The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Young Railroaders

The Project Gutenberg eBook ofThe Young RailroadersThis ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.Title: The Young RailroadersAuthor: Francis Lovell CoombsRelease date: June 21, 2008 [eBook #25868]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG RAILROADERS ***

This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online atwww.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook.

Title: The Young RailroadersAuthor: Francis Lovell CoombsRelease date: June 21, 2008 [eBook #25868]Language: EnglishCredits: E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)

Title: The Young Railroaders

Author: Francis Lovell Coombs

Release date: June 21, 2008 [eBook #25868]

Language: English

Credits: E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net)

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE YOUNG RAILROADERS ***

E-text prepared by Roger Frankand the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team(http://www.pgdp.net)

THEYOUNG RAILROADERS

THE

YOUNG RAILROADERS

THE NEXT MOMENT THE MIDWAY JUNCTION GHOST STEPPEDGRIMLY FROM HIS BOX.

THEYOUNG RAILROADERSTALES OF ADVENTUREAND INGENUITYBYF. LOVELL COOMBSWith Illustrationsby F. B. MASTERS

THE

YOUNG RAILROADERS

TALES OF ADVENTURE

AND INGENUITY

F. LOVELL COOMBS

With Illustrations

by F. B. MASTERS

NEW YORKTHE CENTURY CO.1910

NEW YORK

THE CENTURY CO.

1910

The Century Co.

Published September, 1910

Electrotyped and Printed by

C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston

ToB. R. C. AND K. L. C.A REMEMBRANCE

B. R. C. AND K. L. C.

A REMEMBRANCE

CONTENTS

ILLUSTRATIONS

THE YOUNG RAILROADERS

IONE KIND OF WIRELESS

When, after school that afternoon, Alex Ward waved a good-by to his father, the Bixton station agent for the Middle Western, and set off up the track on the spring’s first fishing, he had little thought of exciting experiences ahead of him. Likewise, when two hours later a sudden heavy shower found him in the woods three miles from home, and with but three small fish, it was only with feelings of disappointment that he wound up his line and ran for the shelter of an old log-cabin a hundred yards back from the stream.

Scarcely had Alex reached the doorway of the deserted house when he was startled by a chorus of excited voices from the rear. He turned quickly to a window, and with a cry sprang back out of sight. Emerging from the woods, excitedly talking and gesticulating, was a party of foreigners who had been working on the track near Bixton, and in their midst,his hands bound behind him, was Hennessy, their foreman.

For a moment Alex stood rooted to the spot. What did it mean? Suddenly realizing his own possible danger, he caught up his rod and fish, and sprang for the door.

On the threshold he sharply halted. In the open he would be seen at once, and pursued! He turned and cast a quick glance round the room. The ladder to the loft! He darted for it, scrambled up, and drew himself through the opening just as the excited foreigners poured in through the door below. For some moments afraid to move, Alex lay on his back, listening to the hubbub beneath him, and wondering in terror what the trackmen intended doing with their prisoner. Then, gathering courage at their continued ignorance of his presence, he cautiously moved back to the opening and peered down.

The men were gathered in the center of the room, all talking at once. But he could not see the foreman. As he leaned farther forward heavy footfalls sounded about the end of the house, and Big Tony, a huge Italian who had recently been discharged from the gang, appeared in the doorway.

“We puta him in da barn,” he announced in broken English; for the rest of the gang were Poles. “Tomaso, he watcha him.”

“An’ now listen,” continued the big trackman fiercely, as the rest gathered about him. “I didn’t tell everyt’ing. Besides disa man Hennessy he saycuta da wage, an’ send for odders take your job, he tella da biga boss you no worka good, so da biga boss he no pay you for all da last mont’!”

The ignorantly credulous Poles uttered a shout of rage. Several cried: “Keel him! Keel him!” Alex, in the loft, drew back in terror.

“No! Dere bettera way dan dat,” said Tony. “Da men to taka your job come to-night on da Nomber Twent’. I hava da plan.

