Ralph in the Switch Tower: or, Clearing the Track
"In the wood shed-right near the door, on a chopping block," she directed, watching his every movement in a fever of suspense.
Ralph darted into the wood shed. He came out, hatchet in hand, and sprang instantly onto the ladder.
The building was doomed, he saw that. Its entire front half was in flame. As he got a few feet from the ground a great whirlwind of smoke and sparks enveloped him.
"Why," exclaimed Ralph, as he reached the top of the ladder, "the window is all right."
He did not need to use the hatchet. Contrary to the old woman's positive statement, Ralph found the sash raised an inch or two. It pushed up smoothly. He felt obtruding nails on the inside, which appeared to have been forced out of place.
Climbing through the window, Ralph was nearly choked with the dense smoke filling the room. The window vent somewhat cleared the air, but he could not see an inch before his face.
"I can't stand much of this," he reflected, and then held his breath closely.
Ralph had to grope with hands and feet. He lined one side wall of the apartment, ran to the window for a supply of fresh air, and resumed his difficult quest.
"No luck so far," he panted. "The room seems entirely empty. There is not even a carpet on the floor."
Suddenly, a cracking sound and then a slight crash warned him to look out for danger.
A door leading into the front attic just then burned free of its hinges. It fell inside the apartment Ralph was in.
Its vivid blazing lit up the room somewhat.
"I see it-the trunk!" said Ralph, and sprang to a corner where a box-like outline showed.
Again the old woman's statements were at fault. The trunk was perfectly easy of access, and Ralph did not have to use the hatchet at all.
Ropes that at one time possibly enclosed the trunk lay at one side, cut in two. The broken lock of the trunk lay on the floor. Ralph threw up the cover.
Inside was a mass of cotton batting. He threw this out on the floor. Then some old newspapers followed. Beneath these lay a little flat tin box.
"I have it," said Ralph with satisfaction, grasping the object of the old woman's anxiety.
It was high time to make an exit. Some sparks fell on the cotton. It blazed up into his face and singed his hair. Ralph found himself nearly overcome by the smoke. He fairly staggered to the window, and spluttering and scorched, almost slid the length of the ladder.
Reaching the ground the young leverman stood stationary for a moment. He dug the cinders out of his eyes, and took a good long refreshing breath of the pure air.
A call roused him to new action. The old woman was shouting at him and waving her hand eagerly.
She was not alone now. A pale-faced young man of about thirty stood by her side. Ralph presumed that this was her son, David, to whom she had so frequently referred.
"Did you get it-did you get it?" she called out anxiously, as Ralph ran up to the invalid chair.
"Yes, ma'am," responded Ralph, handing over the box.
"Oh, dear! Oh, how shall I ever thank you? David, he is a brave, noble boy!" and hugging the box to her breast, the old woman wept hysterically.
"You saved my mother's life," spoke the young man, placing a hand that trembled on Ralph's shoulder.
"I am glad if that is so," said Ralph.
"David! David! David!"
Just here the old woman interrupted with startling suddenness. Ralph turned quickly toward her in amazement. Her son ran to her side, very much alarmed. She had shouted out his name in such a lost, despairing tone that both her auditors were thrilled.
"Mother-what is it?" cried the young man.
The old woman waved the tin box that Ralph had just given her.
"It was tied with twine-in a sheet of writing paper, and sealed," she said. "And look now, David-it is empty!"
"Was there something in it?" questioned Ralph, his spirits sinking to zero.
All along he had entertained some hopeful ideas regarding that little tin box, knowing that it had been the property of the mysterious Mrs. Davis.
"Why, surely," said the old woman, weeping bitterly and wringing her hands. "Mrs. Davis put some folded papers in it. I saw her do it. She said they were very valuable. She was afraid she would lose them, or be robbed. She said she feared wicked enemies."
"When was that?" asked Ralph.
"About a month ago. She wrapped up, tied, and sealed the box. She asked me where she could hide it for a time. I told her about the old trunk. It was empty, except for some cotton and newspapers. I told her to nail down the window, put the box in the trunk, tie up the trunk, and lock the attic door. She did all that. She made me promise solemnly to think first of that box if anything happened. And now someone has stolen the papers! I have been faithless to my trust! Poor Mrs. Davis said her very life depended on those papers. Oh, David! David! I shall die of shame and grief, I know I shall!"
