XA RUNAWAY TRAIN
“Hurry in, Ward, or the lamp will be out!”
Alex, who had now been night operator at Foothills six months, closed the station door behind him, and laughingly flicked his rain-soaked cap toward the day operator, whom he had just come to relieve.
“Is it raining that hard? You look like a drowned rat for sure,” said Saunders as he reached for his hat and coat. “Why didn’t you stay at home, and ’phone down? I would have been glad to work for you—not.”
“Wait until you are out in it, and you’ll not laugh,” declared Alex, struggling out of his dripping ulster. “It is the worst storm this spring.”
“And wait until you see the fun you are going to have with the wire to-night, and you’ll not indulge in an over-abundance of smiles. I haven’t had a dot from the despatcher since six o’clock. Had to get clearance for Nineteen around by MQ, and now we’ve lost them.”
“There is someone now,” said Alex, as the instruments began clicking.
“It’s somebody west. IC, I think. Yes; Indian Canyon,” said Saunders, pausing as he turned to thedoor. “What is he after? He certainly can’t make himself heard by X if we can’t.”
“X, X, X,” rapidly repeated the sounder, calling Exeter, the despatching office. “X, X, X! Qk!”
Alex and Saunders looked at one another with a start. Several times the operator at Indian Canyon repeated the call, more urgently, then as hurriedly began calling Imken, the next station east of him.
“There must be something wrong,” declared Alex, stepping to the instrument table. Saunders followed him.
“IM, IM, IC, Qk! Qk!” clicked the sounder.
“IM, IM—”
“I, I, IM,” came the response, and the two operators at Foothills listened closely.
“A wild string of loaded ore cars just passed here,” buzzed the instruments. “Were going forty miles an hour. They’ll be down there in no time. If there’s anything on the main line get it off. I can’t raise X for orders.”
The two listening operators exchanged glances of alarm, and anxiously awaited Imken’s response. For a moment the sounder made a succession of inarticulate dots, then ticked excitedly, “Yes, yes! OK! OK!” and closed.
“What did he mean by that?” asked Saunders beneath his breath. “That there was something on the main track there?”
“Perhaps a switch engine cutting out ore empties. We’ll know in a minute.”
The wire again snapped open, and whirred, “I got it off—the yard engine! Just in time! Here they come now! Like thunder!
“There—they’re by! Are ten of them. All loaded. Going like an avalanche. Lucky thing the yard engine was—”
Sharply the operator at Indian Canyon broke in to hurriedly call Terryville, the next station east.
“But the runaways won’t pass Terryville, will they?” Alex exclaimed. “Won’t the grades between there and Imken pull them up?”
Saunders shook his head. “Ten loaded ore cars travelling at that rate would climb those grades.”
“Then they will be down here—and in twenty or thirty minutes! And there’s the Accommodation coming from the east,” said Alex rapidly, “and we can’t reach anyone to stop her!”
Saunders stared. “That’s so. I’d forgotten her. But what can we do?” he demanded helplessly.
Terryville answered, and in strained silence they awaited his report. “Yes, they are coming. I thought it was thunder.
“Here they are now,” he added an instant after.
“They’re past!”
“They’ll reach us! What shall we do?” gasped Saunders.
Alex turned from the table, and as the Indian Canyon operator hastily called Jakes Creek, the last station intervening, began striding up and down the room, thinking rapidly.
If they only had more battery—could make the current in the wire stronger! Immediately on the thought came remembrance of the emergency battery he had made the previous year at Watson Siding. He spun about toward the office water-cooler. But only to utter an exclamation of disappointment. This cooler was of tin—of course useless for such a purpose.
Hurriedly he began casting about for a substitute. “Billy, think of something we can make a big battery jar of!” he cried. “To strengthen the wire!”
“A battery? But what would we do for bluestone? I used the last yesterday!”
Alex returned to the table, and threw himself hopelessly into the chair.
At the moment the Jakes Creek operator answered his call, and received the message of warning.
“Say,” said Saunders, “perhaps some of the other fellows on the wire have bluestone and the other stuff, and could make a battery!”
Alex uttered a shout. “That’s it!” he cried, and springing to the telegraph key, as soon as the wire closed, called Indian Canyon. “Have you any extra battery material there?” he sent quickly.
