"Slow down entirely," growled a sudden voice. "Do it, or I'll have it done by my partner, who is aboard all right."

Both Ralph and Trevor turned sharply. Standing on the coal of the tender was a man. He was dripping with water, and in one hand held a revolver.

"No delay, Fairbanks," he cautioned sternly. "We've taken too much trouble to miss this last chance to get you and your passenger."

Ralph stopped the engine. Then calmly, but with a certain sense of peril and defeat, he faced the man.

"Where did you come from?" demanded Trevor in amazement.

"Only from inside the water tank," responded the stranger coolly. "Been there since we left Stanley Junction."

"Why, you are one of the fellows who were following me at the depot!" cried Trevor.

"Correct, boss," chuckled the stranger. "Here's my partner," he announced, as the man Ralph had discovered on the cowcatcher appeared at the side of the cab. "We'll relieve you two now," continued the speaker to Ralph and Trevor. "Move back on that coal. We'll try a bit of engineering ourselves."

"See here, my man," called out Trevor sharply. "What is the object of all this?"

"Object?" grinned the man. "You'll know later. Important, for it took four men on the route, lots of inquiring before you came to Stanley Junction, two of us here now, others waiting for us somewhere else, to get you dead right."

"Me!" exclaimed Trevor in amazement. "You mean me?"

"Nobody else."

"Why, how are you interested in me?"

"You'll know soon."

"But——"

"Stand back, do as we say, or we'll use force," declared the speaker gruffly.

His companion guarded Ralph and Trevor while he took the engineer's seat. He reversed the engine, ran back to the main tracks, from there, first setting a switch, onto a spur, and, after following this for nearly a mile, shut off steam and the locomotive came to a stop.

Then the fellow applied a whistle to his lips. Several men approached the engine. He consulted with them, and came back to Ralph carrying a piece of rope.

"Fairbanks," he said, "we'll have to tie you for safe keeping for a while."

"Won't you explain this?" inquired Trevor, in a troubled way. "See here, men, I am due in the city. I will pay you handsomely to let us proceed on our trip."

"How much?" inquired the man who had acted as engineer.

"I have several hundred dollars with me."

"Not enough," retorted the man. "We want several thousand, seeing you are worth it."

"I haven't a thousand dollars in the world," declared Trevor.

"You are worth twenty thousand," insisted the man confidently. "We'll prove it to you a little later. Here," to his companion, "tie Fairbanks, leave the letter with him, and let us get out of this before anybody is missed."

"One word," said Ralph. "Are you people responsible for the disappearance of Mr. Griscom?"

"Perhaps," said the man. "He's all safe and sound—only out of the way of mischief for a spell. One other word, Fairbanks, we didn't fire the bridge."

Trevor looked the picture of distress and uncertainty as he was forced from the locomotive cab.

"You people will regret this high-handed outrage," he cried. "My uncle is president of the Great Northern."

"That is just exactly why you are worth twenty thousand dollars," coolly announced the man who had acted as engineer. "Plain and square, gentlemen, kindly call this a bit of kidnapping scientifically worked at some care and expense. You come with us. Fairbanks will do the rest. Got him tied up?" to his companion. "All right, now put the letter in his pocket."

And, leaving the young fireman bound and helpless on the floor of the cab, the men with Trevor left the scene.



CHAPTER XII

THE RAILROAD PRESIDENT

The young fireman had a good deal to think of as he lay in the locomotive cab, unable to help himself in any way. All the smooth sailing of the past week was remembered in strong contrast to the anxieties of the present moment.

Ralph had not recognized any of the crowd who had appeared about the engine during the evening. The leader, however, seemed to know his name. This inclined Ralph to the belief that some one of the party did know him, and naturally he thought of Ike Slump and his associates.

"They are desperate men, whoever they are," he decided, "and they must have planned out this scheme to perfection to keep track of Mr. Trevor and follow us up along the line. That man in the water tank is a daring fellow. He must have had a pleasant time in there. It was an original move, anyhow."

It was in vain that Ralph endeavored to release himself. He was stoutly tied. All he could do was to wriggle about and wonder how soon he would be set free by his captors or discovered by others.

It must have been fully three hours before there was any break in the monotony of his situation. Ralph heard some one whistling a tune and approaching rapidly. Soon a man appeared on the cab step, looked Ralph over coolly, and observed:

"Tired of waiting for me, kid?"

"Naturally," responded Ralph. "Are you going to set me free?"

"That's the orders, seeing that our party is safe at a distance. Got enough steam on to run the engine?"

"Yes," replied Ralph. "There was full pressure when you people stopped us, and the steam lasts about six hours."

"All right. You will have a great story to tell the railroad folks, eh? Don't forget the letter we put in your pocket. There you are. Now then, go about your business and don't say we did not treat you like a gentleman. Oh—ooh! What's this?"

The man had cut the ropes that held Ralph captive, and carelessly swung to the step. In a flash the young fireman was on his mettle. Springing to his feet, Ralph snatched at a hooked rod. Reaching out, he caught the man by the coat collar and pulled him back flat across the cab floor where he had just lain.

"You lie still, or I shall use harsh measures," declared Ralph, springing upon his captive and menacing him with the rod. "Hold up your hands, folded, and let me tie you."

"Well, I guess not!"

"Yes, you shall!" cried Ralph.

In a second the situation changed. The man was much stronger than his opponent. He managed to throw Ralph off, and got to his knees. The young fireman decided, as the fellow reached for a weapon, to strike out with the iron rod. It landed heavily on the man's temple, and he fell back senseless on the coal of the tender with a groan.

Ralph securely tied his captive. Then he reversed the lever and opened the throttle. In a minute he was speeding back over the spur the way the locomotive had come four hours previous.

"We have one of the kidnappers, at least," he said with satisfaction. "Ah, there is some one at the bridge," he added, as he ran down the main tracks.

Signals of danger were set on both sides of the creek, and Ralph could make out men in the distance moving about. He was soon on the scene.

A track-walker had discovered the burning bridge and had summoned assistance.

There was only one thing to do with the locomotive, to run on to Dover, and this Ralph did at once. He reported the occurrences of the evening to the assistant superintendent, whom he found getting a wrecking crew together.

"Well, this is a serious and amazing piece of business," commented that official. "Here, men," he called to his assistants on the wrecking car, "fetch this fellow into the shanty yonder."

The man Ralph had knocked down in the locomotive cab had recovered consciousness. He was brought into the shanty and questioned, but was sullen and silent.

"Won't tell anything, eh?" said the assistant superintendent.

"The letter says all there is to say," remarked the captive coolly, "but that twenty thousand dollars will never find young Trevor if you keep me a prisoner."

"A prisoner safe and tight you shall be," declared the railroad official with determination. "Take him to the town jail, men," he added. "I must wire for the president of the road at once, and to Adair at Stanley Junction. What's your plan, Fairbanks?" he asked of Ralph.

"I hardly know," responded the young fireman. "I don't see that I can be of any assistance here."

The letter the kidnappers had left with Ralph was terse and clear as to its directions. The writer demanded twenty thousand dollars for the return of young Trevor, and indicated how his friends might get in correspondence with his captors through an advertisement in the city newspapers.

"The wrecking car is going to the bridge, Fairbanks," said the official. "You can cross the creek some way and use a handcar, if they have one. Tell the men there I say so. As to your prisoner, I will see that he is taken care of."

It was just daylight when Ralph reached the switch tower where Griscom had disappeared. The towerman had just been relieved from duty, and met Ralph with eager welcome as he was approaching the place.

"Glad to see you," he said. "We just found Griscom."

"Where is he?" inquired Ralph quickly.

"In the tower, all safe and comfortable now, but he had a hard time of it lying all night in a freight car, gagged and tied. He is fighting mad, don't understand the affair, and worried to death about you."

"Oh, I am all right," said Ralph.

"I see you are. But what has happened, anyhow? You'll want to tell Griscom, won't you? Well, I'll go back with you to hear your story, too."

It was an interesting scene, the meeting of the engineer and the young fireman. Griscom fretted and fumed over the mishaps to his pet locomotive. He was furious at the gang who had worked out such mischief.

"I'll wire my resignation when we reach Stanley Junction," he declared. "I'll do no more railroad work until I find those scoundrels and rescue young Trevor."

"Don't be rash, Mr. Griscom," advised Ralph. "The railroad detective force will soon be on the trail. The nephew of a railroad president doesn't disappear in this fashion every day in the year."

When they got back to Stanley Junction they were interviewed at once by Bob Adair. Both were worn out with double duty and got to bed as quickly as possible.

Ralph reported at the roundhouse late in the afternoon, but learned that there would be no through trains out until a temporary bridge was erected over the creek near Dover.

He returned to the house, and was pleased with the thought of having a social evening at home and a good night's rest.

It was shortly after dark, and Ralph was reading a book in the cozy sitting room of the home cottage, when the door bell rang.

The young fireman answered the summons. A stranger stood at the threshold. He was a dignified, well-dressed gentleman, but seemed to be laboring under some severe mental strain, for he acted nervous and agitated.

"Mr. Fairbanks—Ralph Fairbanks?" he inquired in a tone of voice that quivered slightly.

"Yes," replied the young fireman.

"I am very anxious to have a talk with you," said the stranger hurriedly. "I have been down the line, and have just arrived at Stanley Junction. My name is Grant, Robert Grant, and I am the president of the Great Northern Railroad."

"Come in, sir," said Ralph cordially, deeply impressed with welcoming so important a visitor, but maintaining his usual manly pose. He showed the official into the house and introduced him to his mother.

Mr. Grant was soon in the midst of his story. He had been for many hours at Dover trying to discover a trace of his missing nephew, and had signally failed.

"Mr. Adair, the road detective, advised me to see you," said Mr. Grant, "for you saw the men who captured my nephew. Would you know them again?"

"Some of them," responded Ralph.

"Very well, then. I ask you as a special favor to return with me to Dover and assist me in my task."

"I will do so gladly," said Ralph.

One hour later a special conveyed the president of the Great Northern and Ralph Fairbanks down the line to Dover.



CHAPTER XIII

THE SHORT LINE RAILWAY

Ralph attracted a good deal of attention when he arrived at Dover, and fully realized the honor of being treated as a companion by the president of the great railroad of which he was an employe. Mr. Grant was pleasant and friendly. He learned Ralph's story, and discussed railroad experience in a way that was enlightening and encouraging to the young fireman.