"You did your best, you couldn't help it," said her son soothingly.
"No, some thief has visited your attic," declared Ralph.
"But no one except Mrs. Davis and myself knew that the box was there," suggested the weeping woman.
"Someone surely found out," said Ralph. "I found the window forced up and the trunk lock broken."
"Mother, you really must not take on so," spoke the young man in a worried tone. "You are shaking all over. I must get you to some shelter."
CHAPTER XXVI-A CLEW!
The young switch-tower man had lost all interest in the fire now. He stood thinking deeply, and felt quite depressed.
He was very certain that the papers Mrs. Davis had placed in the tin box in some way referred to her interest in the twenty thousand dollars' worth of railroad bonds, to which she had so frequently and significantly alluded.
She had told his mother that she was going to get something from a friend to show her and Ralph. Was it not these very same papers?
It was very possible, Ralph reflected further, that in some way Mrs. Davis' kidnappers had got a clew to the hiding place of these self-same documents.
"One word, please," spoke up Ralph, as the young man started to wheel his mother away from the scene of the fire. "Someone certainly forced a way to your attic and rifled that trunk."
"Who could it be-how could they know?" queried the distressed invalid.
"Have you had any strange visitors?" inquired Ralph.
"No-no one hardly ever comes here, except neighbors. Of course there have been a lot of workmen building the switch. But they were harmless, ignorant persons. Got a drink at the well, and went about their business."
"You have noticed no suspicious characters hanging about?" pressed Ralph.
"Oh, no."
"By the way, mother," interposed the young man, "you forgot about the two young fellows who came here day before yesterday-no, the day before that-Tuesday."
"Oh, they were the insurance men."
"What insurance men?" asked Ralph.
"They said they were inspectors. They said they were hired by the insurance companies to look over risks. They asked me if we had any gasoline. I said no. Then they asked if I had any inflammable stuff stored in the attic. They wanted to go up and see, but I told them the attic was empty."
"They wanted to inspect the attic, did they?" murmured Ralph thoughtfully.
"Yes. Then they said they would have to look over the chimneys and roof, to be sure everything was all right."
"Did they do so?"
"I told them where the ladder was. Of course, confined helpless to my invalid chair, I couldn't go out with them. They came back inside in about ten minutes, and said they had found everything in shipshape order."
"Those are the persons who robbed the trunk," declared Ralph in a tone of conviction.
"Do you think so?" cried the old woman. "Do you know them?"
"I don't know-yet. Do you remember how they were dressed?"
"They were well-dressed, I remember that."
"Young men, I believe you said?"
"Yes, boys, almost-a little older than you. One wore a pearl-gray derby hat. The other wore a kind of automobile cap."
"Thank you," said Ralph, showing the value of this information in manner and face.
"Do you know them?" inquired the old woman eagerly.
"I think I do," said Ralph.
"Can you find them?"
"They will not be hard to locate," answered Ralph definitely. "Do not worry, ma'am. You have given me a very clever clew as to the robbers. I think I know who has got the papers that were in that little tin box."
"Oh, be sure to let me know if you get back those papers, won't you?" pressed the old woman anxiously.
"I certainly shall," promised Ralph.
He bade mother and son good-bye. Then Ralph proceeded in the direction of the old Farrington factory.
Great crowds lined the ravine and surrounded the site of the factory. This had been burned to the ground. The ravine in places was still a nest of fire, but the flames were confined there. The fires in the grass and in the shrubbery had been beaten out.
Ralph passed from crowd to crowd, gleaning many a bit of exciting gossip.
He heard a local insurance agent say that the fire had done damage to the extent of a hundred thousand dollars. The factory represented the bulk of the loss.
"And no insurance, did you say?" someone asked the agent.
"Not on the building. The insurance expired there only last week."
Ralph finally found the person he was in search of-Slavin. He had made up his mind that something must be done promptly in regard to the documents stolen from Mrs. Davis' tin box.
Ike Slump and Mort Bemis tallied precisely to the old woman's description of her "insurance inspectors" visitors.
Their call at the old house had evidently been made on the afternoon of the day when Slump and Bemis had decoyed Ralph to the Stiggs cottage.
Ralph reasoned that if they had got the documents in question, they had them now, for their arrest had followed within a few hours of their rifling of the trunk.