“No. Why—”
Abruptly Alex cut him off and called Imken. He also responded in the negative. But from Terryville came a prompt “Yes. Why—”
“Have you one of those big stoneware water-coolers there?”
“Yes, but wh—”
“Do you know how to make a battery?”
“No.”
“Well, listen—”
The instruments had suddenly failed to respond. A minute passed, and another. Five went by, and Alex sank back in the chair in despair. Undoubtedly the storm had broken the wire somewhere.
“Everything against us!” he declared bitterly. “And the runaways will be down here now in fifteen or twenty minutes. What can we do?”
“I can’t think of anything but throwing the west switch,” said Saunders. “And loaded, and going at the speed they are, they’ll make a mess of everything on the siding. But that’s the only way I can think of stopping them.”
“If there was any way a fellow could get aboard the runaways—”
Alex broke off sharply. Would it not be possible to board the runaway train as he and Jack had boarded the engine on the day of the forest fire? Say, from a hand-car?
He started to his feet. “Billy, get me a lantern, quick!
“I’m going for the section-boss, and see if we can’t board the runaways from the hand-car,” he explained as he caught up and began struggling into his coat. “I did that once at Bixton—boarded an engine.”
“Board it! How?”
“Run ahead of it, and let it catch us.”
Saunders sprang for the lantern, lit it, and catching it up, Alex was out the door, and off across the tracks through the still pouring rain for the lights of the section foreman’s house. Darting through the gate, he ran about to the kitchen door, and without ceremony flung it open. The foreman was at the table, at his supper. He started to his feet.
“Joe, there is a wild ore train coming down from the Canyon,” explained Alex breathlessly, “and the wire has failed east so we can’t clear the line. Couldn’t we get the jigger out and board the runaways by letting them catch us?”
An instant the section-boss stared, then with the promptitude of the old railroader seized his cap, exclaiming “Go ahead!” and together they dashed out to the gate, and across the tracks in the direction of the tool-house.
“Where did they start from? How many cars?” asked the foreman as they ran.
“Indian Canyon. Ten, and all loaded.”
The section-man whistled. “They’ll be going twenty-five or thirty miles an hour. We will be taking a big chance. But if we can catch them just over the grade beyond the sand-pits I guess we can do it. That will have slackened them.
“Here we are.”
As they halted before the section-house door the boss uttered a cry. “I haven’t the key!”
Alex swung the lantern about, and discovered a pile of ties. “Smash it in,” he suggested, droppingthe lantern. One on either side they caught up a tie, swayed back, and hurled it forward. There was a crash, and the door swung open.
Catching up the lantern, they dashed in, threw from the hand-car its collection of tools, placed the light upon it, ran it out, and swung it onto the rails.
“Do you hear them?” asked Alex as he threw off his coat. The foreman dropped to his knees and placed his ear to the rails, listened a moment, and sprang to his feet. “Yes, they’re coming! Come on!
“Run her a ways first.” They pushed the car ahead, quickly had it on the run, and springing aboard, seized the handles, and one on either side, began pumping up and down with all their strength.
As they neared the station the door opened and Saunders ran to the edge of the platform. “The wire came O K and I just heard Z pass Thirty-three,” he shouted, “but couldn’t make them hear me. He reported the superintendent’s—”
They whirled by, and the rest was lost.
“Did you catch it?” shouted Alex above the roar of the car.
“I think he meant,” shouted the foreman as he swung up and down, “superintendent’s car ... attached to the Accommodation ... heard he was coming ... makes it bad.... We need every minute QQQ and Old Jerry ... the engineer ... ’ll be breaking his neck ... to bring her ... through on time!
“Do you hear ... runaways yet?”
“No.”
THEY WHIRLED BY, AND THE REST WAS LOST.
THEY WHIRLED BY, AND THE REST WAS LOST.
On they rushed through the darkness, bobbing up and down like jumping-jacks, the little car rumbling and screeching, and bounding forward like a live thing.
The terrific and unaccustomed strain began to tell on Alex. Perspiration broke out on his forehead, his muscles began to burn, and his breath to shorten.
“How much farther ... to the grade?” he panted.
“Here it is now. Six hundred yards to the top.”
As they felt the resistance of the incline Alex began to weaken and gasp for breath. Grimly, however, he clenched his teeth, and fought on; and at last the section-man suddenly ceased working, and announced “Here we are. Let up.” With a gasp of relief Alex dropped to a sitting position on the side of the car.
