Chapter XXIX: "crack the Whip!"

"What's up--something?" declared the fireman of the special as the train cleared the yards at Portland.

"Yes," replied Ralph, watching out for signals and testing gauges and airbrakes. "This is up: What kind of a man is your engineer, Bartley?"

"He's not my engineer at all," retorted the fireman rather testily, "and I was sorry when I was listed with him. He's a bossing, quarrelsome sort of a fellow. He don't train with my crowd, and I'm glad you're on in his place. You're Fairbanks, eh? Well, I've heard of you."

"Nothing bad, I hope," challenged Ralph with a smile.

"Almost too good to last."

"Oh, by the way, I want to say to you that this trip is going to give you a great chance."

"For what?" inquired the fireman, big eyed and interested.

"To make a record."

"It isn't much of a run."

"Yes, it is, and a great deal depends on it. The general superintendent is watching this run. It means a record and money for the Great Northern. We may strike trouble. Everything depends on landing these cars in the yards at Stanley Junction by eleven p. m. to-night."

"I'm with you, Mr. Fairbanks," said the fireman earnestly. "I don't know all you do, but I'll follow orders to a T."

"That's the ticket. Look here."

They were running easily over an air line, and Ralph had an opportunity to reach under the fireman's seat and pull into view the bag he had stored there.

"I say, who put that there?" demanded the fireman with a stare.

"I did. It belonged to Bartley. It's the 'personal property' he was so anxiously searching for."

Both looked into the bag. Ralph reached in and drew out a white object about the size of an egg. There were a good many others of these in the bag. It crisped in his fingers, as he turned it over inspecting it. He smelled of it, tasted of it, and a queer looking smile hovered over his lips.

"Do you know what it is?" he inquired.

The fireman fumbled it gingerly and then shook his head in the negative.

"It's soda--caustic soda," said Ralph. "There's enough more in there to start a laundry. This black stuff," and he drew out one of a hundred dark colored cubes--"it tastes like salt. Ah, I think I guess it out. Witness this," he continued to the fireman, "Bartley sneaked that bag aboard. I wish to keep it for evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"Trickery, conspiracy. To my way of thinking he intended using that soda to churn the water in the boiler, and half a dozen of those salt bricks would smother the best fire you ever built."

"Thunder!" ejaculated the fireman excitedly, "there is something up, indeed."

"So much so, that we want to keep our eyes wide open every foot of the way," said Ralph emphatically. "In my opinion Bartley was bribed to cripple this locomotive so she couldn't pull through on time."

"The villain!" commented the fireman.

"Now all we've got to do is to beat that game," resumed Ralph, "and I'll guarantee you honorable mention and a raise if you help me."

"Anybody would help you," declared the fireman enthusiastically, gratified at the confidence reposed on him--"they don't raise such engineers as you every day."

"I am a dispatcher at present," said Ralph, "and a trifle rusty at the old trade, I find."

Rusty or not, Ralph now entered heartily into the zest of pushing the special through. Twenty miles on the main, to shorten the route a run was started over the Itica branch, forty miles in length. The special had full swing for the east, as headquarters was keeping tab of the train every minute.

There was a stop at Laketon, thirty miles farther on. It came on signal, and Ralph expected something had happened. He read twice the flimsy handed to him by the operator.

It was from the dispatcher at Portland, but via Glidden at headquarters. It advised Ralph that the treacherous engineer, Bartley, had sent a cypher dispatch to some one at Itica.

Itica was ten miles ahead. Here the Great Northern branch tracks crossed those of the rival road on the signal interlocking system.

"I will be glad when we get past Itica," decided Ralph mentally, after a sharp twenty minutes' run, as he came in sight of the crossing tower and got the stop signal; a glance ahead told him that it was doubtful if he got past Itica at all.

There was a single track at this point, and it crossed here the double track of the rival line. Blocking the Great Northern completely, a double-header stood slantwise, sagging where it had torn up the ground ripping out a cross-section of the interlocking rails.

The switchman came up to the special as Ralph slowed down.

"It's stalled, you are," he observed.

"I see that," said Ralph.

"A thrick."

"You think that, do you?"

"I know it. 'Twas done a-purpose. We've had no kind of throuble here before. They just pulled those two old wrecks to the crossing and derailed them a-purpose."

Ralph left his fireman in charge of the engine and ran up into the signal tower. He came down in a few minutes and consulted with the conductor. The fireman studied his set grave face intently as he resumed his place at the throttle. Ralph pulled the whistle as a back up signal. Then the train, composed of ten refrigerator fruit cars and the caboose, began retracing the course the special had just come.

