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

“Toss him out!” growled his first assailant, but Ralph recovered himself, managed to gain his feet, and leaped to the ground outside.

The three men followed. Ralph ran behind a pile of railroad ties. His pursuers gained upon him. He stumbled, fell flat, and they pounced upon him.

“Hold on there,” suddenly spoke a new voice. “Get back and stay back, or I’ll know the reason why.”

Something whizzed through the air. It was a heavy cudgel. Whack! whack! whack! the three fellows retreated as their shoulders were assailed good and hard.

Ralph in some surprise regarded his new friend. He was a queer-looking old man, carrying a formidable cudgel, and this he now brandished recklessly in the faces of his adversaries, beating them back step by step.

“Now, you mind your own business,” he warned the men. “Pitching onto a boy – three big loafers that you are!”

The men were cowards and sneaked sullenly away. Ralph’s rescuer went back to the pile of ties and took up a little open memorandum book lying there.

Ralph noticed that its pages bore a list of numbers, as of cars.

“I am very grateful to you,” said the young fireman.

“That’s all right,” responded the stranger, and ran his eye over the cars as they passed by as if looking at their numbers. Ralph concluded that he had some business on the spot.

“Are you in the service of the railroad?” he asked.

“Yes,” nodded the man – “of many railroads. I am a professional car finder.”

CHAPTER XV

THE RUNAWAY TRAINS

Ralph and his companion followed the train till it left the siding, when the young fireman set the switch and they stood by the side of the track until the locomotive backed down to where they were.

“Going into Dover?” inquired the man who had rendered Ralph such signal service.

“Yes,” nodded Griscom, looking the questioner over suspiciously, as was his custom with all strangers recently since the strike began.

“Give me a lift, will you? I am through with my work here,” observed the man. “My name is Drury. I am a car finder.”

“Indeed?” said the old engineer with some interest of manner. “I’ve heard of you fellows. Often thought I’d like the job.”

“You wouldn’t, if you knew its troubles and difficulties,” asserted Drury with a laugh, as he climbed into the tender. “You think it’s just riding around and asking a few questions. Why, say, I have spent a whole month tracing down two strays alone.”

“That so?” said Griscom.

“Yes, it is true. You see, cars get on a line shy of them, and they keep them purposely. Then, again, cars are lost in wrecks, burned up, or thrown on a siding and neglected. You would be surprised to know how many cars disappear and are never heard of again.”

This was a new phase in railroad life to Ralph, and he was greatly interested. He plied the man with questions, and gained a good deal of information from him.

“Switch off here, Fairbanks,” ordered Griscom, as they neared a siding.

“Is your name Fairbanks?” asked the carfinder of Ralph.

“It is.”

“Heard of you,” said Drury, glancing keenly at the young fireman. “It was down at Millville, last week. They seem to think a good deal of you, the railroad men there.”

“I hope I deserve it,” said Ralph modestly.

“Took a meal at a restaurant kept by a friend of yours,” continued the carfinder.

“You mean Limpy Joe?”

“Exactly. Original little fellow – spry, handy and accommodating. Met another genius there – Dallas.”

“Zeph? Yes,” said Ralph. “He has got lots to learn, but he has the making of a man in him.”

“He has. He was greatly interested in my position. Wanted me to hire him right away. Said he knew he could find any car that was ever lost. I gave him a job,” and Drury smiled queerly.

“What kind of a job?” inquired Ralph.

“Oh, you ask him when you see him,” said Drury mysteriously. “I promised to keep it a secret,” and he smiled again. “Good-bye, I leave you here.”

“Now then,” said Griscom to his young assistant, “orders are to run to Ridgeton and start out in the morning picking up strays between there and Stanley Junction.”

When they got to Ridgeton, it had begun to rain. It was a lonely station with a telegraph operator, and a few houses quite a distance away. The operator was not on duty nights since the strike. The engine was sidetracked. They got a meal at the nearest house, and the operator gave them the key to the depot, where he said they could sleep all night on the benches. This Griscom insisted on doing, in order that they might keep an eye on the locomotive.

They sat up until about nine o’clock. Then, tired out with a hard day’s work, both soon sank into profound sleep. It was some time later when both, always vigilant and easily aroused, awoke together.

“Oh,” said the old engineer drowsily, “only the ticker.”

“Yes, some one is telegraphing,” answered Ralph, “but it is a hurry call.”

“Understand the code, do you?”

“Yes,” answered Ralph. “Quiet, please, for a moment. Mr. Griscom, this is urgent,” and Ralph arose and hurried to the next room, where the instrument was located.

He listened to the sharp ticking of the little machine. There was the double-hurry call. Then came some sharp, nervous clicks.

“R-u-n-a-w-a-y,” he spelled out.

“What’s that?” cried Griscom, springing to his feet.

“J-u-s-t p-a-s-s-e-d W-i-l-m-e-r, s-i-x f-r-e-i-g-h-t c-a-r-s. S-t-o-p t-h-e-m a-t R-i-d-g-e-t-o-n, o-r t-h-e-y w-i-l-l m-e-e-t N-o. f-o-r-t-y-e-i-g-h-t.”

Ralph looked up excitedly. Griscom stood by his side. His eyes were wide awake enough now.

“Repeat that message – quick, lad!” he said in a suppressed tone. “Can you signal for repeat?”

Ralph did so, once more spelling out the message as it came over the wire.

“No. 48?” spoke Griscom rapidly. “That is the special passenger they have been sending out from Stanley Junction since the strike. What is the next station north? Act! Wire north to stop the train.”