the gaff into you, if he likes.”
“The Brotherhood is behind you. Tell him where he gets off. The road is short of engineers. He won’t dare tie the can to you. You know that.”
“Don’t talk! Don’t talk, Ralph!” whispered the engineer. “I know what is threatening me better than you do. I’m growing old. And I can’t afford to drop out on a pittance.”
“Why, you must have something, Byron,” said the train dispatcher. “After all these years at a good wage——”
“Nothing. Just a little home. And that mortgaged. Sickness in the family and an invalid child has taken all I could make. Death in a wreck, or the like, is the only good thing that could come to me.”
“My gracious! Don’t talk like that.”
“It is true. I carry a big accident policy. If I’m killed my family is well fixed. If I get canned, we’ll starve. That’s about the size of it,” and the old man walked away, leaving Ralph with a lump in his throat.
“And I’ve been blaming this old fellow for not pulling out and letting some younger man have his run,” thought the young train dispatcher bitterly. “We never know! Old Byron deserves pity, not blame. A long life gone, and nothing much to show for it. Well!”
The rabble was driven back and broken up by the police. Two or three rioters were arrested. And that, as Ralph knew, did more harm than good. Every strike sympathizer that was arrested made a whole family sore at the railroad. The strikers themselves were sharp enough to keep away from the scene of trouble.
The big eight-wheeler was being rolled out of the roundhouse as Ralph turned back toward the brick station. He saw By Marks, his face washed of blood, and now in a clean overall suit, sitting on the bench in the driver’s side of the cabin, as the huge locomotive wheeled across the turntable.
“Good luck to you, old man!” cried Ralph, and waved his hand to the grave-faced engineer.
Afterward Ralph was glad he had given Byron this hail. The long train of varnished cars had been standing under the train shed for half an hour. The train on the other road rolled in at the far end of the station and the passengers piled out and joined those already occupying their staterooms or berths in the coaches of the Midnight Flyer.
Suddenly Ralph was halted. A hand had fallen heavily on his shoulder and he turned swiftly to look at the person who had touched him. It was the tall man in the long black coat who had been sitting in the office of the supervisor. Ralph cried out with satisfaction.
“Mr. Adair! I certainly am glad to see you!”
“I was looking for you, Ralph. But I supposed you were at home at this hour and I hated to disturb your mother,” said the chief detective of the Great Northern system.
“Oh, no. I am around the offices now, every night. Until this Midnight Flyer pulls out, at least.”
“I don’t suppose the supervisor knows that, does he?” asked Adair dryly.
“He knows it to-night, anyway,” said Ralph, grimly. “I was just asking him for you—or if he knew where you were.”
“Indeed? And he said he didn’t know?”
“He gave me to understand that he was not giving out information to underlings,” and Ralph laughed shortly. “Oh, well! let that pass. I had something to show you, and here it is.”
He hauled out the strange message that he believed had come from Zeph Dallas. Mr. Adair read it swiftly.
“That’s just the thing I wanted to know!” he exclaimed. “Hang that Hopkins, anyway! He takes himself as altogether too important. Why, Malone is the man I am after!”
“You don’t really think that poor, half-witted fellow can be of real importance in any conspiracy against the road?” asked Ralph, wonderingly.
“He has got wit enough to give evidence in court. And he is the sort to turn state’s evidence if he is cornered. The use of such fellows as Malone by men of the calibre of McCarrey is our main chance in bringing the latter to book.
“McCarrey has to engage Whitey Malone and others like him to do his dirty work. He has some plan against the division that Malone is to help put through. If the latter is down there at Shadow Valley, as Zeph intimates, I am going to make that neighborhood the main point of my investigation.”
“But the strikers are here in Rockton!” cried Ralph.
“Foolish as these shopmen and the other strikers are, I would not accuse any of them of being angry enough to commit an overt act against the road. Especially of the nature of train wrecking.”
“I should hope not!” gasped Ralph.
“Yet we have received written threats to that effect,” said Adair gloomily. “This very train,” and he nodded toward the long line of Pullmans standing beside the platform waiting for the locomotive to back down, “is on the list of those that somebody has threatened to stop.”
“The Midnight Flyer?”
“Yes. Here comes the old mill. Wait. By Marks is not the fellow for this job, Ralph,” and the detective shook his head.
“He’s all right!” exclaimed the young train dispatcher hastily. He was determined to commend the aged engineer after this, not criticize him. “I know that nobody could take that express through to Hammerfest much better than he does. And I am the fellow who makes the schedule.”
“Indeed?” rejoined his friend, with a curious look at Ralph. “Suppose you were pulling this train?”
“Humph! Think I would be any better than an experienced old engineer like By? What nonsense, Mr. Adair!”
But the latter only laughed. They were at the head of the train. There was a little group of station employees and others on the platform. Ralph was watching the slowly backing locomotive. He saw the pallid face of Marks thrust out of the window as the great machine backed against the head coach. The red spots in Mark’s cheeks, Ralph thought, were slowly fading out.
The couplings came together with a crunch of steel. The locomotive was stopped on the instant—a pretty connection. Nobody but a skilled operative could have done it.
“He’s all right, old as he is!” muttered Ralph, as the two firemen leaped down to make the air-hose and water-hose connections on either side of the tender.
The train dispatcher walked forward on the engineer’s side of the cab. He looked up again at the old man in the window. Then he cried out and leaped up the steps to the locomotive’s deck.
Byron Marks’ head had fallen upon the window sill. His eyes were still staring, wide open. But the color had now entirely receded from his cheeks. When Ralph put a tentative hand upon the old man’s shoulder the torso of his body wabbled dreadfully.
The hand on the throttle relaxed and fell. At the instant the engineer had made the nicely balanced coupling, he had lost consciousness!