Various - Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891
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Various >> Golden Days for Boys and Girls, Vol. XII, Jan. 3, 1891
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[Illustration:
ROCK STARTED FORWARD AND UTTERED A CRY OF TERROR
AS HE SAW THE GLEAM OF A HEADLIGHT AND AN ENGINE AND TRAIN.]
"In my excitement, I had forgotten that it would require my arm to hold
in check the speed of the car. In fact, it had been known to get beyond
the management of its drivers at one point several times. But I had
given it a start, and it wasn't long before it was beyond my control.
Then, all I could do was to cling to the platform, expecting every
moment to be my last. We went so fast the wheels didn't seem to touch
the tracks, only now and then, and we appeared to be flying through the
air, going faster and faster.
"Glancing back once, I saw the engine-light as the train thundered over
the summit, and at increased speed shot down after us! But we were not
likely to be overtaken, going at our flying rate.
"How the hand-car kept the track I do not know; but, before I could
realize it, we had reached the valley, crossed Runaway Bridge, and were
rushing up the ascent toward the station.
"As we began to lose speed, the train began to gain on us, and I knew
the engineer was doing his best to make up for lost time.
"For the last half-mile it looked as though we should be overtaken, but
we came in with the cow's nose at our heels.
"I told them what we had done, and as soon as they got over their
surprise a party went ahead to examine the bridge."
"Well, what was the result?" asked the superintendent, who had listened
with great interest to the boy's thrilling, yet straightforward, account
of his hazardous ride. "You took a fearful risk."
"The bridge was not gone, sir, and the train passed over in safety. The
tramp had lied to us."
"And you had your dangerous ride for nothing?"
"Yes, sir, unless you could consider a notice to quit work a reward. Mr.
Gammon accused Mr. Baxter of being intoxicated, and said we had got
caught on the track to tell that story to get out of a bad scrape. I
knew it was useless to talk with him, so I have come to you."
"What sort of a job do you want?" asked General Lyons, showing by his
tone that he had not been displeased by the boy's story.
"Anything that is honest, sir, and will give me fair wages, with a
chance to rise."
"So you have an eye to the future. Perhaps you hope to have the
management of a road yourself some time."
"It shall be no fault of mine, sir, if I do not."
"Nobly said, my boy; and it is possible you hope to be superintendent of
the Pen Yan."
"I mean to do my best for it, sir." And then, as if frightened by the
boldness of his speech, he added, "I only meant to say I am going to do
my duty."
"And if you stick to that purpose as faithfully as I think you will,
success will at last crown your efforts. I will speak to Mr. Minturn of
you and he will doubtless give you a situation. Good-day."
The superintendent turned back to his business problems, and the others
in the room followed the example of their chief, disappointed at the
sudden termination of the interview.
The boy, however, seemed loth to leave. He started away, went a few
steps and paused.
Then coming back to the railing, he said, with less firmness than
formerly:
"If you, please, sir, I had rather you would not leave my case in Mr.
Minturn's hands."
"So Mr. Minturn knows you?" asked the railroad king, sharply, vexed at
this second interruption.
"He does not like me, and he would never give me a situation. I--"
"Well, that is no fault of mine. But I haven't any more time to lose
with you."
Seeing it was useless to say more, the boy made his departure, trying to
feel hopeful, but fearing the worst.
CHAPTER II.
Scarcely had the youth left the railroad company's headquarters, when a
tall, spare man, with faultless dress and cleanly-shaven face, entered
the apartment, going straight to the superintendent's desk, smiling and
nodding to the clerks as he passed them.
He was Donald Minturn, the assistant superintendent, who had a smile for
every one, but as treacherous as the charm of the serpent.
"Hilloa Minturn!" greeted his chief; "you are back sooner than I
expected. By-the-way, you must have met a boy as you came in. He was
after a situation, and I was careless enough not to ask him his name.
Call him back if it is not too late. I think we might do worse than--"
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Minturn, "has that fellow had the audacity to come
here for another job? He has been discharged from his section this very
week."
"Then you know him, Minturn? Come to think of it, he told me so. How
stupid I am to-day! What is his name?"
"That he couldn't have told you himself, if you had asked him, general.
He is a sort of waif of the switch-yard. Jack Ingleside--you knew
Jack--he was engineer on the old Greyhound, afterwards took to drink and
went to the bad--well, as I started to say, Jack found this boy in the
caboose one morning as he was starting from Wood's Hollow. He wasn't
more than three years old, and how he got there is yet a mystery. Jack
took a fancy to him and gave him a home while he lived. I think the
young scamp still lives with the widow at Runaway Tavern."