“There it comes,” said the foreman a moment after, and listening Alex heard a sound as of distant thunder.
“How long before they’ll be here?”
“Five minutes, perhaps. And now,” said the section-boss, “just how are we going to work this thing?”
“Well, when we boarded the engine at Bixton,” explained Alex, getting his breath, “we simply waited at the head of a grade until it was within about twohundred yards of us, then lit out just as hard as we could go, and as she bumped us, we jumped.”
“All right. We’ll do the same.”
As the foreman spoke, the rain, which had decreased to a drizzle, entirely ceased, and a moment after the moon appeared. He and Alex at once turned toward the station.
Just beyond was a long, black, snake-like object, shooting along the rails toward them.
The runaway!
On it swept over the glistening irons, the rumble quickly increasing to a roar. With an echoing crash it flashed by the station, and on.
Nearer it came, the cars leaping and writhing; roaring, pounding, screeching.
“Ready!” warned the foreman, springing to the ground behind the hand-car. Alex joined him, and gazing over their shoulder, watching, they braced themselves for the shove.
The runaways reached the incline, and swept on upward. Anxiously the two watched as they waited. Would the incline check them?
“I don’t see that they’re slowing,” Alex said somewhat nervously.
“It won’t tell until they are half way up the grade,” declared the section-man. “But, get ready. We can’t wait to see.
“Go!” he cried. Running the car forward, they leaped aboard, and again were pumping with all their might.
THE ENGINEER STEPPED DOWN FROM HIS CAB TO GRASP ALEX’SHAND.
THE ENGINEER STEPPED DOWN FROM HIS CAB TO GRASP ALEX’SHAND.
For a few moments the roar behind them seemed to decrease. Then suddenly it broke on them afresh, and the head of the train swept over the rise.
“Now pull yourself together for an extra spurt when I give the word,” shouted the foreman, who manned the forward handles, and faced the rear, “then turn about and get ready to jump.”
Roaring, screaming, clanking, the runaways thundered down upon them.
“Hit it up!” cried the section-man. With every muscle tense they whirled the handles up and down like human engines.
“Let go! Turn about!”
Alex sprang back from the flying handles, and faced about. The foreman edged by them, and joined him.
Nearer, towering over them, rushed the leading ore car.
“Be sure and jump high and grab hard,” shouted the foreman.
“Ready!Jump!”
With a bound they went into the air, and the great car flung itself at them. Both reached the top of the end-board with their outstretched hands, and gripped tenaciously. As they swung against it, it seemed the car would shake them off. But clinging desperately, they got their feet on the brake-beam, and in another moment had tumbled headlong within.
Alex sank down on the rough ore in a heap, gasping. The seasoned section-man, however, was on his feet and at the nearby hand-brake in a twinkle.Tightening it, he scrambled back over the bounding car to the next.
Ten minutes later, screeching and groaning as though in protest, the runaways came to a final stop.
Another ten minutes, and the engineer of the Accommodation suddenly threw on his air as he rounded a curve to discover a lantern swinging across the rails ahead of him.
“Hello there, Jerry! Say, you’re not good enough for a passenger run,” said the section foreman humorously as he approached the astonished engineer. “We’re going to put you back pushing ore cars. There’s a string here just ahead of you.”
When he had explained the engineer stepped down from his cab to grasp Alex’s hand. “Oh, it was more the foreman than I,” Alex declared. “I couldn’t have worked it alone.”
A moment later the superintendent appeared. “Why, let me see,” he exclaimed on seeing Alex. “Are you not the lad I helped fix up an emergency battery at Watson Siding last spring? And who has been responsible for two or three other similar clever affairs?
“My boy, young as you are, my name’s not Cameron if I don’t see that you have a try-out at the division office before the month is out,” he announced decisively. “We need men there with a head like yours.”
THE WAIT WAS NOT LONG.
THE WAIT WAS NOT LONG.
XITHE HAUNTED STATION
True to the division superintendent’s promise, a month following the incident of the runaway ore train, Alex was transferred to the despatching office at Exeter. It was the superintendent himself who on the evening of his arrival presented him for duty to the chief night despatcher; and a few minutes later, having been initiated into the mysteries of directing and recording the movements of trains, Alex was shown to his wire.
“It is a short line—only as far as the Midway freight junction,” the chief explained; “but if you make good here, you will soon be given something bigger.