"About these kidnappers," he said, "I will never give them a dollar, but I will spend all I have to rescue my nephew. It is needless to say that you shall be richly rewarded if you assist me successfully."

"I will do my best, sir," pledged Ralph.

At Dover they were met by Adair. They went into the depot and sat down on a bench in a remote corner.

"I have not discovered the kidnappers nor the faintest clew to them, Mr. Grant," said Adair.

The railroad president sighed deeply. He showed in his face and manner the care and anxiety he was suffering.

"Can you suggest anything, Fairbanks?" continued Adair. "You know the district fairly well. What is your idea about these men?"

Ralph astonished his companions by suddenly arising to his feet and hurrying towards a boy who had just entered the depot and had taken up a pen and a telegraph pad on the counter outside the ticket office.

It was Van Sherwin, the old-time friend of Ralph, and pleasure at recognizing him had caused the young fireman to act on an impulse.

"Why, Van!" he cried, "I am glad to see you."

"Eh?" spoke the other. "Ralph! well, the gladness is mutual," and the pair shook hands cordially.

"What brought you here?" asked Ralph.

"Came down from headquarters in the timber on important business," replied Van. "Just sending a telegram."

"Why!" almost shouted Ralph, glancing at the blank upon which his friend had just written a name, "to Mr. Grant, to the president of the Great Northern!"

"Yes," answered Van. "Does that startle you?"

"It does. What are you wiring him for?"

"About his nephew, Dudley Trevor."

Ralph was fairly taken off his feet, as the saying goes. He grasped Van's arm excitedly.

"See here, Van Sherwin," he cried. "What do you know of Mr. Trevor?"

"Only that he is at our headquarters with a broken arm, and he sent me here to wire his uncle the fact."

Ralph was delighted. He could scarcely credit the glad news. He led Van up to the railroad president and the road detective with the words:

"Gentlemen, I am very happy to tell you that Mr. Trevor is in safe hands, and my friend here will explain. Van Sherwin, this is Mr. Grant, the president of the Great Northern."

Van nodded in his crisp, off-hand way to Adair, whom he knew, and took off his cap to his dignified companion.

His story was to his auditors most remarkable and exciting, but to Van only the narration of a perfectly natural occurrence. Early that morning there had come into "headquarters," as Van termed it, a young man in an almost exhausted condition. His attire was all torn with brambles and bushes and one arm was broken.

"He told us his name, and said that he had escaped from kidnappers. Mr. Gibson attended to his arm, and sent me to Dover here to telegraph to you, sir," explained Van to the railroad president.

Mr. Grant was so glad and excited he could not sit still.

"Take me to him at once!" he cried. "My dear lad, you have brought happy news to me."

"I don't know about going to see him," said Van. "It is over twenty miles away in the woods."

"Allow me to explain, Mr. Grant," said Adair. "Between here and Wilmer is a wild, wooded stretch of land known as The Barrens."

"I know of it," nodded Mr. Grant. "The Great Northern once surveyed two miles into the section, but abandoned the route as impracticable. There are only about twenty houses in the district, and the difficulties of clearing and grading were discouraging."

"Well," said Adair, "it appears that a man named Farwell Gibson secured a charter to build a short line through The Barrens from Wilmer across the desolate tract to connect with the Midland Central."

"I heard of that, too," nodded the railroad president.

"This Gibson is an odd genius. He has been working for two years on his scheme, terming the road the Dover & Springfield Short Line. Just half way across The Barrens he has a house, which he calls 'headquarters.' He is an erratic hermit, and adopted this boy here, Van Sherwin, who has been helping him. Every day, the law requires, he must do some grading work on the prospective railroad line. This he has done, and you would be surprised to know the progress they have made."

"Especially lately," said Van, with sparkling eyes. "Even you, Ralph, would be astonished. Mrs. Gibson got some money recently—five thousand dollars from old Gasper Farrington—and we have hired a lot of men. Oh, that railroad is going through, and don't you forget it."

"We realized our mistake after this Gibson got hold of the franchise," said Mr. Grant. "Once the road is built, it practically dominates passenger and freight business north and south."

"That is right," said Van, "for it becomes a bee-line, saving twenty to thirty miles distance, besides opening up a new district. Well, sir, your nephew is now at our headquarters. To reach the place you will have to get a very heavy wagon and go pretty slow and sure, for there are no roads."

"I must go at all hazards," cried the railroad president insistently, "and you, my friends, must accompany me," he added to Adair and Ralph. "Why, those villains from whom my nephew escaped may undertake to recapture him."

A little later the party, in charge of a sturdy fellow driving a strong team of horses attached to a heavy wagon, started out under the direction of Van Sherwin.

The district was a wild jungle, interspersed with sweeps of hill and dales, and numerous creeks. Finally they reached a hill surmounted by a dense grove of trees. A road led up here to a rambling log house.

Here and on the other side of the hill a ten-foot avenue was visible, neat and clean. The brush had been cleared away, the ground leveled, here and there some rudely cut ties set in place, and for an extended stretch there was a presentable graded roadbed.

As they drove up to the cabin the railroad president almost forgot his nephew from interest in his surroundings. Across the front of the building was a sign reading: "Headquarters of the Dover & Springfield Short Line Railroad." To the south there was a singular sight presented. Some twenty men and boys were working on a roadbed, which had been cut for over two miles. A telegraph wire ran from the building over the tops of trees, and Ralph was fairly astonished at the progress made since he had first visited Farwell Gibson in this place.

"Come in," said Van, as Mr. Grant alighted from the wagon.

"Well, this is decidedly a railroady place," observed the president of the Great Northern with a faint smile.

One half of the rambling place was a depot and railway offices combined. There were benches for passengers. In one corner was a partitioned off space, labeled: "President's Office." On the wall hung a bunch of blank baggage checks, and there was a chart of a zigzag railway line, indicating bridges, water tanks and switch towers.

"Mr. Gibson," called out Van to a man seated at a desk, "this is Mr. Grant, the president of the Great Northern."

"Eh? what! My dear sir, I am glad to see you," said the eccentric hermit. "You came about your nephew, I presume? Take the gentleman to his room, Van," directed Farwell. "I am something of a doctor and he is resting quite comfortably."

Mr. Gibson greeted Ralph very cordially. When Van returned, he insisted on the young fireman inspecting the work on the railroad.

"Does that look like business?" he inquired, as they proceeded down the roadbed. "We have ten men and eight boys working for us."

"Eight boys—where did they come from?" inquired Ralph.

"An orphan asylum burned down and we engaged to care for them," replied Van.

"But what are they doing in those trees?"

"Stringing a telegraph wire. We expect within a month to have the telegraph through to Springfield, and later to Dover."

"Why, Van," said Ralph, "it seems incredible, the progress you have made."

"That five thousand dollars we made old Farrington pay Mrs. Gibson was a great help," replied Van. "We have quite a construction crew here now. I help Mrs. Gibson do the cooking, and we get on famously."

Mr. Grant was with his nephew for over an hour. Then Ralph was sent for, and Trevor welcomed him with a glad smile. The young man described how he had been taken to a lonely building in the woods, how he had escaped from his enemies, breaking his arm in a runaway flight, and telling Ralph that he intended to remain where he was for a month, to which his uncle had agreed.

"Confidentially, Fairbanks," he said, "I have taken a great interest in this Short Cut Railroad scheme, and as soon as I am well I am coming to see you at Stanley Junction."

"Regarding this railroad?" inquired Ralph.

"Exactly," responded Trevor. "I see a great future in it. I shall not go to Europe. There is a practical business chance here, and I intend to help Mr. Gibson get the enterprise through."

"It will take a lot of money," suggested Ralph.

"Yes," assented Trevor, "and I know how to raise it. In fact, I have almost agreed to market one hundred thousand dollars' worth of bonds of the Dover & Springfield Short Line Railroad, and I want you to help me do it."



CHAPTER XIV

A RAILROAD STRIKE

"It's a bad outlook, lad," said old John Griscom.

The veteran engineer was serious and anxious as he pronounced the words. He and Ralph were proceeding down the tracks beyond the round-house, just returned from their regular run from the city.

"It's a strike, is it?" inquired Ralph.

"Worse than a strike," replied Griscom. "The railroad men's union is in a squabble among themselves and a fight is on. That means trouble and damage all around."

It was two weeks after the kidnapping of young Trevor, and affairs had subsided to regular routine for the engineer and fireman of the Limited Mail. The president of the Great Northern had sent a check for one hundred dollars to Ralph, which he divided with Griscom, both making up twenty-five dollars for Van Sherwin. From the actions of their superiors they knew that their being in close touch with Mr. Grant had helped them considerably, and both felt secure and contented in their positions, when a new disturbing element appeared.

For several days there had been trouble on both the Great Northern and the Midland Central. As Ralph understood it, the discharge of an irresponsible engineer on the latter line of railroad had led to a demand for his reinstatement. This the railway officials refused. A strike was at once ordered.

Two days later a man named Delmay, a strike agent, came to Stanley Junction. He demanded that the men on the Great Northern engage in a sympathetic strike until the other road was brought to terms. The older, wiser hands laughed at him. Jim Evans had returned to Stanley Junction, and at once joined in a movement to disrupt the local union by favoring the strike in question.

Evans had done a good deal of swaggering and threatening around the roundhouse that day, Ralph had just learned, and had intimidated some of the new hands into joining in the strike movement. He had left word that, as men came in from their runs, they were to report at a hall where the strikers met and announce which side of the contest they favored.

"Here we are, lad," said the veteran engineer, as they started up the stairs of a building on Railroad Street. "Don't look very business-like, those pails of beer going into that hall yonder and that cloud of tobacco smoke. I wouldn't stir a foot, only it's quite regular according to union rules to call and report in a matter like this."

"What are you going to do, Mr. Griscom?" asked Ralph.

"Short and sweet, give my sentiments and leave these loafers to fight it out among themselves."

"Include mine," said Ralph. "I do not understand these strike complications and I know you do, so I shall follow your guidance."

When they entered the hall they found a noisy crowd, smoking, playing cards and lounging about. On a platform sat Jim Evans, looking profoundly important. He sat at a table with a heap of papers before him. Griscom approached him, Ralph by his side.