"He seems like a more than commonly smart boy."
"Oh, he can appear well enough when he is a mind to. But Mr. Gammon had
to turn him off of his section for downright disobedience of orders.
Why, only yesterday he and a man named Baxter jumped on to the hand-car
in the very teeth of the northern-bound mail, and came very near
wrecking the train, to say nothing of ending their own worthless lives."
"Oh, well, if you know the boy, of course you are more competent to
judge of him than I. But I must confess he impressed me very favorably.
What news from Draco?"
So the august officials of the great Pen Yan gave no employment to the
poor boy who had come so far for a situation, whether he deserved a
better fate or not.
Meanwhile, the boy, unconscious that his fate had already been decided
upon, hastened to the Fairfax Station, to take the homeward-bound train,
which would be due in a few minutes.
The Pen Yan railway system forms upon the map of that part of the
country a stupendous letter Y. The Fairfax Fork running north-northwest
makes one branch of the arm meeting at the Big Y, as the junction is
called--the line of the upper arm, where the two tracks unite in one to
reach across a mountainous, often sparsely-settled, country for over
three hundred miles. At the time we write it was a single-track road
from the Big Y to its terminus.
The boy had to wait but a little while for the accommodation, which was
on time, and stepping aboard, he was soon homeward bound. He was
absorbed in meditations when he was roused from his rather unpleasant
reverie by the voice of the conductor, who had taken a seat near by him
to chat a few minutes with a friend.
"It is a strange coincidence, Sam, and it puts me in mind of an
adventure I had several years ago, and which came near punching my
through ticket."
"An adventure, Henry? Give us the story."
"As soon as we have passed Greenburn. I shall have plenty of leisure
then."
Without dreaming how soon he should recall it with startling vividness,
our hero, with a boy's interest, listened to the conductor's story:
"Ten years ago I was engineer on the Tehicipa and Los Angeles Road, a
branch of the Southern Pacific. Those were troublesome times. What with
the guerillas and Indians that infested the country, to say nothing of
other dangers, we never knew when we were safe, if we ever were.
[Illustration {map}]
"One evening--just about such an evening as this, too--we had barely
stopped at a way station when some one rushed up to the train and said
Gray Gerardo's band was coming to attack us.
"Gerardo was considered the worst desperado in that lawless country, and
knowing we had a lot of the yellow ore on board, I knew the outlaw was
after it.
"The conductor cut our stop short, but before I could get under way the
outlaws were upon us. From their sounds one would have thought all the
fiends from the lower world had been let loose.
"The boys fought like tigers, and it was a wild scene for a few minutes.
My fireman--a plucky little fellow he was, too--was snatched from my
very side, and with a volley of shot whistling about my head, I was
pulled from the cab.
"The wheels had begun to revolve and the train was moving on. Struggling
desperately with my captors, I succeeded in breaking from them and
sprang back upon the engine. Three or four of the outlaws followed me,
and among them was Gerardo himself, whom I knew by sight.
"He was a tall, stalwart fellow, with burning black eyes, and a
countenance that would have been handsome, had it not been for a long
scar under his right jaw. It looked like a sabre-wound, and quite
spoiled the beauty of that side of the face.
"Well, knowing it was life or death with me, I pitched one after another
of those fellows off the cab, until only Gerardo was left. It surprises
me now that I could have done it; but a man never knows his strength
until put to the test. Then, you see, being on my own footing gave me an
advantage, while some of them, losing their hold on the moving engine,
fell off without any assistance of mine.
"I grappled with Gerardo, just as he was boarding the cab and before he
could establish his position, I hurled him, heels over head, down the
side of the track. At the same moment, however, I heard a sharp report
and felt a stinging sensation in my right arm, where the outlaw's bullet
had struck me.
"The firing had nearly ceased at the rear of the train, and feeling that
in another minute we should be safe, I sprang to the lever and threw the
valve wide open. With snorts and shrieks of defiance to our enemies, the
old engine obeyed me, soon gaining a rate of speed which I knew would
out-distance the baffled outlaws, whose yells I could still hear above
the thunder of the train.
"As my excitement abated my arm began to pain me fearfully, and I found
the member disabled for further use. My fireman gone, my situation was
critical, and I was wondering how the rest of the boys had fared when I
heard some one behind me.