“And, by the way, take your time in sending to the operator at the Junction,” he added. “He’s a rather poor receiver, but was the only man we could get to go there, on account of that so-called ‘haunting’ business.”
“Oh, has the ‘ghost’ appeared there again?” inquired Alex with interest. For the “haunting” of the Midway Junction station had been a subject of much discussion on the main-line wire a few weeks back.
“Yes, two nights ago. And like the four men there before him, the night man left next morning. It is a strange affair. But I think the man there now will stick.”
At midnight Alex called Midway Junction, and sent the order starting north the last freight for the night. Fifteen minutes later the operator at MJ suddenly called, and clicked, “That ‘Thing’ is here again. It’s walking up and down the platform just outside.
“There it is now!” he sent excitedly. “And twice I’ve jumped out, and the moment I opened the door it was gone!
“There it is again!
“Now it’s on the roof!” he announced a few moments after. “Rolling something down—just like the other chaps said! Gee, I’m no coward, but this thing is getting my nerve.”
Though himself now considerably excited, Alex sought to reassure the MJ man. “But you know there must be some simple explanation to it,” he sent. “No one really believes in ghosts these days. Just don’t allow yourself to be frightened.”
“Yes, I know,” ticked the sounder. “That’s what I told myself before I came. It seems vastly different, though, right here on the spot, and all by yourself, and it dark as pitch outside. If there was only someone else—”
The wire abruptly closed, a moment remained so, then suddenly opened, and in signals so excitedlymade that Alex could only guess at some of them, he read: “Did you hear that? Did you get that?”
“Hear what? The wire was closed to me.”
“Clooossclosd! Goed 6eavns! Whiiieeeeee Whyyy—” By an effort the frightened operator at the other end of the wire pulled himself together, and sent more plainly:
“When I stopped that time someone broke in here and said: ‘Ha ha! Hi hi! Look behind! Look beh—’”
Again the wire closed, again opened.
“Theeeereit waaawas again!”
Alex called the chief. “Mr. Allen, that ‘ghost,’ or whatever it is—”
Once more the instruments broke out in an almost inarticulate whirr, and with difficulty together they picked out the words: “... sounds in the next room ... yelling and groaning just other side partition ... whispering at me through a knot-hole ... an eye looking at me ... stand it any longer ... right now! G. B. (Good-by)!”
Grasping the key, the chief sent quickly, “Look here! Wait a moment! You there?”
There was no response. Again he called, and gave it up. “No use. He’s off like the rest of them. Well, I’m not sure I blame him. There must be something wrong. But it beats me!”
As he was about to move away the chief turned back and handed Alex a letter. “I overlooked giving it to you when you came in,” he explained.
“From Jack Orr!” said Alex with pleasure. A moment later he uttered a second exclamation, again read a paragraph, and with a delighted “The very thing!” hastened after the chief.
“Mr. Allen, this letter is from a friend of mine, a first class commercial operator, who wants to get into railroad telegraphing, and who would be just the man to send to MJ.
“He is a regular amateur detective, and has all kinds of pluck,” Alex went on, and in a few words recounted Jack’s clearing up of the cash-box mystery at Hammerton, the part he played in the breaking up of the band of Black-Handers, and his resourcefulness when the wires were cut at Oakton.
The chief smiled and reached for a message blank. “Thank you, Ward,” he said. “That’s the man we want exactly. How soon can he come?”
“He says he could take a place with us right away, sir.”
“Good. We’ll have him there if possible to-morrow evening,” decided the chief, writing.
Needless to say Jack was delighted when early the following morning at Hammerton he received the telegraphed appointment to the station at Midway. At once resigning at the Hammerton commercial office, he hurried home, by noon was on the train, and arrived at Midway Junction at 7 o’clock.
Entering the telegraph room, he called Exeter. “Well, here I am, Al,” he ticked, when Alex himselfresponded. “And I’m ever so much obliged to you, old boy, for getting me the position.”
“Don’t mention it. And anyway,” responded Alex, “you had better save your thanks until you learn just what you are up against there. I didn’t have time to write—but the former man left last night, simply on the run.” And continuing, Alex explained.
“So you see, you were called in as a sort of expert.”
“Hi,” laughed Jack. “Well, I’ll do the best I can. But probably the ‘ghost’ won’t show up again now for a month or so?”