"Who's in charge here?" demanded the old engineer gruffly.

"I am," announced Evans, in a somewhat unsteady tone. "Head of the movement."

"That so?" muttered Griscom. "Movement can't amount to much, then. Now then, Jim Evans, just one word. We came here out of courtesy to the union. We are members in good standing, and we represent the majority. At the meeting last night we voted you out as seceders. I am authorized to inform you that from now on no attention whatever will be paid to your crowd here."

"Is that so?" sneered Evans. "I reckon we'll attract some attention when we get in action. We have started our own union. We are going to break up the old one. Whoever comes in now to help us holds his job. Whoever don't, will get downed somewhere along the line, and don't you forget it."

"Being in the wrong," predicted Griscom steadily, "you won't succeed."

"Will you sign the roll?"

"No."

"Nor Fairbanks?"

"Let the lad speak for himself," said Griscom.

"I know little about these complications, Mr. Evans," said Ralph. "I pay my dues, and we are upheld in our positions by the central union. In the present instance I stand by the regular men."

Evans angrily picked up a sheet of paper. He scribbled upon it hastily.

"Know what that means?" he demanded.

"We don't, and are not at all anxious to know," retorted Griscom, turning to leave the hall.

"It means that you are blacklisted!" shouted Evans, rising to his feet. "As to you, Fairbanks, I owe you one, and the time has come when I am in power. Think twice—join us, or it will be the worse for you."

"Come on, lad," directed Griscom.

"Men," roared Evans to his mob of friends, "those two are on the black list. Notice them particularly, and hit hard when you strike."

Ralph went home somewhat disturbed by the episode, but not at all alarmed. He knew that such complications were frequent among the unions. His mother, however, was quite worried over the affair.

"That fellow Evans is a bad man, and has a personal hatred for you, Ralph," she said. "Besides that, as we know, he has been incited to make you trouble by Mr. Farrington. Be careful of yourself, my son, for I fear he may try to do you some mischief."

"I can only go on in the clear path of duty," said Ralph sturdily.

The next morning the roundhouse was in quite a tumult. Its vicinity was picketed by the strikers. Ralph entered the place to find Tim Forgan, the foreman, in a state of great excitement and worry. There were not men enough for the regular runs.

"Take out your regular train," he said to Griscom, "but I believe it will be annulled and new orders issued at the city end of the line. We're in for trouble, I can tell you. The strikers make some pretty bad threats, and you want to watch every foot of the route until this strike is settled one way or the other."

"There is no other way except to oppose these loafers boldly," pronounced Griscom. "The union has expelled them, and they are on the basis of rioters."

"Well, the railroad company will make some move to protect its property," said Forgan. "They must give us more men, though, or we will have to annul half the daily trains."

The Limited Mail got out of the yards with some difficulty. They had a spiked switch to look out for, and a missile from an old building smashed the headlight glass. At the limits a man tossed a folded paper into the locomotive cab. It was a poor scrawl containing direful threats to anyone opposing the new union.

When they reached the terminus Griscom found a committee of men from the central union waiting for him. They held a consultation. Then a messenger from the railway office came after him. It was a busy day for the veteran rail-roader.

"I don't like the looks of things," he said to Ralph, as they started on the homeward run. "The central union backs us, and the company is bound to fight the strikers to a finish. A lot of men are going down to take the places of the strikers. We are carrying them on this train, and serious trouble will begin as soon as the new men go to work."

Two days later the freight traffic of the Great Northern was practically tied up. The situation had become positively alarming. The strikers had gathered strength of numbers through intimidation, and the coming of new workers had aroused animosity.

Car loads of perishable fruits and the like were rotting in the yards, men were beaten, engines crippled, orders mixed up, crown sheets burned and cars smashed on open switches.

The Limited Mail was annulled as a regular train, and Griscom and Ralph and all other passenger employes placed on the irregular list. One day a man would take out the Mail, the next day he would be running freight empties to the city.

Some cars on siding along the route had been set on fire, and Griscom and Ralph were ordered down the line to pick up freight strays and haul them to the yards at Dover. It proved an unpleasant task. Strikers annoyed them in every way possible. Finally with a mixed train of about twenty cars they arrived at Afton, and took the sidings to gather in half-a-dozen gondolas.

The spot was remote from the main tracks. Ralph had to do the coupling. He had run back, bound on this duty in the present instance, when, just as he reached the end of their train, three ill-appearing men stepped into view from a dismantled switch shanty.

"Drop your signaling," spoke one of the three, advancing menacingly towards Ralph.

"Hardly," responded Ralph calmly, "seeing we want these cars."

"You don't take them," retorted the man, placing himself between the halted train and the cars beyond.

Ralph calmly gave the signal to the engine. The train backed. The man had to jump quickly out of the way. Ralph set the coupling pin, gave a quick signal and sprang into the first empty car. The man who had spoken to him followed him through the opposite open doorway.

"Fetch him out!" cried his two companions, running along the side of the car. "Maul him, and send him back to Stanley Junction as a lesson to the others."

The man attempted to seize Ralph and the latter resisted. The fellow called to his companions, and they sprang into the car. Ralph, trying to reach the doorway to leap out, was tripped up, and he fell quite heavily.

"Toss him out!" growled his first assailant, but Ralph recovered himself, managed to gain his feet, and leaped to the ground outside.

The three men followed. Ralph ran behind a pile of railroad ties. His pursuers gained upon him. He stumbled, fell flat, and they pounced upon him.

"Hold on there," suddenly spoke a new voice. "Get back and stay back, or I'll know the reason why."

Something whizzed through the air. It was a heavy cudgel. Whack! whack! whack! the three fellows retreated as their shoulders were assailed good and hard.

Ralph in some surprise regarded his new friend. He was a queer-looking old man, carrying a formidable cudgel, and this he now brandished recklessly in the faces of his adversaries, beating them back step by step.

"Now, you mind your own business," he warned the men. "Pitching onto a boy—three big loafers that you are!"

The men were cowards and sneaked sullenly away. Ralph's rescuer went back to the pile of ties and took up a little open memorandum book lying there.

Ralph noticed that its pages bore a list of numbers, as of cars.

"I am very grateful to you," said the young fireman.

"That's all right," responded the stranger, and ran his eye over the cars as they passed by as if looking at their numbers. Ralph concluded that he had some business on the spot.

"Are you in the service of the railroad?" he asked.

"Yes," nodded the man—"of many railroads. I am a professional car finder."



CHAPTER XV

THE RUNAWAY TRAINS

Ralph and his companion followed the train till it left the siding, when the young fireman set the switch and they stood by the side of the track until the locomotive backed down to where they were.

"Going into Dover?" inquired the man who had rendered Ralph such signal service.

"Yes," nodded Griscom, looking the questioner over suspiciously, as was his custom with all strangers recently since the strike began.

"Give me a lift, will you? I am through with my work here," observed the man. "My name is Drury. I am a car finder."

"Indeed?" said the old engineer with some interest of manner. "I've heard of you fellows. Often thought I'd like the job."

"You wouldn't, if you knew its troubles and difficulties," asserted Drury with a laugh, as he climbed into the tender. "You think it's just riding around and asking a few questions. Why, say, I have spent a whole month tracing down two strays alone."

"That so?" said Griscom.

"Yes, it is true. You see, cars get on a line shy of them, and they keep them purposely. Then, again, cars are lost in wrecks, burned up, or thrown on a siding and neglected. You would be surprised to know how many cars disappear and are never heard of again."

This was a new phase in railroad life to Ralph, and he was greatly interested. He plied the man with questions, and gained a good deal of information from him.

"Switch off here, Fairbanks," ordered Griscom, as they neared a siding.

"Is your name Fairbanks?" asked the carfinder of Ralph.

"It is."

"Heard of you," said Drury, glancing keenly at the young fireman. "It was down at Millville, last week. They seem to think a good deal of you, the railroad men there."

"I hope I deserve it," said Ralph modestly.

"Took a meal at a restaurant kept by a friend of yours," continued the carfinder.

"You mean Limpy Joe?"

"Exactly. Original little fellow—spry, handy and accommodating. Met another genius there—Dallas."

"Zeph? Yes," said Ralph. "He has got lots to learn, but he has the making of a man in him."

"He has. He was greatly interested in my position. Wanted me to hire him right away. Said he knew he could find any car that was ever lost. I gave him a job," and Drury smiled queerly.

"What kind of a job?" inquired Ralph.

"Oh, you ask him when you see him," said Drury mysteriously. "I promised to keep it a secret," and he smiled again. "Good-bye, I leave you here."

"Now then," said Griscom to his young assistant, "orders are to run to Ridgeton and start out in the morning picking up strays between there and Stanley Junction."

When they got to Ridgeton, it had begun to rain. It was a lonely station with a telegraph operator, and a few houses quite a distance away. The operator was not on duty nights since the strike. The engine was sidetracked. They got a meal at the nearest house, and the operator gave them the key to the depot, where he said they could sleep all night on the benches. This Griscom insisted on doing, in order that they might keep an eye on the locomotive.

They sat up until about nine o'clock. Then, tired out with a hard day's work, both soon sank into profound sleep. It was some time later when both, always vigilant and easily aroused, awoke together.

"Oh," said the old engineer drowsily, "only the ticker."

"Yes, some one is telegraphing," answered Ralph, "but it is a hurry call."

"Understand the code, do you?"

"Yes," answered Ralph. "Quiet, please, for a moment. Mr. Griscom, this is urgent," and Ralph arose and hurried to the next room, where the instrument was located.

He listened to the sharp ticking of the little machine. There was the double-hurry call. Then came some sharp, nervous clicks.

"R-u-n-a-w-a-y," he spelled out.

"What's that?" cried Griscom, springing to his feet.

"J-u-s-t p-a-s-s-e-d W-i-l-m-e-r, s-i-x f-r-e-i-g-h-t c-a-r-s. S-t-o-p t-h-e-m a-t R-i-d-g-e-t-o-n, o-r t-h-e-y w-i-l-l m-e-e-t N-o. f-o-r-t-y-e-i-g-h-t."

Ralph looked up excitedly. Griscom stood by his side. His eyes were wide awake enough now.