“You alla know da old track dat turn off alonga da riv’ to da old brick-yard? Well, hunerd yard from da main line da old track she washed away. We will turn da old switch, Nomber Twent’ she run on da old track—an’ swoosh! Into da riv’!”

Run No. 20 into the river! Alex almost cried aloud. And he knew the plan would succeed—that, as Big Tony said, a hundred yards from the main-line track the old brick-yard siding embankment was washed out so that the rails almost hung in the air.

“Dena we all say,” went on Big Tony, “we alla say, Hennessy, he do it. We say we caughta him. See?”

Again Alex glanced down, and with hope he saw that some of the Poles were hesitating. But Tony quickly added: “An’ no one else be kill buta da strike-break’. No odder peoples on da Nomber Twent’ disa day at night. An’ da trainmen dey alla have plent’ time to jomp.

“Only da men wat steala your job,” he repeated craftily. And with a sinking heart Alex saw thatthe rest of the easily excitable foreigners had been won.

Again he moved back out of sight. Something must be done! If he could only reach the barn and free the foreman!

But of course the first thing to do was to make his own escape from the house. He rose on his elbow and glanced about.

At the far end of the loft a glimmer of light through a crack seemed to indicate a door. Cautiously Alex rose to his knees, and began creeping forward to investigate. When half way a loud creak of the boards brought him to a halt with his heart in his mouth. But the loud conversation below continued, and heartily thanking the drumming rain on the roof overhead, Alex moved on, and finally reached his goal.

As he had hoped, it was a small door. Feeling cautiously about, he found it to be secured by a hook. When he sought to raise the catch, however, it resisted. Evidently it had not been lifted for many years, and had rusted to the staple. Carefully Alex threw his weight upward against it. It still refused to move. He pushed harder, and suddenly it gave with a piercing screech.

Instantly the talking below ceased, and Alex stood rigid, scarcely breathing. Then a voice exclaimed, “Up de stair!” quick footsteps crossed the floor towards the ladder, and in a panic of fear Alex threw himself bodily against the door, in a mad endeavor to force it. But it still held, and with a thrill of despair he dropped flat to the floor, and saw the foreigner’s head come above the opening.

“NOW I AM GOING TO CUT YOUR CORDS,” ALEX WENT ONSOFTLY.

There, however, the man paused, and turned to gaze about, listening. For a brief space, while only the rain on the roof broke the silence, the foreigner apparently looked directly at the boy on the floor, and Alex’s heart seemed literally to stand still. But at last, after what appeared an interminable time, the man again turned, and withdrew, and with a sigh of relief Alex heard him say to those below, “Only de wind, dat’s all.”

Waiting until the buzz of conversation had been fully resumed, Alex rose once more to his knees, and began a cautious examination of the door. The cause of its refusal to open was soon apparent. The old hinges had given, allowing it to sag and catch against a raised nail-head in the sill.

Promptly Alex stood upright, grasped one of the cross-pieces, carefully lifted, and in another moment the door swung silently outward.

With a glance Alex saw that the way was clear, and quickly lowering himself by his hands, dropped. Here the rain once more helped him. On the wet, soggy ground he alighted with scarcely a sound. Momentarily, however, though he now breathed easily for the first time since he had entered the house, he stood, listening. The excited talking inside went on uninterruptedly, and moving to the corner, he peered about in the direction of the barn.

Leaning in the doorway, smoking, and most fortunately,with his back towards the house, was the Italian, Tomaso. Beyond doubt the foreman was inside!

At the rear of the barn, and some hundred feet from where Alex stood, was a small cow-stable. Alex determined to make an effort to reach it, and see if from there he could not get, unseen, into the barn itself.

The Italian continued to smoke peacefully, and with his eyes constantly on him Alex stepped forth, and set off across the clearing on tiptoe. The guard puffed on, and he neared the stable. Then suddenly the man moved, and made as though to turn. But with a bound Alex shot forward on the run, made the remaining distance, and was out of view.