“On the contrary, it is more likely to return soon,” clicked Alex. “That has been the way every time so far—three or four appearances in succession. So you had better prepare for business at once.”
Alex’s prediction was realized two nights later. A few minutes after the last freight had gone north, and Jack had been left entirely alone in the big station, he heard light footfalls outside on the platform. Going to the window, he peered out into the darkness, and seeing nothing, turned to the door. As he opened it the footsteps ceased.
Surprised, Jack returned and secured a lantern, and passed out and down the long platform. From end to end it was deserted and silent.
He returned to the office. Scarcely had he closed the door when again came the sound of footsteps.
Jack paused and listened. They were light and quick, like those of a woman—up and down, up anddown, now pausing a moment, now briskly resuming, as though the walker was anxiously waiting for someone.
On tiptoe Jack went back to the door, suddenly flung it open and flashed the lantern. As quickly the steps had ceased. Not a moving object was to be seen.
Immensely puzzled, Jack withdrew, and stepped to the instrument table. As he reached toward the telegraph key from almost directly overhead broke out a thundering rumble, as of a heavy wooden ball bounding down the roof.
Catching up the lantern, he once more rushed forth. Immediately, as before, all was silence. Nervous at last, in spite of himself, Jack hesitated, then resolutely set forth on a complete round of the station and freight shed, throwing the lantern light upon the roof, through the dusty windows, and into every nook and corner. Nowhere was there a sign of life.
He returned. The moment he closed the office door the rumble broke out afresh.
Jack sprang to the instruments, called Exeter, and sent rapidly, “Al, that ‘ghost’ is here, and in spite of me, is beginning to get on my—”
The line opened, then sharply clicked: “Look behind! Look behind!”
With a cry Jack was on his feet, and had started for the door. Half way he pulled up, with a determined effort controlled his panic, and returned to the key.“I suppose you didn’t hear that, Al?” he asked.
“Not a letter.”
“Well, good gracious, what—Oh!”
A cold chill shot up Jack’s back. The cause was a low, long-drawn moan, apparently from just the other side of the wooden partition, in the freight room. Again it came, then suddenly ceased to give place to a low, tense whispering immediately behind him. Jack sprang about, and leaped to his feet. Within touch of him was a large knot-hole.
And was there not an eye at it? Peering at him?
He sprang toward it.
No! Nothing! The whispering, too, had ceased.
Thoroughly shaken, Jack again turned for his hat—and again faltered between the chair and the door.
“You there, Jack?” clicked Alex. “Hang on, old boy. Keep your nerve.”
Clenching his teeth and gripping his hands Jack regained control of himself, and returned to the instruments. “Thanks, Al,” he sent. “I was about all in, sure enough. But I am OK again now, and going to stick it out unless ‘they,’ or ‘it,’ or whatever it is, lugs me off bodily.”
“That’s the talk,” said Alex encouragingly. “I knew you’d make good. Just keep on telling yourself there must be some natural explanation somehow, and you’ll win out OK.”
“Yes, that’s my cue—‘a natural explanation somehow,’” Jack repeated to himself the followingafternoon as he left the big railroad boarding-house, a half mile from the station, and set out for a walk, to think things over.
“And I believe the starting point is that talk on the wire. That certainly is the work of an operator.
“Now, why is it heard only at this office?
“Say! Could it be on the loop? A cut-off arrangement on the station loop?
“I’ll go down and look into that right now,” declared Jack, and turning about, headed for the station.
The platforms and the big freight shed were alive with the bustle of the freight handlers, loading and unloading cars, trundling boxes and bales from one part of the platform to another and in and out of the big shed; and unnoticed, Jack discovered where the wires from the pole passed in under the roof. Entering the shed, he proceeded carefully to follow their course along the beams toward the telegraph room. He had almost reached the partition, and was beginning to think his conclusion perhaps too hastily drawn, when a few feet from the wall, where the light from an opposite window struck the roof, he caught two unmistakable gleams of copper. With a suppressed cry he made his way directly beneath, and at once saw that the insulation of both wires of the loop had been cut through.
“Right! I was right!” exclaimed Jack jubilantly beneath his breath. “And I can see in a minute how it’s done. Whoever it is, simply gets up there somehow, and ticks one wire against the other—and ofcourse the instruments inside click as they are alternately cut off and cut on, and the rest of the line is not affected!
“Good! I’m on the trail.
