Ralph on the Overland Express/25
CHAPTER XXV
THE MOUNTAIN DIVISION
"Well, lad, you've passed muster and got to the head of the class!" proclaimed old John Griscom.
"Oh, no," dissented Ralph Fairbanks; "I'm just started in to learn what real railroading means."
"I'd call you a pretty apt student, then," put in Tim Forgan, foreman of the Stanley Junction roundhouse.
"If there's any man, boy or child in this doghouse who says that young Fairbanks isn't a crackerjack, let him step right up here and take his medicine!" vaunted Lemuel Fogg, playfully, but with a proud look of admiration at the expert young engineer.
"It's the best part of it to know that you fellows mean every word you say and believe in me," observed Ralph. "Your encouragement and influence have boosted me up to the Overland Express all right—I'll try and never make you ashamed of having backed me."
Ralph Fairbanks felt good and showed it. His friends shared in his emotions and sentiments, and that made the present occasion doubly glad and welcome. It was one of those rare moments, coming only once in a while, when Ralph and his comrades had an idle half hour to chat and compliment each other in the doghouse.
The Overland Express had become an established feature of the Great Northern—as little Torchy had phrased it, "a howling success." A week had gone by, and now, seated in the midst of his loyal friends, Ralph felt that he had made good on a promotion that placed him at the top notch of engineering service.
It was a big thing for a youth to gain that high distinction—engineer of the Overland Express. Looking back over the active, energetic career that had led up to this, however, Ralph realized that the climax had been reached a step at a time through patience, perseverance and genuine hard work. It was a proof to him that any person following discipline and having as a motto precision and finality, was bound to succeed. It was a most enjoyable breathing spell to realize that all the anxiety, dash and novelty of the experimental trips over the Mountain Division were past, and he now felt that he knew the route and all its details perfectly.
Ralph had found time to do some thinking about his friends the past day or two. He had seen two of them, for Van Sherwin and little Limpy Joe had come down from the Short Line, and had spent a pleasant day at the Fairbanks home. Archie Graham, too, had put in an appearance. The young inventor looked shamefaced and distressed when he admitted all that Ralph had guessed concerning the patent bellows—draft improvement for locomotives.
"It only worked the wrong way," explained Archie; "next time"
"Next time try it on some other railroad, Archie," advised Ralph. "They're watching for you with rifles down at the Great Northern roundhouse."
"Huh!" snorted Archie contemptuously; "they'll be sorry when I strike some real big thing and another line gets it. Now then, I've got something brand new—the rocket danger signal."
"Go right ahead experimenting with it, only choose a spot where you won't hurt any one," advised Ralph. "You're all right, Archie," declared the young railroader, slapping his comrade appreciatively on the shoulder, "only you are too ambitious. I have no doubt that you will some day hit something tangible. It's a long, patient road, though—this inventing things."
"You bet it is," assented Archie with force.
"And you attempt too grand beginnings. Take something more simple and easy than trying to revolutionize railroad service all at once, and gradually work up to bigger things."
"Say, there's sense in that, an old inventor told me the same thing," said Archie; "but you see this rocket danger signal of mine is a new thing. I'm going to Bridgeport to-morrow to get some fixings I have in my workshop there. You'll hear from me later, Fairbanks."
Concerning Zeph, Fred Porter and Marvin Clark the young railroader had heard nothing since the last visit of Zeph to Stanley Junction. Many a time he wondered what had become of them. He had all kinds of theories as to their continued mysterious absence, but no solution offered as time wore on.
The Overland Express had not become an old thing with Ralph. He felt that the charm and novelty of running the crack train of the road could never wear out. With each trip, however, there came a feeling of growing strength and self-reliance. Ralph had learned to handle the proposition aptly, and he took a great pride in the time record so far.
"It's a lively run, and no mistake," he remarked to Fogg, as they started out from the depot that evening. "We haven't had any of the direful mishaps, though, that those old doghouse croakers predicted."