The rear door of the stable was open. On tiptoe Alex made his way inside. The door leading into the barn also was ajar. With bated breath, pausing after each step, Alex went forward, reached it, and peered within.

Yes, the foreman was there, a dim figure sitting on the floor a few feet from him. But the outer doorway, in which stood the man on guard, also was only a few feet away, and at once Alex saw that the problem of reaching the foreman without being discovered was to be a difficult one. Trusting to the now gathering gloom of the twilight, however, Alex determined to make a try. Opening his knife and holding it in his teeth, he sank to the floor, and began slowly worming his way forward, flat on his stomach. It was a nerve-tryingordeal. A dozen times he was sure the crackling straw had betrayed him. But pluckily he kept on, inch by inch, and finally was almost within touch of the unsuspecting prisoner.

Then very softly he hissed. Sharply, as he had feared, the foreman twisted about. But at the moment, by great good luck, the foreigner at the door turned to knock his pipe against the door-post, and hurriedly Alex whispered, “Don’t move, Mr. Hennessy! It’s Alex Ward! I was in the old house, and saw them bring you up.

“And, Mr. Hennessy, they plan to run Twenty into the river to-night. Tony told them there were strike-breakers aboard her to take their places.”

In spite of himself the foreman uttered a low exclamation. At once the man in the door turned. But with quick presence of mind the prisoner changed the exclamation to a loud cough, and after a moment, while Alex lay holding his breath, the Italian turned his attention again to his pipe.

“Now I am going to cut your cords,” Alex went on softly. “Be careful not to let your arms seem to be free.”

The foreman nodded.

“There,” announced Alex as the twine dropped from the prisoner’s wrists.

“Now, what shall we do? There is a door behind you into the cow-stable—the one I came in by. Suppose you work back towards it as far as you dare, then make a dash for it?”

“Good,” whispered the foreman over his shoulder. “But you get out first.”

“All right,” responded Alex, and immediately began moving backwards, feet first, as he had come.

Their escape was to be made more easy, however. At the moment from the house came a call. The man in the doorway stepped out to reply, and in an instant seeing the opportunity both Alex and the foreman were on their feet, and had darted out into the stable.

“Now for a sprint!” said the foreman.

“Or, say, suppose I hide here in the stable,” suggested Alex. “They don’t know of my being here. Then as soon as the way is clear I can get off in the opposite direction, and one of us would be sure to get away.”

“Good idea,” agreed the foreman. “All right, you—”

There came a loud cry from the barn, and instantly he was off, and Alex, darting back, crept low under a stall-box. As he did so the Italian dashed by and out, and uttered a second cry as he discovered the fleeing foreman. From the house came an answer, then a chorus of shouts that told the rest of the gang had joined in the chase.

Alex lay still until the last sound of pursuit had died away, then slipped forth, glanced sharply about, and dashed off for the woods in the direction of the river and the railroad bridge.

HELD IT OVER THE BULL’S-EYE, ALTERNATELY COVERING ANDUNCOVERING THE STREAM OF LIGHT.

The adventure was not yet over, however. Alex had almost reached the shelter of the trees, and was already congratulating himself on his safety, when suddenly from the opposite side of the clearing rose a shout of “De boy! De boy!” Glancing back in alarm he saw several of the Poles cutting across in an endeavor to head him off.

Onward he dashed with redoubled speed. With a final rush he reached the trees ahead of them, and plunging into the friendly gloom, darted on recklessly, diving between trunks, and over logs and bushes like a young hare.

A quarter of a mile Alex ran desperately, then halted, panting, to listen. Not a sound save his own breathing broke the stillness. Surely, thought Alex, I haven’t shaken them off that easily, unless they were already winded from their chase after—

Off to the right rose a shrill whistle. From immediately to the left came an answer. Then he understood. They were heading him off from the railroad and the river spur.

Alex’s heart sank, and momentarily he stood, in despair. Then suddenly he thought of the old brick-yard. It lay less than a mile north, and was full of good hiding-places! If he could reach it ahead of them, what with the daylight now rapidly failing, he would almost certainly be safe. At once he turned, and was off with renewed vigor.

