Snow on the Headlight Part 15

The man worked his fingers and when the Philosopher thought he must have the ring in his hand, he caught hold of the man's wrist, jerked the hand from his pocket, and the ring rolled upon the platform. When the man cut off the end of his cigar the Philosopher had seen a white line around one of the fingers of the man's sea-browned hand. Real tramps, thought the Philosopher, don't cut off the ends of their cigars. They bite them off, and save the bite. They don't throw a half-smoked cigar away, but put it, burning if necessary, in their pocket.

"What do you mean?" demanded the man, indignantly.

"Pick up your ring."

"I have a mind to smash you."

"Do, and you can ride."

"You've got your nerve."

"You haven't. Why did you stare at that lady's feet, when she was climbing into the car?"

"That's not your business."

"It's all my business now."

"I'll report you for this."

The man started to walk past the big station master, but a strong hand was clapped to the man's breast pocket and when it came away it held a small pocket memorandum.

"See what's in that, Patsy," said the Philosopher, pa.s.sing the book to the conductor, who had gone forward for the decision.

The man made a move, as if he would s.n.a.t.c.h the book, but the big hand at his throat twisted the flannel s.h.i.+rt, and choked him. Patsy, holding the book in the glare of his white light, read the record of a man who had been much away from home. He had, according to the book, ridden with many conductors, whose names were familiar to Patsy, and had, upon divers occasions, noticed that sometimes some people rode without paying fare. In another place Patsy learned that trainmen and other employees drank beer, or other intoxicating beverages. A case in point was a couple of brakemen on local who, after unloading a half-dozen reapers and a thres.h.i.+ng machine at Mendota, had gone into a saloon with the s.h.i.+pper and killed their thirst.

While Patsy was gleaning this interesting information the man writhed and twisted, fought and fumed, but it was in vain, for the hand of the Philosopher was upon his throat.

"Let me go," gasped the man, "an' we'll call it square, an' I won't report you."

"Oh! how good of you."

"Let me go, I say, you big brute."

"I wanted to let you go a while ago, and you wouldn't have it."

The man pulled back like a horse that won't stand hitched and the b.u.t.ton flew from his cheap flannel s.h.i.+rt.

"I'm a goat," said the Philosopher, stroking the man's chest with his big right hand, "if he hasn't got on silk underwear."

"Come now, you fellahs," said the man changing his tune, "let me go and you'll always have a friend at Court."

"Be quiet," said the Philosopher, "I'm going to let you go, but tell me, why did you want to do little Patsy, that everybody likes?"

"Because Mr. Paul was so c.o.c.k sure I couldn't. He bet me a case of champagne that I couldn't ride on the Omaha Limited without paying fare."

"And now you lose the champagne."

"It looks that way."

"Poor tramp!"

Patsy had walked to the rear of the train, shouted "All aboard," and the cars were now slipping past the two men.

"Have you still a mind to smash me?"

"I may be a wolf but this is not my night to howl."

"Every dog has his day, eh?"

"Curse you."

"Good night," said the Philosopher, reaching for a pa.s.sing car.

"Go to--" said the tramp, and the train faded away out over the switches.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SECOND

The old master-mechanic, who had insisted that Dan Moran was innocent, from the first, had gone away; but the new man was willing to give him an engine after the confession of Bill Greene. Having secured work the old engineer called upon the widow, for he could tell her, now, all about the dynamite. Three years had brought little change to her. She might be a little bit stouter, but she was handsomer than ever, Dan thought. The little girl, whom he remembered as a toddling infant, was a sunny child of four years. Bennie was now fourteen and was employed as caller at the round-house, and his wages, thirty dollars a month, kept up the expenses of the home. He had inherited the splendid const.i.tution of his father with the gentleness and honesty of his mother. The foreman was very fond of him, and having been instructed by the old general manager to take good care of the boy, for his mother's sake, he had arranged to send him out firing, which would pay better, as soon as he was old enough. So Moran found the little family well, prosperous, and reasonably happy. Presently, when she could wait no longer, Mrs. Cowels asked the old engineer if he had come back to stay, and when he said he had, her face betrayed so much joy that Moran felt half embarra.s.sed, and his heart, which had been so heavy for the past four years, gave a thump that startled him. "Oh! I'm _so_ glad," she said earnestly, looking down and playing with her hands; and while her eyes were not upon his, Moran gazed upon the gentle face that had haunted him day and night in his three years' tramp about the world.

"Yes," he said at length, "I'm going back to the 'Q.' It's not Blackwings, to be sure, and the Denver Limited, but it's work, and that's something, for it seems to me that I can bear this idleness no longer. It's the hardest work in the world, just to have nothing to do, month in and month out, and to be compelled to do it. I can't stand it, that's all, and I'm going out on a gravel train to-morrow."

Moran remembered now that Bennie had come to him that morning in the round-house and begged the engineer to "ask for him," to go out as fireman on the gravel train, for it was really a boy's work to keep an engine hot on a side track, but he would not promise, and the boy had been greatly disappointed.

"I'd like to ask for the boy," said Moran, "with your permission. He's been at me all morning, and I'm sure the foreman won't object if you consent."

"But he's so young, Dan; he could never do the work."

"I'll look out for him," said the engineer, nodding his head. "I'll keep him busy waiting on me when we lay up, and when we have a hard run for a meeting-point there's always the head brakeman, and they can usually fire as well as a fireman."

"I will consent only to please him," she said, "and because I should like to have him with you."

He thanked her for the compliment, and took up his hat to go.

"And how often shall I see you now? I mean--how soon--when will Bennie be home again?"

They were standing close together in the little hall, and when he looked deep into her eyes, she became confused and blushed like a school-girl.

"Well, to be honest, we never know on a run of this sort when we may get back to town. It may be a day, a week, or a month," said Moran. "But I'll promise you that I will not keep him away longer than is necessary.

We don't work Sundays, of course, and I'll try and dead-head him in Sat.u.r.day nights, and you can send him back on the fast freight Sunday evenings. The watchman can fire the engine in an emergency, you know."

"But the watchman couldn't run her in an emergency?" queried the little woman.

"I'm afraid not," said Moran, catching the drift of her mind, and feeling proud of the compliment concealed in the harmless query. "But I shall enjoy having him come to you once a week to show you that I have not forgotten my promise."

"And I shall know," she answered, putting up a warning finger, "by his actions whether you have been good to him."