"Half expecting to meet one of the outlaws, I turned, and was glad to
see one of the brakemen, who had come to my assistance.
"'We have repulsed them, but they are following us,' he said, in reply
to my anxious questions.
"'Well, let them follow,' I answered, 'if they think they can overtake
my Bonny Bess. Give her more fuel, Ned. You will have to be my--'
"I did not finish my sentence, for at that moment, as we shot around a
curve, great tongues of fire leaped from the track ahead of us. It was a
bridge in a blaze of flame, and in the light of the burning structure I
saw a dozen of Gerardo's band waiting our coming.
"We were going at lightning-like speed, and we were within twenty rods
of the fire when I discovered it, so I had no time to hesitate upon my
course of action. Quick as a flash I realized the trap Gerardo had
laid--our situation. To stop was to throw ourselves into the hands of
his followers, which meant death. The bridge was still standing. It
might hold us to cross over. There was at least a chance. To stop was
hopeless.
"All this seemed to come to me at one thought. I would keep on. Bonny
Bess was doing her prettiest and I gave her a free bit; that is, in our
parlance, 'linked her up.' My left hand was on the lever and my gaze was
fixed on the burning bridge, which hung, a network of fire, over the
glowing river, thirty feet below.
"I heard the shouts of the amazed outlaws above the roar of the train,
and then I felt the bridge quiver and tremble beneath me, as we were
borne over its swaying spans, amid a cloud of ashes, smoke and cinders,
which fairly blinded me.
"The blazing girders overhead sent out their forked tongues of fire,
and from the timbers below leaped up the sheets of flame until we were
enveloped in the fiery shroud. Blinded, stifled for a moment, I then
felt the cool night air fan my face, and the engine no longer shook as
if upon uncertain footing.
"We had passed the bridge in safety, and I drew a breath of relief. Then
another curve in the track brought us into full view of the burning
structure, and feeling we were now safe from pursuit, I checked the
engine's speed, so we could watch the fire.
"We hadn't watched long before a cloud of sparks flew into the darkness,
and one span of the doomed bridge fell into the water. The other must
soon follow.
"I felt a dizziness creeping over me then, and the next I knew I was
lying on the ground, with an anxious circle of men and women bending
over me. You see my arm had been bleeding all of the time, and the loss
of blood, with the strain of the awful ordeal, had been too much for me.
"But my arm had been bandaged, and I was soon able to resume my old
post, which I did, running the train to Los Angeles without further
adventure.
"Strange enough, Gerardo and his followers were not seen after that
night. But I had got tired of that country, and I soon after came up
this way. I have never regretted it, either.
"But now comes the strange part of my story, and which recalled my
adventure so vividly. There is a man on this train who is the exact
image of Gerardo!"
"Whew!" exclaimed the other. "Do you really think it is he?"
"I can't say. The likeness is perfect, even to the scar."
"I have heard of cases where two persons looked so much alike you could
not tell them apart."
"Very true, and this may be one of them. There is a slight difference
here, too, for this man wears side-whiskers. But his beard is not heavy
enough to conceal the scar."
"Do you remember where he is going?"
"To Woodsville; and he inquired for Jack Ingleside. Seemed surprised
when I told him Jack was dead. Said he was a relative, and he asked all
about the family. Here we are at the Big Y. This is as far as I go."
CHAPTER III.
An impatient crowd was waiting at the Big Y station for the northern
mail, which was half an hour overdue.
Finally, when the engine thundered into the depot, puffing and panting
like an over-driven steed, there was a rush to board the train, as if
the time was limited to the shortest possible space.
"It's going to be a rough night," muttered the old engineer, as he
peered out of the cab window into the gathering gloom of storm and
darkness. "I never felt so uneasy in my life, and I have a presentiment
something is going to happen--as if it wasn't enough to be half an hour
behind time and your engine in the sulks. But how are you feeling,
Gilly?" addressing his fireman. "Any better?"
"No, Jockey; and I am afraid I won't be able to go through. I don't
understand it, for I felt well enough when I started."
"I tell you everything is wrong to-night. If Jim were here--Hilloa!
there's Jack Ingleside's boy, as true as I live! We're in luck. Hi,
Rock! aren't you lost?"
At the sound of the engineer's voice, our hero, who was following
leisurely the crowd to one of the cars, looked in that direction to see
the soot-begrimed countenance of his old friend.