"Repeat that message—quick, lad!" he said in a suppressed tone. "Can you signal for repeat?"

Ralph did so, once more spelling out the message as it came over the wire.

"No. 48?" spoke Griscom rapidly. "That is the special passenger they have been sending out from Stanley Junction since the strike. What is the next station north? Act! Wire north to stop the train."

Ralph got the next station with some difficulty. A depressing reply came. No. 48 had passed that point.

"Then she's somewhere on the thirty-mile stretch between there and here," said Griscom. "Lad, it is quick action—wind blowing a hurricane, and those freights thundering down a one per cent. grade. Bring the lantern. Don't lose a moment. Hurry!"

Ralph took the lead, and they rushed for their locomotive. The young fireman got a red lantern and ran down the track, set the light, and was back to the engine quickly.

"This is bad, very bad," said Griscom. "Nothing but this siding, ending at a big ravine, the only track besides the main. The runaway must have a fearful momentum on that grade. What can we do?"

Ralph tested the valves. He found sufficient steam on to run the engine.

"I can suggest only one thing, Mr. Griscom," he said.

"Out with it, lad, there is not a moment to lose," hurriedly directed the old engineer.

"Get onto the main, back down north, set the switch here to turn the runaways onto the siding."

"But suppose No. 48 gets here first?"

"Then we must take the risk, start south till she reaches the danger signals, and sacrifice our engine, that is all," said Ralph plainly.

It was a moment of intense importance and strain. In any event, unless the unexpected happened, No. 48 or their own locomotive would be destroyed. On the coming passenger were men, women and children.

"Duty, lad," said Griscom, in a kind of desperate gasp. "We must not hesitate. Pile in the black diamonds and hope for the best. If we can reach the creek before the runaways, we can switch them onto a spur. It means a smash into the freights there. But anything to save the precious lives aboard the night passenger from Stanley Junction."

They ran on slowly, then, gaining speed, got a full head of steam on the cylinders. At a curve the bridge lights came into view.

"What do you see?" demanded Griscom, his band trembling on the throttle, wide open now.

"She's coming," cried Ralph. "I caught the glint of the bridge lights. She's not six hundred yards away."

It was a desperate situation now. Both engineer and fireman realized this. The backward swing was caught, and down the course they had just come their locomotive sped with frightful velocity.

It was a mad race, but they had the advantage. One mile, two miles, three miles, the depot, down the main, and before the engine had stopped, Ralph was on the ground. He ran to the switch, set it, and then both listened, watched and waited.

"There are the runaways," said Ralph.

Yes, there they were, speeding like phantoms over the rain-glistening steel. Nearer and nearer they came, passed the siding, struck the switch, ran its length, and then a crash—and the night passenger from Stanley Junction was saved!

"I don't know what the damage will be," muttered Griscom in a long-drawn breath of relief, "but we have done our duty as we saw it."

They got back on the siding and removed the red lights before No. 48 arrived. The night passenger sped tranquilly by, her train crew little dreaming of the peril they had escaped.

The next afternoon, when they arrived at Stanley Junction, the assistant superintendent of the road highly commended their action in regard to the runaway freights.

Ralph went home tired out from strain of work and excitement. As he neared the house he noticed a wagon in the yard and a horse browsing beside it.

"Why," he said, "that rig belongs to Limpy Joe."

Ralph hurried into the house. He found both Joe and Zeph in the sitting room. They were conversing with his mother, with whom the cripple boy had always been a great favorite.

"Well, fellows, I am glad to see you," said Ralph heartily, "but what brought you here?"

"Plainly," replied Limpy Joe—"Ike Slump."

"Why, what do you mean?" inquired the young fireman.

"I mean that we have been burned out," said Joe, "and Ike Slump did it."



CHAPTER XVI

CAR NO. 9176

"Burned out!" exclaimed Ralph, deeply concerned.

"Yes," nodded Joe, a trifle dolefully. "Labors of years in ashes—Limpy Joe's Railroad Restaurant a thing of the past."

"How did it happen?"

"Spite work. Three nights ago, late in the evening, Ike Slump appeared at the restaurant and demanded a free meal. I gave it to him. Then he demanded some money, and I refused it. He became bold and ugly, and told us how his crowd had it in for us, that they knew I had some hand in helping you get that stolen plunder, and would fix us sooner or later. He advised me to buy them off. I sent him away. Last night we discovered the place on fire, and it was burned to the ground."

Ralph was deeply distressed over his friend's misfortune. The lame fellow, however, was undaunted. He deplored his loss, but he was by no means discouraged.

"Thankful to have the horse and wagon left," he said. "I can always earn a living with that. Besides that, we saw Van Sherwin the other day. He is getting on finely, and I think we could get work on the Short Line Railroad. For the present, though, I am going to stay at Stanley Junction. I have a dozen plans for getting a little money together. Will you try us as boarders for a week or two, Ralph?"

"I answered that question a few minutes ago," reminded Mrs. Fairbanks, "and if you two will sleep in the same room, you will cause no inconvenience whatever."

"And you, Zeph?" said Ralph, turning to the farmer boy.

Zeph had been strangely silent. He appeared to be trying to look very dignified and much absorbed in thought.

"Oh, me?" he said now. "Why, I'm already at work. Commence to-night. Call boy at the roundhouse. Old one is with the strikers. Mr. Forgan engaged me this afternoon."

"Why, that is fine," said Ralph. "A start in the right direction. Look out for the strikers, though, Zeph."

"Don't fret about me," advised Zeph. "I'm a fighter when aroused. See, here is my list to call in the morning," and he showed Ralph a slip of paper containing about a dozen names.

Ralph read it over, and after a meal went out with Zeph and showed him the location of the homes of those named in the list.

"This job is all right," said Zeph, as they returned to the house, "but it is only a sort of side line with me."

"Indeed?" smiled Ralph, amused at the off-hand, yet self-important manner of his companion.

"Oh, yes."

"How is that?"

"Simply want to get into the service so as to have the privilege of riding around on engines when I want to. It sort of introduces me, you see."

"What do you want to ride around on engines for?" asked Ralph. "You can't afford to waste your time that way."

"Waste my time? waste my time?" repeated Zeph. "Huh, guess you don't know what you're talking about! I'm on the trail of a big fortune."

"You don't say so."

"I do. Ralph Fairbanks, I'll let you into the secret. You've been a good friend to me, and you shall help me."

"What ridiculous nonsense are you talking, Zeph?"

"You'll see whether it's nonsense or not when some day I walk in on you with a fortune. Now, this is on the dead quiet, Fairbanks?"

"Oh, sure," laughed Ralph.

"Very well. I met a fellow the other day, who is a car finder."

"Mr. Drury, you mean?" asked Ralph.

"How did you know?" questioned Zeph in surprise.

"He told me he had met you, and agreed with me that you were a pretty fair kind of a fellow."

"Did he?" said Zeph, very much pleased at the double compliment. "Well, I got interested in his business and he finally gave me a—a—well a job, you might call it."

"Salary big, Zeph?"

"No salary at all," responded Zeph. "It's a partnership deal. If I find certain property, I am to have a big reward to divide with him."

"What kind of property?"

"Diamonds."

"Oh, going digging for them?"

"Don't make fun of me, Fairbanks," said Zeph in a slightly offended tone. "This is a fair and square business proposition. About five years ago a car was lost, presumably on the Great Northern. At least, it can be traced no farther than the terminus of the Midland Central, where it was switched onto this line here. There all trace of it was lost."

"Valuable freight aboard?"

"No, on the contrary, it was empty, but, all the same, between sealed boards and the rough ones a pocketbook containing a lot of valuable diamonds was hidden."

"Who by?"

"A traveling jewelry salesman named Isaacs."

"What did he hide it there for?"

"He had to. You see, he was on another railroad line and crossing some tracks when some footpads assaulted him. He managed to escape and got into the empty car I told you about. Then he heard them coming to search for him, and hid the diamonds in a break of the boards at one side of the car."

"I see."

"They dragged him out, beat him into insensibility and stole all his money. He woke up in a hospital a month later, after a siege of fever. The first thing he thought of was the diamonds and the car. He had taken particular pains to note the number of the car."

"What was it, may I ask?"

"Confidentially?"

"Of course."

"It belonged to the Southern Air Line Road, and its number was 9176."

"Why, you are telling a very interesting story," declared Ralph, now really interested in the same. "He searched for the car, of course?"

"At once. He telegraphed everywhere; he advertised; he employed detectives. It was no use. During the month of his illness, car No. 9176 had disappeared."

"That looks mysterious."

"The car finder says not at all. Such things happen frequently. But it went somewhere, didn't it? It may be lying on some old siding, in some creek after a wreck, stolen by gravel pit men, or in service still on some line. One thing is sure, if in existence still, it must be on one of four railroad lines, and the Great Northern is one of those roads."

"What do you propose to do?" inquired Ralph.

"Go over every one of those lines carefully."

"But Mr. Drury has done that already, has he not?"

"What of it? A first search doesn't always bring results. He has given me full details as to the car, and, according to the records, it was lost on the Great Northern. In a day or two I am going to have a look at the transfer records at Dover. Then I am going to look up the trainmen who probably hauled the car. Oh, I have a theory and a plan. If I find the car I shall be almost rich."

"Not a bad prospect, Zeph," said Ralph, "but if I were you I would stick at regular work and make the search for that car a secondary matter."

"You'll remember it and help me out if you can?" asked Zeph.

"Surely I will," and Ralph made a note of the number of the car in his memorandum book.

When the young fireman arose the next morning, he found Zeph seated on the front porch lounging back in an easy chair and his face all bandaged up. Mrs. Fairbanks stood near by, regarding her guest solicitously.

"Why, what is the matter, Zeph?" inquired Ralph in profound surprise.

"Whipped four men, that's all," answered Zeph with a smile that was almost ghastly, for his lips were all cut and swollen up, one eye disfigured and two teeth gone. "I went on my rounds this morning. I made sure to wake up the fellows on call, and one of them threatened to kill me if I ever came to his door again with that 'fog-horn holler' of mine, as he called it. The night watch-man said he'd arrest me for disturbing the peace. I didn't mind that. Then I ran across four strikers. They wanted me to join them. I refused, and—that's all, except that I'll bet they are worse off than I am, if it was four to one."

"Going to keep right on at your job?" inquired Ralph.