Ten miles backing, and the special arrived at the station where Ralph had received the message from headquarters. He had a brisk brief talk with the operator there, calling the conductor into the consultation. There was some switching, and the locomotive, headed right, started from the main in a southerly direction.

"I say, Mr. Fairbanks," the fireman expressed himself in some wonderment, "of course you know where you are going."

"I hope I do."

"Well, I don't," blankly confessed the fireman. "This is the old Eagle Pass cut off, isn't it?"

"It was, once. I hope it is now."

"Why, it hasn't been used for years."

"We're going to use it."

The fireman looked blank. Except for some old fashioned targets, there was nothing to show that they were traversing the rails, for the snow lay on a dead level.

"I can't go back the main forty miles, make up forty more, and get to the Junction anywhere near schedule," explained Ralph. "We have already lost time from that blockade at Itica our rivals fixed up for us. If we can get through to the Mountain Division tracks over this stretch, We save over two hours' time."

"Aha, I see your idea," exclaimed the fireman, aroused. "I'm with you."

Ralph was trying a dangerous experiment, and he knew it. Time was the essential, however, and the risk must be taken. They felt their way cautiously. It was nearly dusk now, and he did not fancy getting caught after dark among those lonely mountain gullies.

The pilot had to clear the way of snow. There was a tremendous rattling of the coaches as they sunk with the track and struck uneven reaches. At a trestle structure the train shook visibly. The fireman uttered a great sigh of relief as the last car passed safely over it.

They were on a down slant on a sharp curve when a shock that was something terrific ran through the train. Ralph threw on the air lightning quick and closed the throttle with a jerk.

The young railroader was fairly lifted from his seat and the fireman went spinning to the bottom of the cab.

"Thunder!" he shouted, "what have we struck?"

Ralph got down to find out. The conductor came running up while he was making his inspection. They discovered a queer situation.

Chained to the track were three ties. They did not look as if they had been placed there for a bumper. But Ralph did not waste time theorizing. With what tools the locomotive afforded they set to work and soon removed the obstruction.

Just an hour later they cleared the old rickety cut off. It was dark now. They ran down the main line ten miles, and at The Barrens took coal and water, while Ralph was busy with the station operator in communication with headquarters.

He calculated closely as they started on the long home run. It would take some steam and the best of luck to reach the yards at Stanley Junction by eleven p. m.

At nine o'clock they passed Revere without stopping. At ten they switched at Wayne, forty-five miles from terminus.

It lacked just ten minutes of eleven o'clock when the special came in sight of the lights of the Junction. To follow the main and risk a stoppage at the limits would never allow of an arrival on the time set.

"I have got an idea," said Ralph, slowing up as they neared the first siding of the yards in-tracks.

"Go to it, then--anything to pull through on time," responded the fireman with vigor.

Ralph jumped down from the cab, unset a switch, glanced ahead down the open track, and then glanced at his watch.

"Eight minutes," he said, quite excited now. "Crowd on every pound of steam you can. We may make it by a bare scratch."

Ahead was the outline of the fence of the yards. The gate to its west special track outlet was shut after working hours, Ralph knew well, but it was a flimsy affair used less for protection than to exclude intruders.

"Four minutes," he spoke, and the flying locomotive was rushing ahead with a grinding roar.

"Three."

They took the gate, sending its frail boards flying up into the air in a cascade of riven splinters.

"Arrived!" shouted the fireman triumphantly.

Ralph started to let down speed. Just then something happened. The brake beam of the truck under the tender dropped, causing the wheels to leave the rails.

The locomotive played a veritable "crack the whip" with the cars behind, became separated from the train, and traveled fully four hundred feet before she stopped.

The train broke in three sections. The wheels seemed to be smashing through logs, rails and stones. The noise was deafening. A yardman said later that as the train burst through the switches each car seemed to carry beneath it a huge ball of fire, caused by the wheels being dead-locked by the automatic brakes.

Not a car was smashed, and no two cars were left on the same tracks or pointing the same way. The caboose had its rear wheels on one track and its front wheels on the track south. The cars were standing in every direction, but not a person was hurt, not a car was invalided.

Ralph ran up to the yardmaster and held out his watch to him.

"Verify the arrival," he ordered hastily.

"Yes, 10:58, two minutes ahead of time," said the man with a stare of wonderment. "We were expecting you, Fairbanks, but--not in that way!"