"Lost, Jockey? Never where you are," replied the youth.
"Going up? Jump in here, then. It won't be like riding in a parlor-car,
but it will suit you just as well, I'm thinking."
Rock showed his willingness by springing quickly into the cab.
Railroad companies have a rule forbidding persons to ride with the
engineer without permission from the president or superintendent, though
at the time we write this matter was not as rigidly looked after as now.
Rock, however, who had passed nearly all his young life on the
foot-board, would have been deemed an exception to any rule. At least,
so thought Jockey Playfair, the veteran "knight of the lever" on the Pen
Yan mail and accommodation.
But Jockey's usual good-humor had been relegated to the background on
that evening, as Rock soon saw.
The signal to start was given, and with a full head of steam on, the old
engine, trembling and groaning from her pent-up power, began to creep
ahead, as if feeling her way along the switches and through the yard,
going faster and faster at every revolution of her wheels, until the
station-lights faded in the distance, and she plowed boldly into the
night.
The tall form of the engineer, clothed in greasy overalls and jumper,
stood at his post like a grim sentinel on duty, his right hand on the
reversing lever, his left on the throttle, while his steely gray eyes
peered into the gloom, as if expecting to see spring from the regions of
darkness the hosts of danger and death.
A drizzling rain was falling, so altogether it was a disagreeable night.
"I have a favor to ask of you, Rock," said Gilly, the fireman, as the
engine fairly gained her feet and increased her progress at every beat
of her piston heart. "I want you to take my place until we get to
Trestle Foot. I am used up."
"Of course I will," replied Rock, taking the fireman's place. "Is she
very hungry to-night?"
"Hungry and cross, Rock," said the other. "But I'll risk you to feed
her."
No engineer who has stood at the lever for any length of time refuses to
believe that his trusty servant is without her faults, however he may
care for her. She is subject to her ill-moods as well as himself.
The engine, so good-natured on his last run, so prompt to obey his will,
on this trip is stubborn and hard to manage.
He can see no reason for her change of spirit. Her wonderful mechanism
is in perfect working order, her groom has arrayed her for a dazzling
passage, her fireman has fed her with the best of fuel, the flames dart
ardently along her brazen veins, she bounds off like a charger, eager
for conquest. Her first spurt over, she falters, sulks.
No coaxing can change her mood. In vain her master bestows greatest care
upon her; with each effort she grows more sullen.
Jockey Playfair's engine was in the sulks on the trip of which we write.
The Silver Swan had never seemed in better temper than at the start.
Delays in making connections, the bad condition of the track at places
on account of the recent heavy rains, with other difficulties, had
caused them to lose time. The engineer, however, had confidently
expected to make up for this before reaching Wood's Hollow, sixty miles
above the Big Y junction.
In the midst of his anxiety his fireman was taken suddenly ill. Then his
engine began to fail him. This last gave him more uneasiness than all
the rest.
"Behind time, with a sulky engine and a sick fireman!" he muttered, to
himself. "I see it coming--something dreadful! Never mind, old Jockey!
You are on your through trip to-night, but stand to your post like a
man."
During the next ten miles nothing was said by the three, and then, as
they stopped long enough at a way-station to take on a solitary
passenger, Jockey merely remarked:
"One minute gained. If we can't do better than that on our next run I'll
never touch the lever again."
As Jockey knew, he was now on the most favorable section of the road. No
signals were to be expected for a long distance, and there was no reason
why he should not regain a good part of the lost time. If he didn't he
resolved it should be no fault of his.
As soon as he was fairly under way again, he "linked her up." That means
he drew the reversing-rod back until the catch held it near the centre,
so the steam, instead of being allowed to follow the length of the
piston-rod, beat alternately the heads of the cylinders, giving the
highest momentum acquired.
Rock understood his duty perfectly and was determined the Silver Swan
should not hunger for fuel under his care.
"Mind how well the boy fires," said Gilly, forgetting for a moment his
pain.
"So he should; for wasn't he Tommy Green's pupil? And Tommy was the best
fireman ever on the Pen Yan, not even excepting you, Gilly."
"I know it; but she is pulling for all she is worth now, Jockey. You'll
get there on time, after all."
The Silver Swan was behaving beautifully now. Apparently she had gotten
over her sulks. Nothing occurred to disturb the even tenor of their
progress until the lights of Haford's Run came into sight.
At this place they must stop to refill the engine's boiler, and while
Rock looked after this matter, Jockey carefully examined each part of
the wonderful machine, talking to it and patting it as he would a child.
When he had run his practiced eye over the bars, joints,
connecting-rods, cylinders and steam-chests, then around the pilot to
the other side to find everything in fine working order, he came back to
the cab-step and consulted his watch.
"Ten minutes gained," he murmured, exultantly. "If you hold out like
this, old Swan, we'll make Wood's Hollow on time."
"Good! So you will, Jockey!" exclaimed the conductor, coming forward
with his lantern. "You have an excellent run ahead of you; do the best
you can. If we can gain ten minutes before getting to Trestle Foot,
we'll venture to Woodsville. Are you ready?"
"All ready," answered Rock, who had shut off the flow of water and
flung back the dangling leather arm to spring from the tender to the
footboard.
"Ho!" called out the conductor, "who's firing to-night?" as Rock,
jerking open the furnace door, stood in the glow of the fiery light.
"Where's Gilly?"
"Here; but he's sick," answered Jockey. "Rock took his place at the
Big Y."
"What! Jack's boy? Well, he is good for it. If Gilly is sick he had
better come back into a passenger."
But the old fireman wouldn't think of deserting his post so far as that.
The next instant the conductor's lantern waved back and forth, dense
volumes of smoke rolled from the smoke-stack, and snorting as if with
rage at being driven on again, the engine forged on along its iron
pathway.
"Where have you been to-day, Rock?" asked the engineer, as they were
once more spinning along at a flying rate.
"Down to Fairfax to see if I could get a job. You know I got turned off
the section."
"No--you don't mean it! I'll bet Gammon was at the bottom of it."
"I am sure of it. He has boasted I shouldn't stay there long."
"Zounds! I'd like to shake the rascal out of his jacket. He's been
wanting Gilly's place; but he can't get it. What do you want?"
"To brake."
"Get it?"
"Nothing certain. I have little hope, for Donald Minturn will never let
me get there if be can help it."
"The old snake! I never did like him. So he isn't over fond of you?"
"No; he is opposed to me on account of an old enmity he bears Mrs.
Ingleside."
"Rock, you deserve a place on this road. Why, bless you, you are fit to
take my place. Not many trips did old Jack make without taking you with
him. I used to fire for him, you know. He had a mat for you at his feet,
and when too tired to keep awake longer you slept curled up on the
footboard. Ah, it was something such a night as this when poor Jack made
his last trip! It wasn't quite so dark it may be, but he was behind
time, as we are, and he was trying to make up.
"He was swinging down the long grade beyond Woodsville at a humming
rate. There was no station at the Hollow then, and he was counting on a
clean sweep to Owls' Nest. Leaving the air-line grade he swooped around
the curve, when right in his face and eyes he saw a string of loose
cars, which had broken from the special on the highlands.
"He must have been going at the rate of fifty miles an hour, and the
runaways were coming toward him at scarcely less speed. I caught a gleam
of his white face as he reversed, and then he was beside me at the
brake.
"'Stand by!' he cried. 'We'll die at our post.'
"The shock came the next moment. I felt myself lifted into the air, and
the next I knew I was lying at the foot of the embankment, a dozen yards
from the place where we had met.
"Jack died at his post, and his sufferings could not have lasted long,
for he was crushed beyond recognition. Fortunately no other lives were
lost, though the passengers were terribly shaken up, and two of the
freight cars were piled up on the engine.
"Jack's fidelity, I am sure, averted a worse catastrophe. He met the
fate of a hero, and it was always a mystery to me the company never did
more for his family.
"Hey! As I live, the Swan is falling into another ugly mood!"
They were rushing along at a tremendous rate, and an inexperienced eye
would have seen nothing amiss.
In fact, the engineer himself could not. The driving-rods were shooting
back and forth in perfect play, while the large drivers were revolving
with clock-like regularity. Every now and then Jockey would give the
lever a slight pressure, which would be instantly felt by the iron
steed.
Despite all this the Silver Swan was not doing as well as she ought. She
was barely keeping her course at the usual speed.
Jockey glanced to the boiler. The index finger pointed to the gauge at
122 degrees. Three more degrees was all she could stand. Rock was doing
his duty. The track was straight and level. Still the Swan showed no
disposition to gain the twenty minutes coveted time.
The old engineer shook his grizzled head and the furrows deepened on his
careworn visage.
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