“But what can be the object of it all?”
Jack turned to look about him, and as in answer the lettering of a nearby box caught his eye:
“VALUABLE! HANDLE WITH CARE!”
“Freight stealing! Could that be it?”
On reporting for duty that evening Jack called Alex on the wire and asked if any freight had recently been reported missing from the Midway depot.
“No, but I understand some valuable stuff has been mysteriously disappearing at Claxton and Eastfield,” was the reply.
Jack was considerably disappointed; but before giving up this line of investigation he determined to study the freight records of the station, to discover whether any freight for the two places mentioned by Alex had passed through Midway. A few minutes’ search produced the record of a valuable shipment of silk to Claxton. A moment later he found another.
When presently he found still others, and several to Eastfield, he hurried back to the wire and calling Alex asked the nature of the goods lost track of at those stations, and breathlessly awaited the reply.
“I’ll ask,” said Alex—“Silverware and silk. Mostly silk.”
Jack uttered a shout. “Hurrah, Alex,” he whirred,“I’m on the track of our friend the ‘ghost.’ But keep mum.
“And now the question is,” he told himself, leaning back in his chair, “how do they work it?”
The answer to the query came very unexpectedly as Jack left the station office at daybreak. Strolling down the front platform, where several men already were at work unloading a car, he inadvertently got in the way of a loaded truck. On the sudden cry of the truckman he sprang aside, tripped, and fell headlong against a large, square packing-case. As he did so, he distinctly heard from within a sharp “Oh!”
Only with difficulty did Jack avoid crying out, and scrambling to his feet, hastened away, that his discovery might not be suspected by the man in the box.
The whole mystery was now clear. The “ghost” was a freight thief, who had himself shipped, in a box, to some point which would necessitate his being transferred and held over night at the freight junction. He played “ghost” either to frighten the operator away, or to lead to the belief that any noises overheard were caused by “spirits,” then overhauled the valuable freight in the shed, took what he wanted with him into his own box (which supposedly he could open and close from the inside), and was shipped away with it the following morning. The rifled packages, carefully re-sealed, also went on to their several destinations, and the blame of the theft was laid elsewhere.
Jack was not long in deciding upon his next move.Coming down from the boarding-house before the sheds had been closed that afternoon, he noted where the box containing the unsuspected human freight had been placed, and selecting a window at the far end of the shed, seized a favorable moment to quietly loosen its catch.
It was near midnight, and Jack was once more the sole guardian of the station when he took the next step. And despite a certain nervousness, now that the exciting moment was at hand, he found considerable amusement in carrying it out.
It was nothing less than making up a dummy imitation of himself asleep on a cot in a corner of the telegraph room—as a precaution against the “ghost” peering within to learn the effect of his “haunting.”
In making the dummy Jack used a brown fur cap for the head, a glimpse of which under an old hat looked remarkably like his own brown head. A collection of old overalls and record books carefully arranged formed the body, and his own shoes the feet.
When over the whole he threw his overcoat, the deception was complete. Chuckling at the subterfuge, Jack lost no time in slipping forth for the next step in his program.
Tiptoeing down the platform to the window whose latch he had loosened, he softly raised it, listened, and climbing through, dropped noiselessly to the floor. Feeling his way in the darkness amid the bales and boxes, he reached a nook behind a piano-case he hadpreviously noted, and settling down, prepared to await the appearance of the “spectre.”
The wait was not long. Scarcely had he made himself comfortable when from the direction of the big packing-case came the muffled sound of a screw-driver. Soon there followed a noise as of a board being softly shoved aside, then a step on the floor. Simultaneously there was the crackle of a match, and peering forth Jack momentarily made out a thin, clean-shaven face bending over a dark-lantern. But quickly he drew back with a start of fright as the man turned and came directly toward him.
A few feet away, however, the intruder halted, and again peering cautiously forth Jack discovered the lantern, closely muffled, on the floor, and beside it the dim figure of the man working with his hands at a plank. As Jack watched, wondering, the plank came up. Laying it aside carefully, the stranger stepped down into the opening, recovered the lantern, and disappeared.
“Now what under the sun is he up to?” exclaimed Jack to himself.
From the platform outside came the sound of footsteps. Jack started, listened a moment, and uttered a low cry of triumph. At last he understood.
“Well, what a dolt I am,” he laughed. “Why didn’t I think of that?