"Am I?" cried the undaunted Zeph. "Well, if anything would make me it would be this attack on me. Tell you, Fairbanks, hot times are coming. Forgan was on duty all night, and he told me this morning to advise you to be extra cautious in coming to work. The strikers are in an ugly mood, and they are going to make a bold break to smash up things to-day, they threaten."

"Yes," sighed Ralph, "affairs must come to a crisis sooner or later, I fear. Duty is plain, though. I shall stick to Griscom, and Griscom insists that he will stick to the road."

Mrs. Fairbanks looked anxious and frightened. Turning to enter the house, the young fireman started violently and his mother and Zeph uttered exclamations of excitement.

A terrific explosion had rent the air. Its echoes rang out far and wide, and its source seemed to be the railroad depot.

"Oh, Ralph! what does that mean?" cried Mrs. Fairbanks.

"I fear," said Ralph seriously, "the strikers are rioting and the trouble has begun."



CHAPTER XVII

UNDER SEALED ORDERS

The young fireman was soon headed for the railroad yards. A good many people were bound hurriedly in the same direction, for the explosion had aroused the town.

As he neared the place, he could hear considerable shouting. He came to the tracks at a point where there was a switch shanty. The man on duty looked worried and scared.

"What is the trouble?" inquired Ralph.

"The strikers have blown up a freight car with dynamite," replied the flagman. "They have threatened me, old and feeble as I am. I'm afraid I'll have to lay off till this trouble is over."

In the distance Ralph saw the mere skeleton of a freight car. It was in flames, and a number of men were pushing other cars from its vicinity to prevent them from catching on fire. A man tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, Ralph recognized one of the strikers.

"See here, Fairbanks," he said, "I'm of the decent sort, as you know, but I think our position is right."

"Does that look like it?" demanded the young fireman, pointing to the burning car.

"I'm not responsible for that," said the man, "and I can't prevent the hot-headed ones from violence. I know you won't join us, but I'm just friendly enough to give you a warning. Don't go on duty to-day."

"I certainly shall, if I am needed," replied Ralph. "Your union is in bad hands, and can't last."

The man shrugged his shoulders and Ralph passed on his way. A piece of coal came whizzing through the air a few minutes later from the vicinity of a crowd of loiterers. It knocked off the young fireman's cap. He picked it up and walked slowly on.

When he came to the roundhouse, he found the doors shut. Most of the windows in the place were broken in. Several target rods near by lay on the ground, and at a glance Ralph saw that considerable damage had been wrought during the night.

"There must be a crisis soon," he said, and went to the roundhouse door. Before he was admitted several stones rained about him, thrown from behind a pile of ties. Inside, Ralph found Griscom and several others among the older engineers and firemen. All hands looked serious, the foreman particularly so.

"Glad you came," said Forgan. "There's bad trouble brewing. The strike has reached the danger point. We can't run any regulars from the depot and won't try to to-day, but the Limited Mail must go to terminus. Griscom is ready for the run; are you? The regular engineer and fireman say they won't risk their lives."

"I did not see the train anywhere," observed Ralph.

"There is to be no regular train, only one postal and one express car. They will back down here in half-an-hour from the limits. Here is a wire for you. Came early this morning."

With some surprise Ralph read a brief telegram. It came from the headquarters of the Great Northern in the city, was signed by the president of the road, and read:

"Come to my office immediately on reaching terminus."

Ralph showed this to Griscom. The situation was discussed by the men in the roundhouse, and the time passed by until a sharp whistle announced the arrival of the Limited Mail.

As Griscom and Ralph went outside to relieve those temporarily in charge of the locomotive, they were pelted from several points with pieces of dirt, iron and coal. A crowd surged up to the engine. Then a startling thing occurred that dispersed them more quickly than they had gathered.

As if by magic there appeared on the platforms of the two coaches fully a dozen guards armed with rifles. The train now proceeded on its way without molestation. At the limits the guards left it to protect other railroad property.

The only trouble experienced during the run was between Afton and Dover, when some missiles were thrown and two switches found spiked. When they reached the city, Ralph tidied up and went to see the president of the road.

Mr. Grant received him with a pleasant smile, beckoned him to a comfortable seat, and, closing the door of his private office, said:

"Fairbanks, we think a good deal of you, and I know you deserve that favorable opinion. There are many trusted and reliable men in our service, but they do not think as quickly as you do. You are familiar with people at Stanley Junction, and on that account I wish you to do an important service for us."

"I shall be pleased to," said Ralph.

"It is this: Some one is working against us, some one is undermining us. We now believe that the sympathetic strike, as it is called, is more the result of some plot than a genuine sentiment of unionism. A man named Delmay, from the Midland Central, and a man named Evans, a discharged employe of our road, are at the head of the movement. Both are persons of bad record in every way."

"I know that," murmured Ralph.

"We believe that these men are hired to promote the strike."

"Why, by whom, Mr. Grant?" inquired Ralph in considerable surprise.

"That we wish you to find out. All we suspect is that some outside party is inciting them to the strike to carry out some selfish personal ends. You must find out who he is. You must discover his motives."

Ralph was perplexed. He could not understand the situation at all.

"I will do all I can in the line you suggest, sir," he said, "although I hardly know where to begin."

"You will find a way to make your investigation," declared the president of the Great Northern. "I rely a great deal upon your ability already displayed in ferreting out mysteries, and on your good, solid, common sense in going to work cautiously and intelligently on a proposition. You can tell Forgan you are relieved on special service and wire me personally when you make any discoveries."

Ralph arose to leave the room.

"Wait a moment," continued Mr. Grant, taking up an envelope. "I wish you to hand this to Griscom. The Limited Mail will not make any return trip to-night. Instead, a special will be ready for you. You need mention this to no one. That envelope contains sealed orders and is not to be opened until you start on your trip. The superintendent of the road will see you leave and will give you all further instructions needed."

There was a certain air of mystery to this situation that perplexed Ralph. He reported to Griscom, who took the letter with a curious smile.

"Must be something extra going on down the road," he observed. "Wonder what? Start after dark, too. Hello, I say—the pay car."

They had come to the depot to observe an engine, two cars attached, and the superintendent standing on the platform conversing with a man attired in the garb of a fireman.

The latter was a sturdy man of middle age, one of the best firemen on the road, as Ralph knew. He nodded to Griscom and Ralph, while the superintendent said:

"Fairbanks, this man will relieve you on the run."

Ralph looked surprised.

"Why," he said, "then I am not to go on this trip?"

"Oh, yes," answered the official with a grim smile,—"that is, if you are willing, but it must be as a passenger."

Ralph glanced at the passenger coach. Inside were half-a-dozen guards.

"Not in there," replied the superintendent, "We want you to occupy the pay car here. Everything is ready for you."

"All right," said Ralph.

"Come on, then."

The superintendent unlocked the heavy rear door of the pay car, led the way to the tightly sealed front compartment, and there Ralph found a table, chair, cot, a pail of drinking water and some eatables.

"You can make yourself comfortable," said the official. "There will probably be no trouble, but if there is, operate this wire."

The speaker pointed to a wire running parallel with the bell rope to both ends of the train. On the table lay a rifle. The only openings in the car were small grated windows at either end.

The official left the car, locking in Ralph. The young fireman observed a small safe at one end of the car.

"Probably contains a good many thousands of dollars," he reflected. "Well, here is a newspaper, and I shall try to pass the time comfortably."

By getting on a chair and peering through the front ventilator, Ralph could obtain a fair view of the locomotive. The train started up, and made good time the first thirty miles. Then Ralph knew from a halt and considerable switching that they were off the main rails.

"Why," he said, peering through the grating, "they have switched onto the old cut-off between Dover and Afton."

That had really occurred, as the young fireman learned later. The officials of the road, it appeared, feared most an attack between those two points, and the sealed orders had directed Griscom to take the old, unused route, making a long circuit to the main line again.

Ralph remembered going over this route once—rusted rails, sinking roadbed, watery wastes at places flooding the tracks. He kept at the grating most of the time now, wondering if Griscom could pilot them through in safety.

Finally there was a whistle as if in response to a signal, then a sudden stop and then a terrible jar. Ralph ran to the rear grating.

"Why," he cried, "the guard car has been detached, there are Mr. Griscom and the engineer in the ditch, and the locomotive and pay car running away."

He could look along the tracks and observe all this. Engineer and fireman had apparently been knocked from the cab. Some one was on the rear platform of the pay car, a man who was now clambering to its roof. The guards ran out of the detached coach and fired after the stolen train, but were too late.

Rapidly the train sped along. Ralph ran to the front grating. The locomotive was in strange hands and the tender crowded with strange men.

"It's a plain case," said Ralph. "These men have succeeded in stealing the pay car, and that little safe in the corner is what they are after."

The train ran on through a desolate waste, then across a trestle built over a swampy stretch of land. At its center there was a jog, a rattle, the tracks gave way, and almost with a crash, the train came to a halt.

It took some time to get righted again, and the train proceeded very slowly. Ralph had done a good deal of thinking. He knew that soon the robbers would reach some spot where they would attack the pay car.

"I must defeat their purpose," he said to himself. "I can't let myself out, but—the safe! A good idea."

Ralph settled upon a plan of action. He was busily engaged during the next half hour. When the train came to a final stop, there was an active scene about it.

Half-a-dozen men, securing tools from the locomotive, started to break in the door of the pay car. In this they soon succeeded.

They went inside. The safe was the object of all their plotting and planning, but the safe was gone, and Ralph Fairbanks was nowhere in the pay car.



CHAPTER XVIII

THE STRIKE LEADER

Ralph felt that he had done a decidedly timely and clever act in outwitting the train robbers. He had left the car almost as it stopped, and under the cover of the dark night had gained the shelter of the timber lining the track.

The young fireman waited until the men came rushing out of the car. They were dismayed and furious, and, leaving them in a noisy and excited consultation, Ralph started back towards the trestle work.

"They won't get the safe, that is sure," said the young railroader in tones of great satisfaction, as he hurried along in the pelting storm. "They will scarcely pursue me. It is pretty certain, however, that they will be pursued, and I may meet an engine before I reach Dover."

Just as he neared the end of the trestle Ralph saw at some distance the glint of a headlight. It was unsteady, indicating the uncertain character of the roadbed.