And finally, utterly exhausted, but cheered through not having heard a sound from his pursuers for the last quarter mile, Alex stumbled into the clearing of the abandoned brick-works, ran low for a distanceunder cover of a long drying-frame, and scrambling through the low doorway of an old tile oven, threw himself upon the floor, done out, but confident that at last he was safe.

As he lay panting and listening, Alex turned his thoughts again to the train. Had the foreman made his escape? With so many promptly after him, it seemed scarcely probable. Then the saving of Twenty was still upon his own shoulders!

And there was little time in which to do anything, for she was due at 7:50, and it must be after 7 already!

Could he not reach the switch itself, and throw it back just before the train was due? That would be surest. And in the rapidly growing darkness there should be at least a fair chance of getting by any of the foreigners who might be on the watch.

Determinedly Alex gathered himself together, and crawled back to the entrance. Near the doorway he stumbled over something. “Oh, our old switch lantern!” he exclaimed, holding it to the light, and momentarily paused to examine it. For it had been placed under cover there the previous fall by himself and some other boys, after being used in a game of “hold-up” on the brick-yard siding.

“Just as we left it,” said Alex to himself, and was about to put it aside, when he paused with a start, studied it sharply a moment, then uttered a cry, shook it to see that it still contained oil, and scrambled hurriedly forth, taking it with him.

A moment he paused to listen, then set off on therun for the old yard semaphore, dimly discernible a hundred yards distant. Reaching it, he caught the lantern in his teeth, and ran up the ladder hand over hand, clambered onto the little platform, and turned toward the town.

Yes! Through the trees the station lamps were plainly visible! With a cry of delight Alex at once set about carrying out his inspiration. Quickly trimming the lantern wick, he lit it, with his handkerchief tied it to the semaphore arm, and turned it so that the bull’s-eye pointed toward the station.

Then, catching off his cap, he held it over the bull’s-eye, and alternately covering and uncovering the stream of light, began flashing across the darkness signals that corresponded with the telegraphic call of the Bixton station.

“BX,” he flashed. “BX, BX, BX!

“BX, BX—AW (his private sign)! BX, BX, AW!”

The station lights streamed on.

“Qk! Qk! BX, BX!” called Alex.

His right hand tired, and he changed to the left. “Surely they should be on the lookout for me, and see it,” he told himself. “For when I go fishing I am always home at—”

One of the station lights disappeared. Breathlessly Alex repeated his call, and waited. Was it merely some one pulling down a blind, or—

The light appeared again, then disappeared, several times in quick succession, and Alex uttered a joyful“Hurrah!” and turning his whole attention to the lamp, that the signals might be perfect, began flashing across the night his thrilling message of warning:

“THE FOREIGN TRACK HANDS—”

From a short distance down the spur came a shout. Startled, Alex hesitated. Again came a cry, then the sound of swiftly running feet.

He had been discovered! In a panic Alex turned and began to scramble down the ladder. But sharply he pulled up. No! That would be playing the coward! He must complete the message! And bravely choking down his terror, he climbed back onto the platform, and while the running feet and threatening cries came nearer every moment, continued his message:

“HANDS ARE—”

“Stop dat! Queek! I shoot! I shoot!” cried the voice of Big Tony, immediately below him. Again for a moment Alex quailed, then again went bravely on, while the old semaphore rocked and swayed as the enraged Italian threw himself at it and scrambled up toward him.

“GOING TO RUN—”

With a plunge the big trackman reached up and caught him by the ankle, wrenched him back from the lantern, and clambered up beside him. Catching the light off the semaphore arm, he thrust it into the boy’s face. “O ho!” he exclaimed. “So it you, da station-man boy, eh? An’ you da one whata help Hennessy get away, eh?

“An’ whata now you do wid dis?” he demanded fiercely, indicating the lantern.

“If you can’t guess, I’m not going to tell you,” declared Alex stoutly, though his heart was in his throat.

