Hoofbeats on the Turnpike Part 30

"I'll be swept into the main body of the flood!" she thought in panic. "I shouldn't have attempted it!"

Too late she tried to turn back toward the hillside. The swift current held her relentlessly. Struggling against it, her head went under. She choked as she breathed water, then fought her way to the surface again.

The current carried her on.

After that first moment of panic, Penny did not waste her strength uselessly. Allowing the flood to carry her along, she took only a few slow strokes, swimming just enough to keep from being pulled beneath the surface. As calmly as she could she appraised the situation.

The station now was very close. Scarcely fifty yards separated her from it, but she knew her physical powers. Her strength was no match for that racing, swirling, debris-studded current. She could not hope to span the distance, short though it was.

Penny despaired. And then her heart leaped with new hope. Directly ahead, a foot and a half above the water's murky surface, rose a steel rod with red and green signal targets. She recognized the object as a switch stand, used by trainmen to open and close the pa.s.sing track switch.

"If I could reach that steel rod I could hold on!" she thought. "But do I have the strength?"

The swift current swept Penny on toward the upright rod. She took three, four powerful strokes and reached frantically for the standard. Her fingers closed around the metal. The swift flowing water whipped her violently, but she held fast. Drawing herself close to the rod, she shoved her feet downward. Still she could find no bottom.

Hopefully, Penny glanced toward the station, now less than twenty-five yards away. Although water completely surrounded the squat little building, it had not risen to the window level. Yet there was no sign of anyone near the place--no one to help her.

Still clinging to the rod, she groped again with her bare feet. This time she located a steel rail. By standing on it, she raised herself a few inches and found firm footing. Suddenly an idea came to her.

"If I shove off hard from this rail, maybe I can get enough momentum to carry me through the current! If I fail--"

Penny decided not to think about that. Releasing her hold on the rod, she pushed off with all her strength and began to swim. Digging her face into the water, she held her breath and put everything she had into each stroke. Pull, pull, pull--she had to keep on. Her breath was nearly gone, strength fast was deserting her. Yet to turn her head and gulp air might spell defeat when victory was near. She could feel the torrent swinging her downstream. She made a final, desperate spurt.

"I can't make it!" she thought. "I can't!"

Yet she struggled on. Then suddenly her churning feet struck a solid object. It was the brick platform of the station!

Raising her head, she saw the building loom up in front of her. The current no longer tugged at her body. She had reached quiet water.

Penny stood still a moment, regaining her breath.

Then she waded to the front door of the station. It could not be opened.

Penny pounded and shouted. Her cries went unanswered.

"The place is deserted!" she thought with a sinking heart. "Joe Quigley must have taken to the hills when the flood came."

Slowly Penny waded around the building, unwilling to acknowledge failure.

Somehow she had to get word of the disaster through to the outside world.

Yet even if she did get inside the station, she was far from certain it would do any good. Telephone wires undoubtedly were down.

Penny made a complete circuit of the depot without seeing anyone. Sick with disappointment, she paused beside the gla.s.s-enclosed bay of the ticket office and peered inside. She could see no one. But as she pressed her face against the pane of gla.s.s she thought she heard the chatter of a telegraph instrument.

"That means there still must be a wire connection!" she thought hopefully.

Nearby, the flood had lodged a small board against the depot wall.

Seizing it, Penny smashed the lower pane of gla.s.s with one well-aimed blow.

She scrambled through the opening, crawled over the operator's table and dropped to the floor. The little ticket office was deserted though Joe Quigley's hat still lay on the counter.

"If only I knew how to telegraph!" Penny despaired, hearing again the chatter of the instrument. "Just knowing Morse code won't help me much."

The telegraph sounder was signaling the station call for Delta: "D-A, D-A, D-A." Over and over it was repeated.

Penny hesitated and then went to the instrument. She opened the key and answered with the station call, "D-A."

"Where have you been for the past twenty minutes?" the train dispatcher sent angrily at top speed. "What's happened to No. 17?"

Penny got only part of the message and guessed at the rest. Nervously, at very slow speed, she tapped out in Morse code that the train had been washed off the track.

The dispatcher's next message came very slowly, disclosing that he knew from Penny's style of sending that he was talking to an amateur telegrapher.

"Where's Joe Quigley?" he asked in code.

"Don't know," Penny tapped again. "Station's half under water. Can you send help?"

"Shoot me the facts straight," came the terse order.

Penny described what had happened at Huntley Dam and told how the railroad bridge had washed out. In return the dispatcher a.s.sured her that a relief crew would be sent without delay.

"Stay on the job until relieved," was his final order.

Weak with excitement, Penny leaned back in her chair. Help actually was on the way! The dispatcher would notify the proper authorities and set in motion the wheels of various relief organizations. For the moment she had done all she could.

She listened tensely as the dispatcher's crisp call flashed over the wire. He was notifying stations farther up the line to hold all trains running into the valley. Repeatedly Penny heard the call "W-F" which she took to be Witch Falls. It went unanswered.

Half sick with dread, she waited, hoping for a response. It was likely, almost a certainty that the station had been swept away, for the town would have been squarely in the path of the flood. What had happened to old Mrs. Lear and the Burmasters? Penny tried not to think about it.

Unexpectedly, the outside office door opened. Joe Quigley, bedraggled and haggard, one arm hanging limp at his side, splashed toward the desk.

Seeing Penny, he stopped short, yet seemed too dazed to question the girl's presence in the inner office.

"It's awful," he mumbled. "I was on the station platform when I saw that wall of water coming. Tried to warn the men in the roundhouse. Before I could cross the tracks, it was too late. One terrific crash and the roundhouse disappeared--"

"You're hurt," Penny cried as the agent reeled against the wall. "Your arm is crushed. How did it happen?"

"Don't know," Joe admitted, sinking into a chair the girl offered. "I was knocked off my feet. Came to lying in a pile of boards that had snagged against a tree trunk." He stared at Penny as if really seeing her for the first time. "Say," he demanded, "how did you get in here?"

"Smashed the window. It was the only way."

The agent got to his feet, staggering toward the telegraph desk.

"I've got to send a message," he said jerkily. "No. 30's due at Rodney in twenty minutes."

"All the trains have been stopped by the dispatcher," Penny rea.s.sured him, and explained how she had sent out the call for help.

Joe Quigley slumped back in the chair. "If you can telegraph, let the dispatcher know I'm on the job again. This hand of mine's not so hot for sending."

Penny obediently sent the stumbling message, but as she completed it the telegraph sounder became lifeless. Although she still could manipulate the key, the signals had faded completely.

"Now what?" she cried, bewildered.