Jack Ranger's Gun Club: or, From Schoolroom to Camp and Trail

The brakeman hurried down the steps of the last car, in which the boys were riding, and began to run along the track. When he was about a hundred yards away the train began to back slowly up.

“I wonder how far back we have to go to reach the switch?” asked Jack.

“About two miles,” answered a man across the aisle from the lads. “It’s near Mine Brook Station, and it’ll take us quite a while to get there.”

“Why?” asked Bony. “Can’t the train go fast backward?”

“Yes, but the engineer dare not run past the man with the flag. He has to keep a certain distance in the rear of the last car, to warn any other trains that may be approaching behind us. So we really can’t back up any faster than the brakeman can run. I don’t like this delay, either, as I have an important engagement. But something always seems to be happening on this road. I wish I’d come another route.”

There were other grumbling remarks by the various passengers, but the boys were too interested in watching the brakeman to notice them. The train must have gotten too close to him, for it came to a stop, in obedience to a signal on the air whistle, and waited until the man with the red flag was out of sight around a curve. Then it began to back again.

This was kept up for some time, and finally the boys saw the brakeman come to a halt and wave his flag in a peculiar manner.

“He’s at the switch now,” remarked the man who had first spoken to the lads. “We’ll soon be on our way again.”

The train proceeded more slowly, and then the boys saw where a switch crossed from one track to another. The rear car was halted some distance from the cross-over, and a man came running up from the head end, carrying a key in his hand, with which to unlock the switch. He quickly turned it, and then began to wave his arm, as a signal for the engineer to back up. He continued to wave for several seconds, and then he exclaimed:

“He can’t see me. Hey!” he called to a group of men on the back platform of the last car, “give him the whistle signal, will you?”

“What?” asked a man.

“Give him the whistle. Blow it three times, so he’ll back up. Hurry! I can’t leave this switch.”

The men did not seem to know what to do. Some of them began looking inside the car for the old-fashioned bell cord, that used to run through the train to the engineer’s cab. This is now displaced by a small red cord at one side of the car, and it operated a whistle connected with the air-brake system.

“Pull the cord. Give him three whistles, can’t you?” cried the man at the switch. “We can’t lay here all day.”

“I don’t see any whistle,” murmured the man who had told the boys about the switch. “Let him come and pull it himself. This is a queer road, where they expect the passengers to help run it.”

“Can’t some of you pull that whistle cord?” demanded the man. “Hurry up.”

Jack heard and understood. He had often seen the brakemen or conductor at the Denton station start the trains by pulling on something under the hood of the car, as they stood on the platform.

“I guess I can do it,” he said as he worked his way through the crowd of passengers about the door.

He reached up, and his fingers encountered a thin cord. He pulled it slowly, as he had seen the railroad men do, for as the air pressure had to travel the entire length of the train it required some time, and a quick jerk would not have been effective.

Once, twice, three times Jack pulled the whistle cord, and he heard the hissing of escaping air that told of the signal sounding in the locomotive cab. An instant later came three blasts from the engine, and the train began to back up.

“Much obliged to you,” called the man at the switch to Jack, as the rear car passed him. “I’m glad somebody knew how to work it.”

“Is that where the whistle cord is?” asked a man. “I was looking for a bell cord.”

The train backed across the switch, and was soon on another track, and one not blocked by a disabled freight.

“Say,” remarked Nat to Jack, “you’re getting to be a regular railroad man.”

“Well, I’m in a hurry to get out to camp and take the trail,” replied Jack. “That’s why I’m helping ’em run this road.”

CHAPTER XV

JACK MEETS A GIRL

The train soon began to move forward again, but it had to proceed slowly, as it was on the wrong track, and a flagman had to precede it to prevent a collision. It was tiresome traveling, and nearly every one grumbled – that is, all save the boys. To them the affair was novel enough to be interesting.

Finally they reached and passed the disabled freight train. As they puffed past it a girl, who had come in from some car ahead with an elderly gentleman, took a seat with him just across from where Jack sat.

“There, daddy,” said the girl in a sweet, resonant voice that made Jack look up quickly, “there’s the train that made all the trouble. Now we’ll go more quickly.”

“Are you sure, Mabel?” he asked.

“Why, yes, daddy. Didn’t the conductor say that as soon as we passed the broken freight train we would get on our regular track? You heard him.”

“Yes, I know, but you can’t always believe what these railroad men tell you. They’d say anything to keep a passenger quiet. I’m nervous riding in these cars. There may be a collision when we’re on the wrong track. Don’t you think so?” he asked, turning to Jack.

“Why, no. I don’t believe we’re in any danger,” replied our hero, and his heart beat faster at the grateful look which the pretty girl flashed at him from her brown eyes. “There is a flagman ahead of us, and we’ll soon be on the right track. There is no danger.”

“I’m sure I hope so,” went on the aged man. “I’m not used to this way of traveling. A wagon, a horse, or hitting the trail for mine. I came out of the front car, because I thought it would be safer here in case of a collision. Don’t you think so?” he asked anxiously.

“Of course,” answered Jack reassuringly, and again the girl looked gratefully at him.

“My name’s Pierce,” went on the timid man. “Dan Pierce. What’s yours?”

“Oh, daddy!” exclaimed the girl. “Perhaps the young gentleman doesn’t want to tell his name.”

“Why shouldn’t he?” asked Mr. Pierce quickly. “Every one ought to be proud of his name. I’m proud of mine. Dan Pierce it is. I’m an old Western hunter, and this is my daughter Mabel. We’ve been East on a visit, and we’re going back. I’m glad of it, too. What’s your name?” he went on.

“Father,” expostulated the girl, “perhaps he doesn’t wish to tell.”

“Oh, I haven’t the least objection,” answered our hero. “I’m Jack Ranger, and these are some friends of mine.”

“I’d like to know ’em,” said Mr. Pierce quickly, and Jack introduced the boys, the old hunter, in turn, presenting his daughter Mabel, who blushed more than ever. But Jack thought her ever so much prettier when the color surged up into her brown, olive-tinted cheeks.

“Going far?” asked Mr. Pierce.

“We’re taking a hunting trip to the Shoshone Mountains,” replied Jack.

“You don’t say so? Why, that’s where I lived and hunted for forty years!” exclaimed Mr. Pierce. “That’s where me and my daughter live. About ten miles from Pryor’s Gap. But my hunting days are over,” he said a bit sadly. “I have to settle down now and live in a house with Mabel here.”

Jack thought that was not at all a bad arrangement, and he stole a glance at the girl. He caught her looking at him, and he felt the blood mounting to his face, while he saw the blush spread again over her cheeks.

“How long are you going to stay?” asked Mr. Pierce.

Then Jack told of the formation of the gun club, and how it happened that they had a chance to come West on a late fall hunting trip.

“It makes me feel young again,” declared Mr. Pierce as his eyes lighted up. “I declare, I’ve a good notion to hit the trail again.”

“Oh, you mustn’t think of that, daddy!” exclaimed Mabel. “Remember, you promised me you would stay home now and rest.”