"About two miles away," decided the young fireman. "I must manage to stop them."

With considerable difficulty, Ralph secured sufficient dry wood and leaves in among some bushes to start a fire between the rails and soon had a brisk blaze going. The headlight came nearer and nearer. A locomotive halted. Ralph ran up to the cab.

It contained Griscom, the city fireman and two men armed with rifles. The old engineer peered keenly at the figure, quickly springing to the step of the engine.

"You, lad?" he cried heartily. "I'm glad of that. Where is the train?"

"About two miles further on beyond the trestle."

"And the pay car?"

"The robbers were in possession when I left them."

"Then they will get away with the safe!" cried the engineer excitedly.

"Hardly," observed Ralph, with a smile.

"Eh, lad, what do you mean?"

"What I say. Truth is, I saw what was coming. There was only one thing to do. There were tools in the car. I sawed a hole through the floor of the car, rolled the safe to it, and dumped it through. It went between two rotten ties, and lies in the swamp—safe."

With a shout of delight old John Griscom slapped his young assistant admiringly on the shoulder.

"Fairbanks," he cried, "you're a jewel! Mate," to the fireman, "this is glad news."

"It is, indeed," said his companion. "I wouldn't like the record of losing that safe. Can you locate the spot, Fairbanks?"

"It may take some trouble," answered Ralph. "The best thing to do is to get a wrecking car here; meantime, the trestle should be guarded."

They ran on and up to the spot where the stolen train was halted, but found the vicinity deserted. It seemed that whatever the robbers had guessed out as to the mystery of the safe, they did not consider there was any chance of recovering it.

The two men armed with rifles remained at the trestle, while the others took the stolen pay car back to Dover. Once there, Griscom kept the wires busy for a time. About daylight a wrecking crew was made up. Ralph accompanied them to the scene of the attempted robbery.

He could fairly estimate the locality of the sunken safe, and some abrasions of the ties finally indicated the exact spot where the safe had gone through into the water below. It was grappled for, found, and before noon that day the pay car train arrived at Stanley Junction with the safe aboard.

Affairs at the terminal town were still in an unsettled condition. The presence of armed guards prevented wholesale attacks on the railroad property, but there were many assaults on workmen at lonely spots, switches tampered with and shanty windows broken in.

Ralph reported to Tim Forgan and then went home. He went to sleep at once, awoke refreshed about the middle of the afternoon, and then told his mother all the occurrences of that day and the preceding one.

While Mrs. Fairbanks was pleased at the confidence reposed in her son by the railroad authorities, she was considerably worried at the constant turmoil and dangers of the present railroad situation. Ralph, however, assured her that he would take care of himself, and left the house trying to form some plan to follow out the instructions of the president of the Great Northern.

He could not go among the strikers, and without doing so, or sending a spy among them, it would be difficult to ascertain their motives and projects. Coming around a street corner, the young fireman halted abruptly.

A procession of strikers was coming down the street. They were a noisy, turbulent mob, cheered on by like rowdyish sympathizers lining the pavements.

"Why, impossible!" exclaimed Ralph, as he noticed by the side of Jim Evans, the leader of the crowd, his young friend, Zeph Dallas.

The latter seemed to share the excitement of the paraders. He acted as if he gloried in being a striker, and the familiar way Evans treated him indicated that the latter regarded him as a genuine, first-class recruit.

Zeph caught Ralph's eye and then looked quickly away. The young fireman was dreadfully disappointed in the farmer boy. He went at once to the roundhouse, where the foreman told him that Zeph had deserted the afternoon previous.

"I don't understand it," said Forgan. "The lad seemed to hate the strikers for attacking him the other night. I suppose, though, it's with him like a good many others—there's lots of 'relief money' being given out, and that's the bait that catches them."

"I must manage to see Zeph," mused Ralph. "I declare, I can hardly believe he is really on their side. I wonder how near I dare venture to the headquarters of that mob."

The young fireman went to the vicinity of the hall occupied by the strikers, but he did not meet Zeph. Then Ralph proceeded to the business portion of Stanley Junction. He visited the bank and several other leading local business institutions. He made a great many inquiries and he felt that he was on the edge of some important discoveries.

When he got home he found Zeph sitting on the porch, smiling as ever. Ralph nodded seriously to him. Zeph grinned outright.

"What's that kind of a welcome for, eh?" he demanded.

"Sorry to see you in the ranks of the strikers to-day, Zeph," observed Ralph.

"Ought to be glad."

"What?"

"I suppose a fellow is free to follow out his convictions, isn't he?"

"Certainly."

"Well, I'm following out mine," declared Zeph—"the conviction that of all the mean rascals in this burg, Jim Evans is the meanest. See here, Fairbanks, have you lost your wits? Do you really for one minute suppose I sympathize with those fellows?"

"You seemed pretty close to Evans."

"Grand!" chuckled Zeph. "That's just what I was working for. See here, I made up my mind that those fellows were up to more mischief than what they have already done. I concluded there was something under the surface of this pretended strike. I wanted to find out. I have."

Ralph looked very much interested now. He began to see the light.

"Go on, Zeph," he said.

"Well, I found out just what I suspected—some one is furnishing the strikers with money, and lots of it."

"Do you know who it is?"

"I don't, but I do know one thing: every day Evans goes to the office of a certain lawyer in town here. They have a long consultation. Evans always comes away very much satisfied and with more money."

"What's the lawyer's name, Zeph?" inquired Ralph.

"Bartlett."

Just then they were called in to supper by Mrs. Fairbanks. Ralph was silent and thoughtful during most of the meal.

The young fireman had learned that afternoon that a stranger named Bartlett had been buying up all the stock of the railroad he could secure. The man was not in good repute at Stanley Junction. He had come there only the week previous, Ralph was told, and occupied a mean little room in the main office building of the town.

After supper Ralph strolled down town. He entered the building in question and ascended its stairs. He knew the occupants of most of the offices, and finally located a room which contained a light but had no sign on the door.

Footsteps ascending the stairs caused the young fireman to draw back into the shadow. A man came into view and knocked noisily at the closed door.

"Here I am, Bartlett," said the fellow, lurching about in an unsteady way.

"I see you are," responded the man inside the room, "primed for work, too, it seems to me."

Ralph could not repress some excitement. The man Bartlett he instantly recognized as the person who had delivered to him in the city the papers from Gasper Farrington. His visitor he knew to be a discharged telegraph operator of the Great Northern.

"Yes," said the latter, as the door closed on him, "I'm ready for work, so bring on your wire-tapping scheme soon as you like."



CHAPTER XIX

THE WIRE TAPPERS

When the door of the office that Ralph was watching closed again and was locked, the young fireman approached the room. He was very sure that some important move against the railroad was meditated by the two men he had just seen, and he was anxious to overhear their conversation if possible.

To his intense satisfaction Ralph found that a coal box rested under the clouded-glass window of the office looking into the hallway. This window was down from the top some inches. Ralph clambered up on the coal box, got to the side of the window, fixed his eye at a small space where the glass was broken, and prepared to listen to the words of the two men he had in view.

Both sat in chairs now. Bartlett looked brisk and pleased; the ex-telegraph operator was unkempt, rather sullen, and acted like a man under orders on some unpleasant duty.

"Well, Morris," said the former, "all ready, are you? Tools and wire in that bag?"

"Batteries and all, complete outfit," responded the other. "What's the programme?"

"You haven't mentioned about my employing you to any one?"

"Certainly not."

"And have arranged to stay away from town for several days?"

"A week, if you like, at ten dollars a day you promised me," answered Morris.

"Very good. Let me see. There's a train about 10 o'clock."

"There is, if the strikers will let it run out," said Morris.

"Oh, they will. I have arranged all that," chuckled Bartlett. "They'll even help it on, knowing I'm aboard."

"That so?" muttered Morris. "You must have a pull somewhere."

"I have, or at least money has, and I control the money," grinned Bartlett. "You are to come with me down the line about twenty miles. You'll be told then about this special job."

Bartlett got up and bustled about. He packed a great many papers in a satchel, and finally announced that they had better be starting for the depot.

"Any little by-play you see on the train," said Bartlett, "help along, mind you."

"Why, what do you mean?" inquired Morris.

"You'll see when we get there," replied Bartlett enigmatically.

When they reached the depot the two men got aboard the one passenger coach of the night accommodation. There was a combination express car ahead. Ralph went to the messenger in charge and arranged to have free access to do as he desired.

When the train started up, he opened the rear door of the car and commanded a clear view into the passenger coach. The men he was watching sat side by side, engaged in conversation. There were only a few passengers aboard.

Ralph kept his eye on the two men. He noticed that Bartlett consulted his watch frequently and glanced as often from the car window. Finally, when the brakeman was out on the rear platform and the conductor at the front of the coach, the young fireman saw Bartlett quickly draw a small screwdriver from his pocket. Hiding its handle in his palm and letting the blade run along one finger, he dropped his arm down the seat rail into the middle of the aisle.

Morris watched towards the rear platform, Bartlett kept his eye on the conductor. His hand worked against the floor of the car. Finally he drew up his arm, put the screwdriver in his pocket and once more resumed his watch on the outside landscape.

There was a sharp signal, and the train gave a jerk. Bartlett arose to his feet. The next instant he fell flat headlong, and lay apparently insensible on the floor of the coach.

The conductor ran outside. The train started up again. Ralph, from the open doorway, heard the engineer shout back something about a false signal, presumably the work of the strikers. The train proceeded on its way.

It was not until then, as he re-entered the coach, that the conductor became aware of the prostrate man on the floor and Morris and other passengers gathering around him in excitement and solicitude. Ralph ventured across the platform near to the door of the passenger coach.

Bartlett, seemingly unconscious, was lifted to a seat. He soon opened his eyes, but feigned intense pain in his side, and acted the injured man to perfection. He began to explain, pointing to the floor. The conductor investigated. Ralph saw him draw a long brass screw into sight.

"A clever game," murmured the young fireman. "What a rascal the fellow is! He is laying the foundation for a damage suit."

Morris made himself busy, taking the names of witnesses. When the train stopped, Bartlett had to be almost lifted from the coach. Ralph alighted, too, and kept in the shadow. As soon as the train left, Bartlett was able to walk about unassisted.