"I want you to do something for me, Slavin, if you will," said Ralph, leading his companion out of hearing of the crowd.
"All right," was the prompt response.
"Something urgent and important."
"Fire away-I'm yours truly."
"Can you get word for me to my friend, Van Sherwin?"
"Sure."
"To-night?"
"At any and all times. We arranged that with the road detective."
"Very well," said Ralph. "I want you to deliver a note to Van. It will take some time to write it, so you will have to come up to the house with me, and wait till I get it ready."
They proceeded forthwith in the direction of the Fairbanks homestead. Ralph invited his companion to stay to supper.
"Say," observed Slavin, as they had proceeded on their way some distance and he took a last backward glance at the dying flames-"say, Ralph Fairbanks, I wonder if it looks to you-that fire I mean-like it does to me?"
"How do you mean, Slavin?" questioned Ralph.
"That some of old Gasper Farrington's chickens are coming home to roost!"
CHAPTER XXVII-SLAVIN GETS A JOB
"Good-morning, Mr. Fairbanks."
"Why, good-morning, Mr. Slavin, but-quite formal, aren't you?" said Ralph with a smile.
It was the second day after the factory fire. Ralph and Knight, both busy at their duties, had been visited by Slavin.
He came up the ladder and into the switch tower with a certain slow dignity of manner that made Ralph stare.
"Hello, Slav," nodded old Jack Knight carelessly.
"How do you do-sir?" answered Slavin with rigid courtesy as he sank to the armchair-always a welcome visitor, nowadays.
"Bust me!" whispered Knight with a keen glance at Slavin, and suppressing a quick snicker-"what's in his crop now, Fairbanks?"
Ralph wondered, too. He stole a second furtive look at Slavin. Then he had to turn his head aside to hide a smile.
Slavin sat like a statue. The one impelling motive of his life at present, it seemed, was to suggest the idea that he had weighty matters on his mind.
He looked like a being struggling with the most momentous responsibilities. His eye ran over the long array of levers as if he had been officially delegated to inspect them. His bearing was-profound.
Ralph noticed a change in his general dress. So did Knight, and in a hoarse, undertoned guffaw he observed to his young assistant:
"The spell is on, and he's got himself up regardless!"
Knight could hardly hold himself in. The old veteran had seen every phase of railroad régime and railroad vanity in his long career. At a glance he had guessed what was up with Young Slavin.
Ralph noticed that Slavin wore a new head gear. It was a direct copy of the touring cap affected by the depot master.
The top button of Slavin's coat was a brass one. It was either a conductor's or a Pullman porter's official insignia-at a distance Ralph could not tell which.
Sticking out from one of Slavin's coat pockets was an assortment of folders. Ralph recognized them as including all the official time schedules of the Great Northern.
Besides that, in his hand Slavin carried a somber-looking, flexible-covered book. This suggested some technical engineering or scientific work.
Slavin consulted its pages as he sat in the armchair. Ralph and Knight scented fun in the air. They went on silently with their duties.
This grew irksome to Slavin. He finally arose to his feet, and began restively pacing about the switch tower.
"H'm," he observed at length. "Saw a great article on the combustion of coal gases in locomotives, last night."
"That so?" nodded Knight, and proceeded to whistle industriously.
Slavin looked hurt at the repulse. In a minute or two he blurted out again:
"I see there's a new invention for economizing steam in short-run engines. Sort of studying up things, see? This here book-"
"What book is it, Slavin?" inquired Ralph pleasantly.
"Yes, what's this high jinks in railroad education you're firing at us?" demanded Knight, suddenly seizing the volume from Slavin's hand. "Oh, my! hold me! ha! ha!" roared the veteran towerman. "Listen, Fairbanks: 'Technical Topography of High Grade Elevations in Asiatic Railways.' Oh, me! Oh, my! Slavin, you take the cake!"
"Mr. Knight, I didn't come here to have my feelings trampled on," spoke Slavin in tones of offended dignity.
"Right, old son. You came here to show how hard you'd got the railroad fever-hey, you spoony? Why, it's sticking out all over you. I had it once. They all get it at first. Why, you ambitious young lunkhead," cried Knight, slapping Slavin's shoulder with a hearty whack that nearly knocked him over, "you're simply tickled to death about something, and I can tell it in three words."
"What is it, Mr. Knight?" asked Ralph innocently.