“The fellow is simply out beneath the platform, making sounds against the under side of the planking—probably with a stick!”
JACK MADE OUT A THIN, CLEAN-SHAVEN FACE BENDING OVERA DARK-LANTERN.
JACK MADE OUT A THIN, CLEAN-SHAVEN FACE BENDING OVERA DARK-LANTERN.
Jack was still chuckling delightedly over this simple explanation of the mysterious “walking” when the noise ceased, and the light of the lantern returned.
On reappearing, the unknown dragged after him a long pole. As Jack watched, puzzling over its use, the “spectre” hoisted the pole to his shoulder, cautiously picked his way amid the freight to the telegraph-room partition, and mounted a large box.
And then, while Jack fairly shook with internal laughter, he laboriously raised the pole, and began bumping and scraping it up and down the under side of the roof.
“Natural explanations!” bubbled Jack through his handkerchief. “And imagine anyone being frightened at it—beating it for home!”
When the man on the box had concluded his second “demonstration,” and descended, Jack had cause to thank himself for his precaution in leaving the dummy. Evidently puzzled at the silence in the operating-room, the man placed his eye to the knot-hole in the partition, and peered through. Muttering something in surprise, he listened closely, and looked again, while Jack looked on, shaking, and holding his mouth. Apparently at last satisfied that the “operator” within was asleep at his post, the intruder turned about and threw a shaft of light up toward the wires of the loop. Expectantly Jack waited. Had he also guessed right here?
But to his disappointment, after a brief debate with himself, the “ghost” muttered, “If he’s asleep,what’s the use?” And catching up the pole, he returned it to the hole in the floor, and replaced the plank.
Then, in final confirmation of Jack’s deductions, the intruder turned his attention to the packages of merchandise about him, speedily selected a box, and proceeded to open it.
For several hours the unsuspecting freight robber worked, frequently returning to the crack in the partition to assure himself that the negligent “operator” there was still in the land of dreams, each time to Jack’s great amusement. And finally, having secured all the booty he could handle, and having carefully closed the cases from which it had been taken, he moved the plunder into his own box, crept in after; again came the squeak of the screw-driver—and the robbery was complete.
At once Jack crept from his place of concealment, and back to the window; dropped out, and was off on the run for the boarding-house. And twenty minutes after he returned with the freight-house foreman and several freight hands, armed, and with lanterns.
Entering by the door, he led them directly to the robber’s box.
Sharply the foreman kicked at it, and called, “Hello, in there! Your little game is up, my friend! Come out!”
There was no response, and he drew his revolver. “Open up quick, or I’ll shoot!”
“Oh, all right! All right!” cried a muffled voice hurriedly.
The next moment the Midway Junction “ghost” stepped grimly from his box, and stood before them.
“But look here, youngster,” ticked the chief despatcher, who some minutes later followed Alex Ward on the wire in congratulating Jack on the solution of the mystery, “don’t you talk too much about this business, or first thing you know they’ll be taking you from the telegraph force, and adding you to the detective department. We want you ourselves.”
“No fear,” laughed Jack. “I might try a matter like this once in a while, but I want to work up as an operator, not a detective.”
“You’ll work up OK,” declared the chief.
XIIIN A BAD FIX, AND OUT
“Good evening, young man!”
With a start Jack turned toward the quietly opened door of the telegraph-room to discover a short, dark, heavily-bearded man, over whose eyes was pulled a soft gray hat.
“I suppose you don’t have many visitors at the station at this time of night?” said the stranger, entering.
“No; but you are quite welcome. Have a chair,” responded Jack courteously.
To the young operator’s surprise, the stranger drew the chair immediately before him, and seating himself, leaned forward secretively. “My name is Watts,” he began, in a low voice, “and I’ve come on business. For you are the lad who worked out that ‘ghost’ mystery here, and caused the capture of the freight robber, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” confirmed Jack, in further wonder.
“I thought so. I thought as much. I know a clever lad when I see one. And that was one of the cleverest bits of detective work I ever heard of,” declared Mr. Watts, with a winning smile. “If the railroad detectives had done their work as well, the whole freight-stealing gang would have been landed. As it was none of the rest were caught, were they?”
THE STRANGER DREW THE CHAIR IMMEDIATELY BEFORE HIM,AND SEATING HIMSELF, LEANED FORWARD SECRETIVELY.