“O ho! You wonta, eh? Alla right,” said Tony softly through his teeth, and in a grim silence more terrifying than the threat of his words, he blew the lantern out, tossed it to the ground, and proceeding to clamber down, grasped Alex by the leg and dragged him down after.

But help was at hand. As they reached the ground a second tall figure loomed up suddenly out of the darkness. “Who dat?” demanded Big Tony. The answer was a rush, and a blow, and with a throttled cry of terror the big track worker went to the ground in a heap, the foreman on top of him.

Alex uttered a cry of joy, then with quick wit, while the two men engaged in a terrific struggle, he darted in search of the lantern, found it, fortunately unbroken, and in a trice was again running up the semaphore ladder.

As he once more reached his post on the platform the big Italian succeeded in breaking from the foreman, scrambled to his feet, and dashed off across the brick-yard. “Come down, Alex. It’s all over,” called Hennessy, gathering himself up. “And now we’ve got to hike right off, a mile a minute, for the main-line if we are to stop that train. They ran me so far I only just got back. Unless Twenty’s late we—”

“I am trying to stop her from up here,” interrupted Alex, relighting the lantern.

“Up there? What do you mean?” exclaimed the foreman.

“Signalling father at the station, with the telegraph code,” said Alex as he replaced the lantern on the semaphore arm. “Come on up.”

“Al,” said the incredulous foreman as he reached the platform, “can you really do it?”

“I had it going when that Italian stopped me. Watch.”

But Alex was doomed again to interruption. Scarcely had he begun once more flashing forth the telegraph call of the station when from the direction of the woods came a shout, several answers, then a rush of feet.

“Some of the Poles!” exclaimed the foreman. “But you go ahead, Al, and I’ll see that they don’t get up to interfere,” he added, determinedly.

The running figures came dimly into view below. “If any of you idiots come up here I’ll crack your heads!” shouted Hennessy, warningly.

“I’ve got the station again,” announced Alex. “Now it will take only a few minutes.”

One of the men below reached the ladder, and, looking up, shouted threateningly: “Stop dat! Stop dat, or I shoot!”

“Go ahead, Al,” said the foreman, looking down. “He hasn’t a gun.” But even as he spoke there was a flash and a report, and a thud just over Alex’s head.

“Yes, stop! Stop!” cried the foreman. “Stop. They’ve got us. No use being foolhardy.”

Leaning over, he addressed the men below. “Look here,” he said, persuasively, “can’t you fellows see that Big Tony is only using you to make trouble for me, because I fired him for being drunk? As I told you at first, everything he has said is untrue. Why won’t you believe it?”

The men were silent a moment, then one of them addressed Alex. “Boy, is dat true?”

“Every word of it,” said Alex, earnestly. “And I would have heard all about it at the station if they had intended cutting your wages, or bringing others here to take your places.”

“Den I believe it,” said the Pole.

The man with the pistol returned it to his pocket. “I am sorry I shoot,” he said.

“And now, what about the train?” inquired the foreman, quickly. “Did you touch the switch?”

In the look of guilt the foreigners turned on one another he saw the alarming answer. Whipping out his watch, he held it to the light.

“Alex,” he said, sharply, “you have just ten minutes to catch that train at the Junction! If you don’t get her she’s gone! There’s not time now to get down to the main line from here to flag her!”

Before he had ceased speaking Alex had his cap over the light and was once more flashing an urgent “BX! BX! BX!” while below the foreigners lookedon, now with an anxiety equal to that of the two on the tower.

“BX! Qk! Qk!” flashed the lantern.

The station light disappeared. “Got ’em!” cried Alex.

“Just tell them first to stop Twenty at the Junction,” said the foreman.

“Right,” responded Alex, and while the rest watched in profound silence, he signaled:

“STOP NUMBER 20 AT JUNCTION. SPUR SWITCH IS THROWN. GOT IT?”