"'Got a job!'"
"Good!" cried Ralph, grasping Slavin's hand in congratulation. "Is it true?"
"Why, yes, it is," answered Slavin proudly. "So, what's the harm in trying to post up, hey?"
"My son," observed Knight in a patriarchal fashion, "posting up and looking railroady is all right, but there's many a long, tough reach in plain buttons, and a long distance away from combustion and high grades, before you even begin to guess what you know about practical railroading. Who did you see-the master mechanic?"
"No-depot master."
"What-not put on duty here with us?" exclaimed Ralph in a really pleased tone.
"That's it," announced Slavin grandly.
"Well, I am truly glad," said Ralph.
"So am I," put in Knight-"I'll catch your mistakes like a true friend, and help you along like a brother."
"I am not going to make any mistakes," declared Slavin confidently.
"Oho! aint?" said Knight softly.
"No, sir. I've watched you two closely. It's simple. You get 7. Pull 7. Muscle does it."
"That so?" continued old Jack, in a slow, pitying drawl. "Well, well! Now, just to demonstrate, suppose you take a test?"
"I'm your man!" cried Slavin, pulling off his coat and striking an attitude.
"Double switch," called out Knight-"18 and 19."
Slavin wavered, Knight had called out two levers way down the line, rarely used. Slavin's eyes ran the long array. Then he got his bearings, and swung his arms down into the battery with a ponderous swoop.
His great strong fists clasped the lever handles in a really admirable manner, and he looked the prodigy of muscle he claimed to be.
"Open 'em up!" shouted Knight
Slavin bent to his task.
"Pull-you lubber, pull!" yelled old Jack Knight.
CHAPTER XXVIII-WHAT THE "EXTRA" TOLD
"They won't move!" cried Young Slavin disgustedly. "They don't budge. Oh, rot on you! guying a fellow," and he slunk back to the armchair in chagrin.
Old Jack laughed till the tears ran down his cheeks. He had tricked his new apprentice into a "grand-stand" display at two levers that had been wedged tight shut and out of use for a month.
He rallied the would-be railroader for a few minutes. Then in his kind-spirited way he took up the matter seriously.
He told Slavin just what his initial duties would be: sweeping out the tower, keeping the fuel supply handy, oiling the lever and rod sockets, cleaning the windows.
Slavin was somewhat disappointed at this dreary routine. When, however, Knight recited his own early experience and what it led to in proficiency and promotion, Slavin became more resigned.
"It looks good," he said longingly. "The day I draw more than board and lodging wages and pull a lever, I'll give you two a banquet. Say, I can hardly wait to begin!"
"When do you begin, Slavin?" asked old Jack.
"Next Monday."
Slavin hung around the switch tower till Knight went away in answer to a 'phone call from the limits tower. Then he sidled up to Ralph.
"Been waiting to tell you," he said in a low tone.
"Something about Van?"
"Yes."
"Did you get any word from him?"
"This morning. Came to the rear jail window, where I wait for him. Said just one word."
"What was it?"
"To-night."
"That was all?"
"Someone inside interrupted him, I think, so that was all."
"'To-night,'" repeated Ralph musingly. "I wonder what he means?"
"Action to-night, of course. Something is going to happen. Last night-you remember what he told me?"
"Yes, Van said he felt sure that Slump and Bemis had the documents stolen from Mrs. Davis."
"That's it," nodded Slavin. "You know Slump wrote a sassy letter to old Farrington."
"So you told me."
"Farrington paid no attention to it. Then Van overheard these two precious schemers concocting a new note. It told old Farrington that they had something better than merely knowing where a certain woman was."
"They meant Mrs. Davis."
"Of course. In this last note they said that they had some very valuable papers belonging to Mrs. Davis. They threatened that if Farrington didn't get them out of that jail inside of forty-eight hours, they would send for Ralph Fairbanks and turn the papers over to him."
"This is getting interesting," remarked Ralph.
"And exciting. Oh, something is sure to drop, soon. That old miser will never go any twenty thousand dollars' bonds on those two scape-graces."
"It is not likely," said Ralph. "Do you think Farrington paid any attention to the second note?"
"I think he did."
"Why so?"
"As I left the jail, I saw his coachman come out of the building. He had an empty basket on his arm. I think he had been taking some food and such fixings to Ike Slump & Co."