The little town they had arrived at was dark and silent, and the two men met no one as they proceeded down its principal street. Then they turned to the south and walked a distance of about a mile. There was a kind of a grove lining the railroad. At its center they reached a lonely hut.

"Open up, there!" shouted Bartlett, pounding on its door with a stick he had picked up.

A light soon showed through the cracks of the board shutters.

"Who is there?" demanded a voice from the inside.

"Bartlett."

"All right—come in."

"Gasper Farrington," murmured Ralph, as he recognized the occupant of the hut.

It was the magnate of Stanley Junction, still disguised, just as he had been the last night Ralph had seen him at the home of Jim Evans. The three men disappeared within the house. Ralph approached and went cautiously about the place. He could not find a single point where he could look into the hut.

The young fireman felt that it was very important that he should learn what was going on within the house. He at length discovered a way of gaining access to at least one part of it. This was at the rear where a high stack of old hay stood. It almost touched the hut, and its top was very near to a sashless aperture in the attic.

Ralph scaled the stack with some difficulty and reached its top. In another moment he was inside the attic. It was low, the rafters were few and far between, and, as he crept over these, they began to sway and creak in an alarming way.

"This won't do at all," murmured the youth in some dismay, for it seemed that one more movement would carry down the entire ceiling below. He tried to retreat. There was a great cracking sound, and before he could help himself the young fireman went sprawling into the room below in the midst of a shower of plaster and laths.

"Hello!" shouted Bartlett, jumping up from a chair in consternation.

"I should say so," exclaimed Morris, dodging about out of the way of falling bits of plaster from the ceiling.

"A spy!" cried Farrington, "a spy! Why, it's Ralph Fairbanks!"

The young fireman stood surrounded by the three men, trying to clear his half-blinded eyes. He was seized and hustled about, thrown into a chair, and regained his wonted composure to find Gasper Farrington confronting him with an angry face.

"So, it's you, is it—you, again?" spoke the latter, gazing at Ralph with a glance full of ill will.

"Yes," responded the youth. "I can't deny it very well, can I?"

"How do you come to be up in that attic? How long have you been there? What are you up to, anyway?" shouted the excited Farrington.

"Don't ask me any questions for I shall not answer them," retorted Ralph nervily. "Here I am. Make the best of it."

"See here," said Bartlett, a deep frown on his face. "This looks bad for us. Morris, watch that young fellow a minute or two."

He and Farrington went into the next room. There was a low-toned consultation. When they came back the lawyer carried a piece of rope in his hand. It was useless for Ralph to resist, and the three men soon had him securely bound. He was carried into a small adjoining room, thrown on a rude mattress, and locked in.

For nearly half-an-hour he could hear the drone of low voices in the adjoining room. Then the door was unlocked, and Farrington came in with a light and made sure that the captive was securely bound.

"You are going to leave here, then?" asked Bartlett.

"Don't I have to?" demanded Farrington. "This fellow has located us. I'll take you and Morris to the place I told you about, and move my traps out of here early in the morning."

"What are you going to do with Fairbanks?" inquired Bartlett.

"I'm thinking about that," retorted Farrington in a grim way. "It's the chance of a lifetime to settle with him. You leave that to me."

The speakers, shortly after this, left the hut with Morris. Ralph found he could not release himself, and patiently awaited developments. His captors had left the light in the next room and the door open, and he could see on a table the satchel the lawyer had brought with him from his office.

The sight of it caused Ralph to make renewed efforts for freedom. He strained at his bonds strenuously. Finally a strand gave way.

It was just as he began to take hope that he might acquire his liberty before his captors returned, that a sudden disaster occurred that made the young fireman fear for his life.

Some more of the ceiling plastering fell. It struck the lamp on the table, upset it, and in an instant the room was ablaze.



CHAPTER XX

IN PERIL

The young fireman gave a great shout of distress and excitement as he realized that he was in a decidedly perilous predicament. The oil of the lamp had ignited and the hut seemed doomed.

Ralph tugged at his bonds in a frenzy. Another strand of the rope gave way, then another, and still another. He trembled with mingled surprise and hope. Could he get free in time? It seemed not, for the flames were spreading fast and furiously.

Suddenly there was a shout outside of the hut. It was repeated, and then there came a great crash at the door. Ralph wondered at this, for he could think only of Farrington and his accomplices returning to the rescue. The loud pounding on the door, however, indicated that the persons engaged in it had no key. There was more than one person; Ralph ascertained this from the sound of mingled voices.

Suddenly the door gave way. It was burst bodily from its hinges and went crashing against the blazing table, upsetting it. At just that moment Ralph got one arm free. He was about to shout for assistance when he recognized the intruders.

They were Ike Slump and Mort Bemis. Both dashed into the blazing room. One found a pail of water and threw it in among the flames. This subdued the blaze partially.

"Be quick!" cried Slump to his companion. "Grab all you can. You have been watching the place, and say you know where old Farrington is likely to hide his valuables."

"Right here," replied Bemis, tearing open the door of a cupboard. "Here's a satchel."

"And here's another one," said Ike Slump, picking up the one that Bartlett had brought to the place. "Look sharp, now. They may come back at any moment."

The two marauders ransacked the room. Ralph refrained from calling out to them. He could now reach his pocket knife, and just as Slump and Bemis, pretty well singed by the flames, ran out of the hut, he hurried to a rear door and darted outside as well.

The young fireman peered around the corner of the hut. He saw Slump and Bemis making for the nearest timber. Ralph put after them, and as he gained the cover of the woods, looking back, he made out three figures dashing towards the blazing hut.

"Farrington and the others," decided Ralph. "This is an exciting business. Now to keep track of Slump and Bemis. I can hardly figure out, though, how they came to rob the hut, for Farrington was once their friend."

The precious pair of thieves scurried along through the woods, laughing and talking gleefully over the plunder they had secured. They must have gone over three miles before they halted. It was at a spot in among high bushes. Here they had evidently been camping previously, for there was a lot of hay on the ground, the signs of a recent campfire, and a sort of roof of bark overhead for shelter from rain and dew. They sat down on the ground and Slump proceeded to light a lantern.

"Your watching has amounted to something at last, Mort," said Slump. "Farrington went back on us in a measly way. Why, after all we did for him he took up with Jim Evans and others, and even refused me a few dollars when we were in hiding and trouble after that silk robbery. Here's our revenge. He's been up to some deep game for a week. He'll never know who stole this plunder."

"Find how much of it there is," suggested Bemis.

Each took up a satchel to investigate the contents. Ralph was intensely interested. He peered from a safe covert near at hand.

"Well, well, well!" exclaimed Slump as he opened the satchel taken from the cupboard of the old hut. "Why, there's a fortune here, if we can only handle it. Bonds of the Great Northern, stock in the Great Northern. See? some money—notes, mortgages, deeds! This is a big find."

"Same here, except the money," reported Bemis, investigating the documents in the satchel brought from Stanley Junction by Bartlett. "Mostly railroad stock in the Great Northern. Private letters, lists of names of the strikers. Memoranda about some wire-tapping scheme. Say, these papers are enough to send the old skeesicks to the penitentiary. He'll pay a fortune to get them back."

Slump pocketed the ready cash in the satchel. Then he was silently thoughtful for a few moments.

"See here, I have my scheme," he said finally. "We'll carry these satchels down to the old barge at the creek, and hide them there. Then we'll block out some plan to work Farrington for their return."

"All right," said Bemis. "Come ahead."

They took up the satchels and started on again, and Ralph followed them as before. They came to a creek, and, after lining its shore for nearly a mile, to a large roughly-made scow. Both boarded the craft, disappeared in its hold, reappeared, and came to the shore again.

"We'll just enjoy the ready cash for the time being," said Slump, "and later find out a safe way to deal with Farrington."

When they had gone, Ralph went aboard the scow. A scuttle led down into its hold. Its cover was closed with a strong spring bolt. Ralph drew this back and sat over the edge of the scuttle.

He peered down, prepared to push the cover clear back, when he slipped and went below head-long. The cover fell tightly shut, and he was a prisoner.

Ralph did not mind this much at the time. He believed he could readily force up the cover in some way when he wanted to leave the scow. He lit some matches and proceeded to search for the two satchels. He found them in a remote corner of the hold.

It was when he prepared to leave the hold that the young fireman discovered himself in a decided quandary. He could barely reach the scuttle cover, and there was not an object in the hold that he could use to force it open. Finally Ralph decided that he could not hope for escape in that direction.

There was a little window at one end of the scow, but it was too small to escape by. Ralph was compelled to accept the situation, at least until daylight. He tried to sleep, and at dawn looked out from the window.

"I will simply have to wait here until some one passes by," he told himself. "In the meantime, though, Slump and Bemis may return. Can I reach the rope holding the scow to the shore?"

This was secured around a tree stump. Ralph reached with his pocket knife through the window, and began cutting at the scow end of the rope, which ran just above it.

In a few minutes the strands gave way and the scow floated down the creek.



CHAPTER XXI

A FRIEND IN NEED

There was a sluggish current to the creek and as soon as the scow got into midstream, it proceeded steadily on its voyage.

"This is better than staying at the old mooring place," reasoned Ralph. "Of course, Slump and Bemis will return there and search for the scow. Before they do, I hope I will have drifted past some house or settlement where I can call out for assistance."

Ralph, however, was not destined to meet with ready relief. The scow floated along banks wild and timbered, and, during a vigilant watch at the little window of over two hours, he saw no human being or habitation.

Finally the scow slowed up, its course became irregular, it bumped into some obstacle, turned around, and Ralph discovered the cause of the stoppage. A mass of logs and other debris had formed clear across the creek at one point. This the scow lined, edging slowly along as if drawn by some counter-current.

In a few minutes the craft had worked its way into a cut-off from the creek. It floated slowly in among a swampy wilderness of reeds and stunted trees, came to halt at a shallow, and there remained stationary.

"Why, this is worse than being in the creek," ruminated Ralph, with some concern. "There was a chance of hailing some one there sooner or later, but in this isolated spot I stand the risk of starving to death."

The young fireman was both hungry and thirsty. He made another desperate attempt to force the scuttle, but found it an utter impossibility. Then he took out his pocket knife. There was one last chance of escape in sight. If he could cut the wood away around the bolt of the scuttle cover, he might force it open.

