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

“Not for you,” answered the young fireman.

Both men regarded Trevor very keenly. Then they disappeared in the darkness. Ralph got the signal from the crossing’s switch tower to go ahead.

“Mr. Griscom,” he called out from his window.

“Why, where is he? – I don’t see him,” said Trevor in surprise. “I saw him out there not a minute ago.”

Ralph jumped to the ground in amazement. Nowhere in sight was Griscom; nowhere within hearing either, it seemed. Like the two rough fellows who had just approached the engine, Griscom has disappeared.

“Why, this is mysterious,” declared the young fireman in an anxious tone of concern. “Where can he have disappeared to?”

“I don’t like the looks of things,” spoke Trevor. “Something is wrong, Fairbanks,” he continued. “Look ahead there – I just saw a man on the cowcatcher.”

Now Ralph was more than mystified, he was alarmed. He seized a rod and jumped again to the ground. Sure enough, on the cowcatcher sat a man, huddled up comfortably.

“Who are you?” demanded Ralph, keeping his distance and eyeing the intruder suspiciously.

“Call me a tramp, if you like,” laughed the fellow.

“You must get off of that cowcatcher.”

“Who says so?”

“I do – against the rules. Come, move on.”

“You try to put me off, youngster,” drawled the fellow, with an ugly look in his eyes, “and I’ll use this,” and he drew a revolver from his pocket. “I want a free ride, and I intend to have it.”

“Will you make me stop at the tower to get you put off?” threatened Ralph.

“You won’t. There’s no one there but the towerman, and he can’t leave duty, and you won’t stop because you’re on a fast run. Take it easy, sonny. I don’t weigh much, and I won’t hurt your old locomotive.”

Ralph could do nothing better than submit to the imposition for the time being. He returned to the cab. His face was quite anxious. He called again to Griscom.

“I can’t understand it,” he said. “What can have befallen him? Keep a close watch here for a few minutes, will you?” he asked of his passenger.

Ralph took a lantern and ran down the tracks, flashed the light across the empty freights lining the tracks, and returned to the locomotive more anxious than ever.

“I can’t think what to do, Mr. Trevor,” he said.

The young man consulted his watch nervously.

“Tell you, Fairbanks, we mustn’t lose time. You can’t find your partner. Run to the tower and have the man there telegraph the circumstances and get someone to look for Griscom. We will have to run on without him.”

“Without Griscom!” cried Ralph. “Why, we cannot possibly secure a substitute this side of Dover.”

“Don’t need one – you know how to run an engine, don’t you?”

“In a fashion, probably, but I am worried about Mr. Griscom.”

“The towerman can attend to that. I don’t want to appear selfish, Fairbanks, but you must get this special through on time or get to some point where we can find another engineer.”

“I don’t like it,” said Ralph. “Without a fireman, too.”

“I’ll attend to that department,” said Trevor, briskly throwing off his coat. “Now then, the tower, your word to the operator there, and make up for lost time, Fairbanks, if you want to earn that hundred dollars.”

CHAPTER XI

KIDNAPPED

Ralph climbed to the engineer’s seat with many misgivings and very anxious concerning his missing partner. He knew how to run an engine, for the young fireman had watched Griscom at his duties, had studied every separate piece of machinery thoroughly, and more than once had relieved the veteran engineer for brief periods of time between stations.

“That was all well enough on a regular run,” thought Ralph, “but a special is a different thing.”

Then, coming to the switch tower, he called up to the operator there, who was at the open window. He explained hurriedly about the disappearance of Griscom. He also asked the towerman to telegraph ahead to Dover for a substitute engineer. The operator said he would have some men come down from the first station back on the route on a handcar to search for the missing rail-roader.

“Man on your cowcatcher there,” he called down as Ralph started up the engine.

“No time to bother with him now. Let him ride to Dover, if he wants to,” advised Trevor. “Now, Fairbanks, you to the throttle, me to the furnace. Just give me a word of direction when I need it, won’t you?”

But for his anxiety concerning his missing partner, the young fireman would have enjoyed the run of the next two hours immensely. There was a clear track – he had only to look out for signals. He was entirely familiar with the route, and Trevor proved a capable, practical assistant.

“Don’t look much like the man who left a palace car to step into a locomotive at Stanley Junction, eh?” laughed the young man, reeking with perspiration, and greasy and grimed. “How do I do – all right?”

“You must have had experience in the fireman line,” submitted Ralph.

“Why, yes,” acknowledged Trevor. “My uncle made me work in a roundhouse for a year. Once I believe I could run an engine, but I’ve forgotten a good deal. Fairbanks, look ahead!”

There was no occasion for the warning. Already the young fireman had discovered what his companion announced. As the locomotive glided around a sharp curve a great glare confronted them.

Not two hundred yards ahead was a mass of flames shooting skywards. The bridge crossing a creek that was located at this part of the route was on fire.

Ralph started to slow down. Then, discerning the impossibility of doing so this side of the burning structure, he set full speed.

“It’s make or break,” he said, in a kind of gasp.

“Put her through – take the risk,” ordered Trevor sharply.

Swish! crackle! crash! – it was an eventful moment in the career of the young fireman. There was a blinding glow, a rain of fire swayed through the locomotive cab, then, just as they cleared the bridge, the structure went down to midstream.

“We must get this news to Dover quick,” said Ralph, applying himself anew to lever and throttle. “We have ten minutes to make up then.”

Clink! – snap! – a terrific jar shook the locomotive. Contrary to signal given at the nearest switch ahead, the engine veered to a siding.

“What does this mean?” demanded Trevor sharply.

“Mischief – malice, perhaps,” said Ralph quickly. “Freights ahead – we shall have to stop.”

“Don’t do it,” directed Trevor. “Drive into them and push them ahead to the main line again. I’ll stand all damage.”