"And the latest is Van's 'To-night'," mused Ralph. "Slavin, you will keep a close watch on things, won't you? I believe affairs are very near a crisis."
"I'll not miss anything," Slavin assured Ralph stanchly-"least of all you, when there's any important word to report."
Ralph was restless and expectant all that evening at home. He sat up till ten o'clock, hoping that Slavin might bring him some word.
None came, however. He went to bed, and as usual left the house for the switch tower at 7.30 in the morning.
Just as Ralph neared the depot yards, a small boy with a bundle of papers under his arm darted down the street.
Ralph remembered that this was "paper day." He paused and listened as the lad shouted out his wares.
"Extry! extry!" he called.
"Here, boy-what have you got extra?" asked a passer-by.
"Full account of the great Stanley Junction jail escape!"
"What's that?" cried Ralph irrepressibly.
"Hey, never mind-I'll tell you," pronounced Slavin's voice suddenly at his elbow. "I'm out of breath. Just missed you at your house, and ran all the way here after you."
"Slavin, what is this I hear-a jail escape?"
"Yes-Slump and Bemis. It seems someone smuggled some tools in to them yesterday."
"Farrington's man."
"That's how I figure it out," assented Slavin. "Anyhow, they discovered that the prisoners were gone about midnight. I didn't hear of it until about an hour ago. I hurried to the road detective. He got a 'phone from Van Sherwin at the jail about two o'clock this morning. It was to wire to the jailer to give him his liberty."
"What-Van gone, too!" exclaimed Ralph.
"That's the way it looks. I just came from the jail. They had let Sherwin go. The jailer said he had left a note. For Ralph Fairbanks. I took it to deliver. Here it is."
Ralph eagerly tore open the letter Slavin handed him.
It contained Van's signature in initials, and one line only. This read:
"Got track of Mrs. Davis-I have the stolen papers."
CHAPTER XXIX-GUESSING
Young Slavin was marking some initials on the current date on a big calendar hanging up on the door of the coat closet of the depot switch tower.
It was his third day of service. As old Jack Knight came up the trap ladder, his grim face broke into an expression of sincere approbation. He took a keen look around the place.
"Neat and tidy," he observed. "You'll do, Slavin. But what's those hieroglyphics on that calendar for?"
"Oh, just a memoranda," explained the new tower hand, with a conscious flush.
"'P.I.N.' eh?" said Knight.
The initials were blue-penciled in the date space of each of the three days of Slavin's employment.
"Yes, sir."
"What's the answer? Something about a coupling pin?"
"Naw. Those initials, Mr. Knight, represent the boiling down of the rules for employees printed on the card of instructions."
"That so?"
"Yes, sir, Promptness, Industry, Neatness. I'm trying to fill that bill."
"You've done it so far," observed old Jack. "I hear you show up an hour before time."
"Can't sleep, thinking of my grand luck!" chuckled Slavin.
"You're certainly all the time fussing around, if that's industry," went on Knight. "Those windows shine like headlights. You've oiled up everything till the lack of creaking makes a fellow lonesome. As to neatness-well, if you haven't actually scrubbed the floor here!"
"I thought it needed it," said Slavin.
"Keep it up, son," encouraged old Jack. "You're making a fine beginning."
Slavin went singing and whistling about his work the whole day long. It did Ralph's heart good, when he arrived, to see his protégé happy, industrious, and headed in the right direction.
Things were going on famously smooth and satisfactory at the switch tower. A friend of old Farrington's, and by no means of Ralph's, one Bardon, an inspector, had looked over the layout with a critical eye the day previous.
"You'll find no flaws here, friend," old Jack had announced.
Bardon had to admit that the switch tower régime was in perfect working order.
Since the escape of Ike Slump and Mort Bemis and the new disappearance of Van Sherwin, not a clew as to the course or whereabouts of the missing trio had reached either Ralph or his friends.
There had been a big row up at the jail, and one of the under officers had been discharged under suspicion.
It was evident that someone had smuggled tools and ropes into the jail, for these were found in the cell through the forced window of which Slump and Bemis had escaped.
These could hardly have passed proper inspection, if hidden in food or clothing brought to the prisoners by outsiders.
"Of course old Farrington's man did the job," asserted Slavin.
"Of course he did," assented Ralph. "It was the cheapest way of giving his troublesome pensioners their liberty."