"No," admitted the fireman, but he accompanied the word with a serious shake of the head; "that's to come. I'm trained enough to guess that another frost or two will end in the season that every railroad man dreads. Wait till the whiskers get on the rails, lad, and a freshet or two strikes 999. There's some of those culverts make me quake when I think of the big ice gorges likely to form along Dolliver's Creek. Oh, we'll get them—storms, snowslides and blockades. The only way is to remember the usual winter warning, 'extra caution,' keep cool, and stick to the cab to the last."
Summer had faded into autumn, and one or two sharp frosts had announced the near approach of winter. The day before there had been a slight snow flurry. A typical fall day and a moonlit night had followed, however, and Ralph experienced the usual pleasure as they rolled back the miles under flying wheels. They took the sharp curves as they ran up into the hills with a scream of triumph from the locomotive whistle every time they made a new grade.
"Waste of steam, lad, that," observed Fogg, as they rounded a curve and struck down into a cut beyond which lay the town of Fordham.
"Better to be safe," responded Ralph. "There's a crossing right ahead where the old spur cuts in."
"Yes, but who ever crosses it?" demanded the fireman.
"Some one did two nights ago," insisted Ralph. "I'm positive that we just grazed a light wagon crossing the roadway leading into the cut."
"Then it was some stray farmer lost off his route," declared Fogg. "Why, that old spur has been rusting away for over five years, to my recollection. As to the old road beyond being a highway, that's nonsense. There's no thoroughfare beyond the end of the spur. The road ends at a dismantled, abandoned old factory, and nobody lives anywhere in this section."
"Is that so?" Toot! toot! toot!
The whistle screeched out sharply. The fireman stuck his head out of the window. Ralph had already looked ahead.
"I declare!" shouted Fogg, staring hard. "Swish—gone! But what was it we passed?"
Ralph did not speak. He sat still in a queer kind of realization of what they both had just seen, and in the retrospect. While he and his fireman had been conversing, just ahead in the white moonlight he had seen two human figures against the sky. It was a flashing glimpse only, for the train was making a forty mile clip, but, dangling from a tree overhanging the side of the cliff lining the tracks on one side, he had made out two boys.
"The Canaries!" he murmured to himself, in profound surprise and deep interest. "I even heard them whistle."
Ralph was so sure that the little swinging figures he had seen were the lithe, strange creatures who had been brought to Stanley Junction by Zeph Dallas, that he thought about it all the rest of the trip. He said nothing further to Fogg about the circumstance, but he resolved to investigate later on.
The young engineer tried to calculate ahead how some day soon he could arrange to visit the vicinity of the old Fordham spur. He was positive that he had seen the two Canaries. Their presence at the spur indicated that they must be denizens of its neighborhood. This being true, their presence might indicate the proximity of Zeph Dallas. At least the strange young foreigners might know what had become of the ardent young "detective."
Ralph made a good many inquiries of his fireman as to the Fordham spur. Fogg simply knew that it ran to an old ruined factory long since abandoned. On the return trip Ralph kept a sharp lookout as they neared the cut. There was no second appearance of the Canaries, however, nor the next night, nor that following. The young engineer found no opportunity of visiting the place, but he kept his plan to do so constantly in mind.
It was two days later as he made the short cut to the roundhouse about noon, that Ralph was greeted by a new discovery that fairly took his breath away. He had stepped aside to wait till a locomotive with one car attached passed the crossing. The peculiar oddness of the car at once attracted his attention.
It was an old tourist car, used only on far western railroads. He had seen its like only once or twice before. Its inside shades were all drawn. There was no sight of life about it. The locomotive belonged to the northern branch of the Great Northern, and had the right of way and was tracked for the Mountain Division.
"That's a queer layout," solliloquized Ralph, as the strange outfit flashed by. "Hello!"
The young engineer uttered a great shout. As the car passed him he naturally glanced at its rear platform.
Upon its step in solitary possession of the car sat his long-lost friend—Zeph Dallas.