Ralph could not work to any advantage, for the top of the hold was fully a foot above his head. However, patiently and hopefully he began his task. Bit by bit, the splinters and shavings of wood dropped about him.

"Too bad, that ends it," he exclaimed suddenly, as there was a sharp snap and the knife blade broke in two.

The situation was now a very serious one. Ralph tried to view things calmly, but he was considerably worried. He was somewhat encouraged, however, a little later, as he noticed that along the dry land lining the swampy cut-off there were signs of a rough wagon road.

"All I can do now is to watch and wait," he declared. "I guess I will take a look over the contents of those satchels."

Once started at the task, Ralph became greatly interested. He was amazed at what the documents before him revealed of the plans and villainies of old Gasper Farrington. There was evidence enough, indeed, as Slump had said, to send the village magnate to the penitentiary.

"This information will be of great value to the railroad people," said Ralph. "It would enable them to at once break the strike."

"Whoa!"

Ralph gave utterance to a cry of delight and surprise. He ran to the little window of the scow. Not fifty feet away was a horse and wagon. Its driver had shouted out the word to halt. Now he dismounted and was arranging a part of the harness where it had come loose.

"Hello, there! Joe! Joe! hurry this way!" fairly shouted Ralph.

"Hi, who's that, where are you?" demanded the person hailed.

"In the scow. Ralph! Locked in! Get me out!"

"I declare! It can't be Ralph. Well! well!"

Nimbly as his crutches would allow him, Limpy Joe came towards the scow. He halted as he neared the window where he could make out the anxious face of his friend.

"What are you ever doing there? How did you get in there? Why, this is wonderful, my finding you in this way," cried the cripple.

"I'll tell you all that when I get out," promised Ralph. "All you have to do is to spring back the bolt catch on the cover to the hold scuttle."

"I'll soon have you out then," said Joe, and with alacrity he waded into the water, got aboard the old craft, and in another minute Ralph had lifted himself free of his prison place.

"Whew! what a relief," aspirated the young fireman joyfully. "Joe, it is easy explaining how I came to be here—the natural sequence of events—but for you to be on hand to save me is marvelous."

"I don't see why," said Joe. "I have been coming here for the last three days."

"What for?" inquired Ralph.

"Business, strictly."

"Mother told me you had taken the horse and wagon and had gone off on a peddling trip," said Ralph.

"Yes, I sold out a lot of cheap shoes to farmers which I got at a bargain at an auction," explained Joe. "Then I struck a fine new scheme. It brought me here. I'll explain to you later. Your story is the one that interests me. Tell me how you came to be in that scow, Ralph."

The young fireman brought up the two satchels from the hold of the old craft, and briefly related to Joe the incidents of his experience with Farrington, Slump and the others.

"I say, you have done a big thing in getting those satchels," said Joe, "and you want to place them in safe hands at once. Come ashore, and I'll drive you to the nearest railroad town. You don't want to risk meeting any of your enemies until you have those papers out of their reach."

When they came up to the wagon, Ralph gazed at its piled-up contents in surprise. The wagon bottom was filled with walnuts and butternuts. There must have been over twelve bushels of them. On top of them was spread a lot of damp rushes and all kinds of wild flowers, mosses and grasses. Two large mud turtles lay under the wagon seat.

"Why, what does all that layout mean?" exclaimed Ralph, in amazement.

"That," said little Joe, with sparkling eyes, "is an advertising scheme. Some time ago I discovered the finest nut grove in the timber yonder you ever saw. I suppose I could in time have gathered up a hundred wagon loads of them. I intend to make a heap of money out of them. A couple of days ago, though, I thought out a great idea. You know Woods, the dry goods man at the Junction?"

"Yes," nodded Ralph.

"He is a wide-awake, enterprising fellow, and I told him of my scheme. It caught his fancy at once. The plan was this: every week, I am to trim up his show window with what we call 'a nature feature.' We keep pace with vegetation. This week we show a swamp outfit; next week pumpkins and the like; the following week autumn leaves. We work in live objects like turtles to give motion to the scene. Do you catch on?"

"It is an excellent idea and will attract lots of attention," declared Ralph.

"You bet it will," assented his comrade with enthusiasm. "Anyhow, my pay is fine and I expect to work other towns in the same way. I will show you the most artistic display window you ever saw when I get this load of truck to town."

In about two hours they reached a railroad station, and somewhat later Ralph caught a train for the city. He went at once to the office of the president of the Great Northern. There was a long interview. As Ralph left the railroad magnate his face was pleased and his heart light and hopeful.

"Fairbanks," said Mr. Grant, "I cannot express my satisfaction at your discoveries. It is as we supposed—some individual has been encouraging the strikers. There are ample proofs among these papers of the fact that Gasper Farrington has hired the strikers to commit all kinds of misdeeds to scare stockholders of the road. He has thus been enabled to buy up their stock at a reduced figure, to make an enormous profit when the strike is over. He had a scheme to tap our wires and cause further complications and trouble. Within a week the backbone of the strike will be broken, and we shall not forget your agency in assisting us to win out."

Ralph went back to Stanley Junction that same day. He related all his varied adventures to his mother that evening.

"One thing I discovered from those documents in the satchels," said Ralph. "Farrington has transferred all his property to Bartlett so we could not collect the money he owes us."

"Then we shall lose our twenty thousand dollars after all," said Mrs. Fairbanks anxiously.

"Wait and see," replied Ralph, with a mysterious smile. "I am not yet through with Gasper Farrington."



CHAPTER XXII

THE LIMITED MAIL

"All aboard!"

The conductor of the Limited Mail gave the signal cheerily. Ralph swung in from his side of the cab on the crack locomotive of the road. Old John Griscom gave a chuckle of delight and the trip to the city began.

It was ten days after the adventure in the scow—ten days full of activity and progress in the railroad interests of the Great Northern. This was the morning when old-time schedules were resumed and every part of the machinery of the line went back to routine.

"I tell you, lad, it feels good to start out with clear tracks and the regular system again. I'm proud of you, Fairbanks. You did up those strikers in fine style, and it will be a long time before we shall have any more trouble in that line."

"I hope so, Mr. Griscom," said Ralph. "The company seems determined to teach the strikers a lesson."

This was true. Immediately after the visit of Ralph to the city, the railroad people had set at work to make the most of the evidence in their hands. A statement of the facts they had discovered was given to the public, a series of indictments found against Gasper Farrington, Bartlett, Jim Evans and others, and a vigorous prosecution for conspiracy was begun. Among the most important witnesses against them was Zeph Dallas. Farrington and Bartlett disappeared. Evans and the others were sent to jail.

A great revulsion in popular sentiment occurred when the true details of the strike movement were made known. The respectable element of the old union had scored a great victory, and work was resumed with many undesirable employes on the blacklist.

It seemed to Ralph now as though all unfavorable obstacles in the way of his success had been removed. He believed that Slump and Bemis were powerless to trouble him farther. As to Farrington, Ralph expected at some time to see that wily old schemer again, for the railroad was in possession of papers of value to the discredited railroad magnate.

Ralph had now become quite an expert at his work as a fireman. There was no grumbling at any time from the veteran engineer, for Ralph had a system in his work which showed always in even, favorable results. The locomotive was in splendid order and a finer train never left Stanley Junction. At many stations cheers greeted this practical announcement of the end of the strike.

There was no jar nor break on the route until they reached a station near Afton. The engine was going very fast, when, turning a curve, Griscom uttered a shout and turned the throttle swiftly.

"Too late!" he gasped hoarsely.

The young fireman had seen what Griscom saw. It was an alarming sight. At a street crossing a baby carriage was slowly moving down an incline. A careless nurse was at some distance conversing with a companion. The shrill shriek of the whistle caused her to discover the impending disaster, but she had become too terrified to move.

Ralph readily saw that speed would not be greatly diminished by the time the locomotive overtook the child in the baby carriage, and in a flash he acted. He was out on the running board and onto the cowcatcher so quickly that he seemed fairly to fly. Grasping a bracket, the young fireman poised for a move that meant life or death for the imperiled child.

The locomotive pounded the rails and shivered under the pressure of the powerful air brakes. Ralph swung far down, one hand extended. The baby carriage had rolled directly between the rails and stood there motionless.

It contained a beautiful child, who, with an innocent smile, greeted the approaching monster of destruction as if it were some great, pleasing toy. Ralph's heart was in his throat.

"Grab out!" yelled Griscom, fairly beside himself with fear and suspense.

The young fireman's eyes were dilated, his whole frame trembled. Quick as lightning his hand shot out. It met in a bunch of the clothing of the child. He lifted; the vehicle lifted, too, for a strap held in its occupant.

There was a terrific tension on the arm of the young railroader. The lower part of the vehicle was crunched under the cowcatcher and the child was almost borne away with it. Then the pressure lightened. With a great breath of relief and joy Ralph drew the child towards him, tangled up in the wreckage of the baby carriage.

The train stopped. Griscom did not say a word as they backed down. His face was white, his eyes startled, his breath came hard, but he gave his intrepid young assistant a look of approbation and devotion that thrilled Ralph to the heart.

A crowd had gathered around the distracted nurse at the street crossing. She was hysterical as the rescued child was placed in safety in her arms. Other women were crying. A big policeman arrived on the scene. Griscom gave the particulars of the occurrence.

"Name, please?" said the officer to Ralph.

"Oh, that isn't necessary at all," said Ralph.

"Isn't it? Do you know whose child that is?"

"No," said Ralph.

"The father is Judge Graham, the richest man in the town. Why, he'd hunt the world over to find you. A lucky fellow you are."

Ralph gave his name and the train proceeded on its way amid the cheers of the passengers, who had learned of the brave act of the young fireman. When terminus was reached, a fine-looking old lady approached the locomotive.

"Mr. Fairbanks," she said to Ralph, "the passengers desire you to accept a slight testimonial of their appreciation of your bravery in saving that young child."

Ralph flushed modestly.

"This looks like being paid for doing a simple duty," he said, as the lady extended an envelope.

"Not at all, Mr. Fairbanks. It was a noble act, and we all love you for it."

"I think more of that sentiment than this money," declared Ralph.

The envelope contained fifty dollars. Griscom told the story of the rescue all over Stanley Junction next day, and the local newspapers made quite an article of it.