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

One evening a storm prevented Ralph from returning to headquarters, so he camped in with some workmen engaged in grading an especially difficult part of the route. The evening was passed very pleasantly, but just before nine o’clock, when all had thought of retiring, a great outcry came from the tent of the cook.

“I’ve got him, I’ve caught the young thief,” shouted the cook, dragging into view a small boy who was sobbing and trembling with grief.

“What’s the row?” inquired one of the workmen.

“Why, I’ve missed eatables for a week or more at odd times, and I just caught this young robber stealing a ham.”

“I didn’t steal it,” sobbed the detected youngster. “I just took it. You’d take it, too, if you was in our fix. We’re nearly starved.”

“Who is nearly starved?” asked Ralph, approaching the culprit.

“Me and dad. We were just driven to pick up food anywhere. You’ve got lots of it. You needn’t miss it. Please let me go, mister.”

“No, the jail for you,” threatened the cook direfully.

“Oh, don’t take me away from my father,” pleaded the affrighted youngster. “He couldn’t get along without me.”

“See here, cook, let me take this little fellow in hand,” suggested Ralph.

“All right,” assented the cook, adding in an undertone, “give him a good scare.”

Ralph took the boy to one side. His name was Ned. His father, he said, was Amos Greenleaf, an old railroader, crippled in an accident some years before. He had become very poor, and they had settled in an old house in The Barrens a few miles distant. Ralph made up a basket of food with the cook’s permission.

“Now then, Ned,” said Ralph, “you lead the way to your home.”

“You won’t have me arrested?”

“Not if you have been telling me the truth.”

“I haven’t,” declared the young lad. “It’s worse than I tell it. Dad is sick and has no medicine. We have nearly starved.”

It was an arduous tramp to the wretched hovel they at last reached. Ralph was shocked as he entered it. It was almost bare of furniture, and the poor old man who lay on a miserable cot was thin, pale and racked with pain.

“I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern,” said the young railroader, “and I came with your boy to see what we can do for you.”

“A railroader?” said Greenleaf. “I am glad to see you. I was once in that line myself. Crippled in a wreck. Got poor, poorer, bad to worse, and here I am.”

“Too bad,” said Ralph sympathizingly. “Why have you not asked some of your old comrades to help you?”

“They are kind-hearted men, and did help me for a time, till I became ashamed to impose on their generosity.”

“How were you injured, Mr. Greenleaf?” asked Ralph.

“In a wreck. It was at the river just below Big Rock. I was a brakeman. The train struck a broken switch and three cars went into the creek. I went with them and was crippled for life. One of them was a car of another road and not so high as the others, or I would have been crushed to death.”

“A car of another road?” repeated Ralph with a slight start.

“Yes.”

“You don’t know what road it belonged to?”

“No. They recovered the other two cars. I never heard what became of the foreign car. I guess it was all smashed up.”

“Gondola?”

“No, box car.”

Ralph was more and more interested.

“When did this occur, Mr. Greenleaf?” he asked.

“Five years ago.”

“Is it possible,” said Ralph to himself, “that I have at last found a clew to the missing car Zeph Dallas and that car finder are so anxious to locate?”

CHAPTER XXV

TOO LATE

Two days later Ralph went down the line of the little railroad to where it met the tracks of the Great Northern. Mr. Gibson had sent him with some instructions to the men at work there, and at the request of the young fireman had assigned him to work at that point.

This consisted in checking up the construction supplies delivered by rail. Ralph had a motive in coming to this terminus of the Short Line Route. The information he had gained from the old, crippled railroader, Amos Greenleaf, had set him to thinking. He found Zeph Dallas working industriously, but said nothing about his plans until the next day.

At the noon hour he secured temporary leave of absence from work for Zeph and himself, and went to find his friend.

Zeph was a good deal surprised when Ralph told him that they were to have the afternoon for a ramble, but readily joined his comrade.

“Saw some friends of yours hanging around here yesterday,” said the farmer boy.

“That so?” inquired Ralph.

“Yes, Slump and Bemis. Guess they were after work or food, and they sloped the minute they set eyes on me. Say, where are you bound for anyway, Ralph?”

“For Wilmer.”

“What for?”

“I want to look around the river near there. The truth is, Zeph, I fancy I have discovered a clew to that missing freight car.”

“What!” cried Zeph excitedly. “You don’t mean car No. 9176?”

“I mean just that,” assented Ralph. “Here, let us find a comfortable place to sit down, and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

Ralph selected a spot by a fence lining the railroad right of way. Then he narrated the details of his interview with Amos Greenleaf.

“Say,” exclaimed Zeph, “I believe there’s something to this. Every point seems to tally somehow to what information the car finder gave me, don’t you think so? Besides, in investigating the matter, I heard about this same wreck. And five years ago? Ralph, this is worth looking up, don’t you think so?”

Zeph was fairly incoherent amid his excitement. He could not sit still, and arose to his feet and began walking around restlessly.