As Alex read off the promptly flashed “OK,” the foreman sprang to his feet and gave vent to a joyful hurrah of relief that echoed again in the clearing and woods. Then, as Alex recovered the lantern, he caught him under one arm, carried him down the ladder, and there, despite his objections, hoisted him to the shoulders of two of the now enthusiastic Poles, and all set off jubilantly down the spur for the switch, and home.

And an hour later Alex’s father and mother, anxiously awaiting him at the station, discovered his approach carried at the head of a sort of triumphal procession of the entire gang of trackmen.

When Alex’s father the following morning reported the occurrence to the chief despatcher, that official called Alex to the wire to congratulate him personally.

“That was a fine bit of work, my boy,” he clicked.“I see you are cut out for the right kind of railroader. If fourteen wasn’t a bit too young I would give you a job on the spot. But we will give you a start just as soon as we can, you may be sure.”

IIAN ORIGINAL EMERGENCY BATTERY

One afternoon two weeks later Alex returned from school to find his father and mother hurriedly packing his suit-case.

“Why, what’s up, Dad?” he exclaimed.

“You are off for Watson Siding in twenty minutes, to take charge of the station there nights,” said his father. “The regular man is ill, the despatcher had no one else to send, and asked for you, and of course I told him you’d be delighted.”

“Delighted? Well, rather!” cried Alex, gleefully, and throwing his school-books into a corner, he dashed up-stairs to change his clothes, hastily ate a lunch his mother had prepared, and fifteen minutes later was hurrying for the depot.

Needless to say Alex was a proud boy when shortly after seven o’clock he reached Watson Siding, and at once took over the station for the night. For it is not often a lad of fourteen is given such responsibility, even though brought up on the railroad.

Alex was soon to learn that the responsibility was a very real one. The first night passed pleasantly enough, but early the succeeding night, following a day of rain, a heavy spring fog set in, and shortly beforeten o’clock Alex found, to his alarm, that he could not make himself heard on the wire by the despatcher. Evidently there was a heavy escape of current between them, because of the dampness.

Again the despatcher called, again Alex sought to interrupt him, failed, and gave it up. “Now I am in for trouble,” he said in dismay. “If anything should—”

From apparently just without came a low, ominous rumble, then a crash. Alex started to his feet and ran to the window. He could see nothing but fog, and hastily securing a lantern, went out onto the station platform.

As he closed the door there was a second terrific crash, from the darkness immediately opposite, and a rain of stones rattling against iron.

“The bank above the siding!” cried Alex, and springing to the tracks, he dashed across, and with an exclamation brought up before a mound of earth six feet high over the siding rails.

As he gazed Alex felt his heart tighten. The westbound Sunset Express was due to take the siding in less than half an hour, to await the Eastern Mail, and at once he saw that if the engineer misjudged the distance in the fog, and ran onto the siding at full speed, there would be a terrible calamity.

And suppose the cars were thrown onto the main line track, and the Mail crashed into them! And, apparently, he could not reach the despatcher, to give warning of her danger!

What could he do to stop them? Helplessly Alex looked at the lantern in his hand. Its light was smothered by the fog within ten feet of him.

Running back to the operating room he seized the key and once more sought to attract the attention of the despatcher. It was useless. The despatcher did not hear him. He sank back in his chair, sick with dread.

But he must attempt something! Determinedly he sprang to his feet. A lantern was useless. Then why not a fire? A big fire on the track? Hurrah! That was it! But—he gazed at the coal box, and thought of the rain soaked wood outside, and his heart sank. Then came remembrance of the big woodshed at the farm-house where he boarded, three hundred yards away, and in a moment he had recovered the lantern, and was out, and off through the darkness, running desperately.

On arriving at the house Alex found all in silence, and the family retired, but without a moment’s hesitation he threw himself at the front door, pounding upon it with his fists.

It seemed an age before a window was raised. “Mr. Moore,” he cried, “there has been a landslide in the cut at the station, and there is danger of the Sunset running into it. May I have wood from the shed to make a fire on the track to stop her?”

“Gracious! Certainly, certainly!” exclaimed the voice from the window. “And the boys and I will be down in a minute to help you. You run around and be pulling out some kindling.”

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