THE STRANGER DREW THE CHAIR IMMEDIATELY BEFORE HIM,AND SEATING HIMSELF, LEANED FORWARD SECRETIVELY.
Instead of being pleased, the man’s flattery and ingratiating manner had ruffled Jack, and briefly he answered, “No, sir.”
“No. I knew that already. I was one of them myself.”
At this startling statement Jack stared. “I beg your pardon, sir?” he exclaimed.
“I was a member of that gang myself,” repeated Jack’s strange caller, again smiling broadly. “Don’t you think I look the part?” So saying, he pushed his hat back from his face.
Jack had no doubt of it. The small dark eyes were repellent with low cunning and greed. Instinctively he half turned to cast a glance toward the door. At once the smile disappeared, and the self-confessed law-breaker threw open his coat and significantly tapped the butt of a revolver. “No. You just sit still and listen,” he ordered sharply; but immediately again smiling, added, “though there needn’t be anything of this kind between two who are going to be good friends.
“Listen. What I called for was this: We want another man in the gang in place of Joe Corry—that is the man you caught.
“And we decided to invite you.”
Jack fairly caught his breath. “Why, you must be joking, or—”
“Or crazy, eh? Not quite. I was never moreserious in my life. Listen!” The speaker leaned forward earnestly. “After your spoiling our little ‘ghost’ game here the railroad people would never look for us starting in again at the same place. Never in the world—would they? And likewise, after your causing the capture of Corry, they would never in the world suspect you of working with us. Do you see the point?
“And all you would have to do would be to keep your ears closed, and not hear any noises out in the freight-room at night.”
“And for doing that,” concluded the law-breaker, “we will give you a regular salary of $25 a month. We’ll send it by mail, or bank it for you at any bank you name, and no one will know where it comes from.
“What do you say?”
Jack drew back indignantly. “Most certainly not,” he began. Then suddenly he hesitated.
As the freight-robber had said, the authorities had been unable to obtain a single clue to the whereabouts or identity of the remainder of the freight-stealing gang. Should he accept the man’s offer, came the thought, undoubtedly, sooner or later, he would be able to bring about the capture of every one of them.
Immediately following, however, there recurred to Jack one of his mother’s warnings—“that even the appearance of evil is dangerous, always, as well as wrong.”
But this would be quite different, Jack argued to himself—to cause the capture of criminals. Andwhat possible danger could there be in it? No one would believe for an instant that I would go into such a thing seriously, he told himself.
“All right, Mr. Watts,” he said aloud. “I’ll do it.”
“Good! It’s a go!” The freight-stealer spoke with satisfaction, and rising, grasped Jack’s hand. “I told you I knew a clever boy when I saw one—and that means a wise one.
“Well, that’s all there is to it, excepting the money matter. Where will we send that? Here?”
Jack responded with an effort. “Yes, you may as well send it to me here.”
“All right. Look for it at the end of the month,” said Watts, proceeding to the door.
“Remember, you are dumb. That’s all. Good night.”
Jack’s sense of honor was not long in convincing him that he had made a mistake in entering into such a bargain, even with a law-breaker. A dozen times during the days that followed he would have given anything to have been able to wipe out the agreement.
Unhappily this dissatisfaction with himself was to prove but a minor result of the misstep.
Shortly after he had relieved the day operator at the station a week later he was surprised by the appearance of one of the road detectives, and with him a stranger.
“Good evening, Orr,” said the detective in a peculiartone. “Let me make you acquainted with Sheriff Bates.”
Jack started, and glanced from one to the other. “Is there anything wrong?” he asked.
“Very slightly. Your little game is up, that’s all. Your older partner has given the thing away, and we have just found the watch in your room at the boarding-house,” announced the detective.
“Given the thing away? The watch? Why, what do you mean?” exclaimed Jack in alarm.
“Oh, come! Watts has squealed, and we found the watch hidden, just as he said, in the mattress of your bed up at the house.”
In a flash Jack saw it all. Watts’ offer had been a trap! A mere trap to get him into trouble, probably in revenge!
He sprang to his feet. “It’s not true! It’s false! Whatever it is, it’s false! I did see Watts, and he asked me to go in with them, but I only agreed so as to learn who they were, so we could capture them!”
To his utter dismay the two officers only laughed drily.
“No, no! That’s quite too thin,” declared the detective. “Read this.”
Blankly Jack took the letter, and read: