Chapter X: The Train Dispatcher

A great flood of dark suspicion crossed Ralph's mind at the discovery of the road chart. A dozen quick questions arose to his lips. Before he could speak, however, there was a hail from the outside.

"Hey, there, young fellow!"

Glen ran out to the road where a farm hand on horseback had halted. Ralph followed him.

"About your old man," spoke the visitor.

"My grandfather, yes," said Glen breathlessly.

"You told us to sort of keep an eye on him. He came down to our place about an hour ago to get some butter. Scruggins, who lives just beyond here was going to Centerville. Your old man said he wanted to go there, too, to see the new swinging signal bridge over the railroad."

"Oh, but you stopped him."

"I was away when it happened, and he would not listen to ma. Scruggins said he would bring him back all right."

"Oh, I must stop him! I must overtake him!" cried Glen in such poignant distress that Ralph was surprised. "Grandfather was away nearly two days before, and pretty near got lost, and I was worried to death. I must go after him, indeed I must! Excuse me, won't you," he pleaded of Ralph.

"I will see you again soon," answered Ralph.

"Do--sure," said Glen. "I have lots to tell you."

The farm hand rode on his way and Glen ran down the road on foot at great speed. Ralph went back slowly to the open house. Once more he inspected the telegraph room. Then with a good deal of thoughtfulness he started homeward.

"There's something queer about all this business," ruminated the young railroader. "That boy's grandfather was certainly in with the two men who escaped from me in the tunnel. He is an expert telegrapher. So is Glen. Ike Slump had something up his sleeve about Glen. That chart of the road has the regular telegraph signal on it. What does this all mean?"

Ralph could not believe that Glen was a schemer or anything of that sort. For all that, there was a decided mystery about him. He seemed to be afraid of Slump, appeared to shun the town and its people. Why was he wandering all about the country with a helpless old man? Why had he flushed up and acted embarrassed when Ralph had asked him several pointed questions?

"Glen must certainly be questioned about the two men who had his grandfather in tow," decided Ralph, "for those fellows must be located and watched. I wish Bob Adair was here. He would soon let light in on the whole affair. I'd rather he would do it, for I feel very friendly towards Glen and I don't like hurting his feelings by seeming to pry into his private business."

Ralph rested a few minutes on the porch when he reached home and then started down town. He was in a certain state of suspense, for the orders of the general superintendent were vague and unsatisfactory. Something was working, Ralph felt, in which he was to take an active part. The paymaster had indicated that affairs were being stirred up. Idleness and suspense worried the young railroader, however, and he anxiously awaited the coming interview with his superior officer.

Ralph went down to the roundhouse and met many of his friends. Old Forgan, the fireman, described the disgust and dejection of Fogg at having a new running mate. Everybody had heard that Ralph had a layoff on account of a fall disabling him, and his arm in the sling won him a good deal of friendly sympathy. He made a tour of the general offices to learn that Mr. Little was laid up at home with a lame foot, and that the general superintendent was out of town.

Ralph had the free run of the general offices, as the saying went. He was ambitious, energetic and popular, and the busiest man in the service had a pleasant nod and a kindly word for him as he went around the different departments. When he arrived at the train dispatcher's office, the young railroader went in and sat down.

Ralph was in one of the most inviting places a man can get into, especially if he is interested in the workings of a big railway system.

The thought came to him, as he sat watching the men who held in their keeping the lives of thousands of passengers, that not all the credit for a good swift run was due to the engineer and train crew. He smiled as he recalled how the newspapers told every day of the President or some big functionary out on a trip, and how at the end of the run he stopped beside the panting engine, and reaching up to shake the hand of the faithful, grimy engineer, would say:

"Thank you so much for giving us a good run. I don't know when I have ridden so fast before," or words to that effect.

The reader of such items never thinks the engineer and crew are mere mechanical agents, small cogs in a huge machine. They do their part well, but the little office of the train dispatcher is a red-hot place where they have a red-hot time, where one tap of the sounder may cover the fate of numberless extras, specials and delayed trains.

The young engineer took particular notice of the dispatcher's office on the present occasion. This was because so much of pending trouble seemed to involve the wire system of the Great Northern. The wire tapping episode, the prototype routing chart at the chicken farm, had aroused suspicion in his mind. Then, too, Ralph had often had a fondness and an admiration for this branch of the service. At one time, in fact, he had studied telegraphy with the purpose in view of following it up, and old John Glidden, a fast friend of his, had invited him to the dispatcher's office and had taught him a great many useful things in his line.

Glidden was the first trick dispatcher and was not on duty just now. Ralph nodded to two subordinates at their tables, and snuggled back into his comfortable seat with the time and interest to look over things.

The interior of the dispatcher's office was not very sumptuous. There was a big counter at one side of the room. This contained the train register, car record books, message blanks and forms for various reports. Against the wall on one of the other sides was a big blackboard known as the call board. Ralph read here the record of the probable arrival and departure of trains and the names of their crews. Also the time certain crews were to be called.

About the middle of the room in the recess of a bay window was the dispatcher's table. Ralph only casually knew the man in charge. His name was Thorpe, a newcomer, and an expert in his line, but gruff and uncivil in the extreme, and he had few friends. In front of him was the train sheet containing information exact and absolute in its nature of each train on the division. On the sheet was also a space set apart for the expected arrival of trains from the other end and one for delays. Glidden had once gone over one of these sheets with Ralph with its loads, empties and miscellaneous details, and Ralph knew that the grim, silent man at the table must know the precise location of every train at a given moment, how her engine was working, how she had done along the road, and all about her engineer and conductor.

Ralph spent nearly a half an hour in the dispatcher's room. Then he went down to the depot. An extra was just leaving for the west. He paused to have a cheery word with the engineer and fireman, whom he knew quite well. They were getting ready for the orders to pull out, when the three of them stared hard at a flying form coming down the track.

"Hello," observed the engineer, "it's Bates."

"Yes, the second trick man in the dispatcher's office," nodded the fireman. "Wonder what's up with him?"

"Something is," declared Ralph, "according to his looks and actions."

Bates came puffing up white and breathless. Evidently he had just got out of bed, half dressed himself, put on a pair of slippers, no coat, no hat, and he seemed to ignore the cold and snow amid some frantic urgency of reaching the departing train.

"Say!" he panted, approaching the fireman who was giving No. 341 the last touch of oil before they pulled out, "thank heaven you haven't gone!"

"Hey?" stared the engineer.

"Don't pull out for a minute."

"Why not?"

"I think there's a mistake in your orders."

"What's the matter with you?" snapped back the fireman with affected gruffness. "I hain't got no orders. Come here, till I oil the wheels in your head."

"You must come up to the dispatcher's office," insisted Bates urgently, and the engineer followed him wonderingly. Ralph, tracing something unusual in the episode of the moment, kept them company.

The chief dispatcher was standing by the counter. He glanced sharply at Bates with the words:

"What's up, kid? Seen a ghost? You look almost pale enough yourself to be one."

"No," quavered Bates in a shaky tone. "I haven't seen any ghosts, but I am afraid I forgot to notify that track gang just west of here about this extra."

The chief went to the order book and glanced at the train sheet.

"Oh, bosh!" he said. "Of course you notified them. Here it is as big as life. Look out for extra west engine 341 leaving Stanley Junction at 1:21 P. M. What do you want to get a case of rattles and scare us all that way for. Say, I'd ought to run down your spinal column with a rake. Don't you know there are other dispatchers in this office besides yourself--men who know more in a minute about the business than you do in a month? Don't you suppose that order book would be verified and the train sheet consulted before sending out the extra. Say, don't you ever show up with such a case of rattles again."

Bates expressed an enormous sigh of relief. As he came down to the platform, however, Ralph noticed that he was shaking from head to foot.

"Did you ever work up there?" inquired Bates in a solemn tone.

"No," answered Ralph.

"Then don't. Just wake up once after you've left the key, and get thinking you've forgotten something, and--nightmare? Fairbanks, it's worse than the horrors!"