Ralph on the Overland Express Part 20

When they backed down to the depot, Ralph was handed his flimsy orders. No. 999 was given standard special lights, with the usual markers at the rear of the sleeping car, but no one on platform charge. The coach had a conductor, but he barely showed himself, and went inside, where all the curtains were drawn and pa.s.sengers evidently gone to sleep.

"I told you it was going to rain," spoke Fogg, as they cleared the limits and got ready for a spurt. "All schedule cancelled where we can get clear tracks, I suppose? All right, let's see what 999 can do on slippery rails."

No. 999 did famously, as she always did under the guidance of the vigilant young engineer. Ralph was learning a good deal lately, and his mind was always strictly on the business of the moment when at the throttle. He was learning that there was a science in running a locomotive a good deal deeper than merely operating throttle, brake and lever automatically. There was a way to conserve the steam energy and reserve wide-open tactics for full pressure that he had found out, which enabled him to spurt when the chance came, at no cost of exhaustion later. He knew the gauges by heart, how to utilize the exhaust, and worked something along the line of the new superheated steam theory.

The night had set in very dark and very stormy. They had nothing to look out for, however, on the out track except an accommodation that had started two hours previous. No. 999 had a light load, and she sped along without a jar. The wires took care of her. By nine o'clock they were twenty miles "to the good" on regular schedule basis.

After that it was slower progress. The wind had arisen to a hurricane, the rain came down in torrents, and as they pa.s.sed Winston they began to get in among the hills, where there was a series of intricate and dangerous curves.

"It's nearly a waterspout," observed Fogg, as the rain swept against the cab as if driven from a full pressure hose, and they could feel the staunch locomotive quiver as it breasted great sweeps of the wind.

"I don't like that," he muttered, as a great clump came against the cab curtain. And he and his engineer both knew what it was from past experience.

"One of those young landslides," spoke Ralph.

"The second in a half-an-hour," declared Fogg. "It's clear mud, but sometime in one of these storms we'll get a big drop of rock, and there'll be mischief afoot."

Ralph slowed as they entered a long stretch known as Widener's Gap. It was a pull up hill. Besides that, Widener was only two miles ahead, and the curves were so sharp and frequent that they could not catch the semaph.o.r.e at any distance.

Both engineer and fireman were under an intense strain, and Ralph kept a keen lookout from his cab window. Fogg was doing the same. Suddenly he uttered a great shout. It was echoed by Ralph, for there was cause for excitement.

"A tree!" yelled Fogg.

Ralph set the air and pulled the lever in a flash. What the gleaming headlight of No. 999 had shown, however, they were upon in a leap.

They could feel a grinding jar, but the pilot had evidently swept the obstacle aside. They could hear the branches sweep the top of the engine. Then there came a warning sound.

b.u.mpety-b.u.mp,-b.u.mp-b.u.mp! The tree, uprooted from the gap side by the rain and the wind, had descried half a circle, it seemed, when s.h.i.+fted by the pilot. Its big end had rolled under the coach. From the feeling the young engineer could guess what had happened.

"Shut her off!" shouted Fogg.

"The coach has jumped the track!" echoed Ralph quickly.

His heart was in his mouth as he made every exertion to bring the locomotive to a quick stop. No. 999 acted splendidly, but it was impossible to slow down under two hundred feet.

"Both trucks off--she's toppling!" yelled Fogg, with a backward glance.

Each instant Ralph waited for the crash that would announce a catastrophe. It did not come. The coach swayed and careened, pounding the sleepers set on a sharp angle and tugging to part the b.u.mpers.

Ralph closed the throttle and took a glance backwards for the first time.

"The coach is safe, Mr. Fogg," he spoke. "Get back and see how badly the pa.s.sengers are mixed up."

"There's nothing coming behind us?" asked the fireman.

"No, but tell the conductor to set the light back as far as he can run."

"Allright."

"The Night Express!" gasped Ralph the next moment, in a hushed whisper, as he caught the faint echo of a signal whistle ahead of them in the distance.

An alarming thought came into his mind. Nothing could menace them ahead on the out track and nothing was due behind, but the coach attached to No. 999 stood on a tilt clear across the in track.

Along those rails in ten minutes' time, unaware of the obstruction, the night express would come thundering down the grade at a forty-mile clip around the sharp curves of Widener's Gap.

"It's 38. She's due, entering Widener," breathed Ralph. "Yes," with a glance at the cab clock, "and just on time. Mr. Fogg," he shouted after his fireman, leaping to the ground, "get the people out of that coach--38 is coming."

"The Night Express," cried Fogg hoa.r.s.ely. "I never thought of it."

Ralph tore one of the rear red tender lights from its place. He started down the out rails on a dead run. His only hope now was of reaching the straight open stretch past the last curve in open view of Widener. To set the warning signal short of that would be of no avail.

No. 38 could not possibly see it in time, coming at full speed, to avoid a smash-up.

In a single minute the young engineer was drenched to the skin. It was all that he could do to keep from being blown from his footing. He fairly counted the seconds as he shot forward, sprinting to the limit on that slippery, flooded roadbed. He could not restrain a shout of relief and hope as he turned the last curve.

"Widener--38!" he gasped.

The station lamps were visible, a mile distant. Somewhat nearer, a blur of white radiance amid the das.h.i.+ng rain, was the headlight of No. 38 showing that she was coming at momentarily increasing speed.

Ralph aimed to run nearer to the air line stretch to plant the signal.

Suddenly his feet tripped and he went headlong. The breath seemed knocked out of his body as he landed across the ties of the brief trestle reach, which he had forgotten all about in his excitement. The lantern, flung wide from his grasp, struck one rail, smashed to pieces, and the lamp went out as it dropped with a flare into the deep gully beneath.

CHAPTER XVIII

AT THE SEMAPh.o.r.e

THE young engineer of No. 999 struggled to his feet appalled. The case seemed hopeless. He had matches in his pocket. In dry weather under the same circ.u.mstances he might to gather up enough dry gra.s.s and brush to build a fire between the rails, but now, with everything soaked and dripping this was impossible.

"The semaph.o.r.e signal!" gasped Ralph. "Can I reach it in time?"

He crossed the remainder of the trestle in desperate leaps. Ralph calculated the distance to the semaph.o.r.e, the distance of the train, and his heart failed him. Still he kept on. His eyes were fixed on the lantern aloft showing open tracks for the oncoming train. It was his star of hope. Then as he reached it he saw that he was too late.

To scale the slippery timber to the staple-runners without boot hooks would be no easy task. To get to the first rung and ascend would consume fully two minutes' time.

"What shall I do--what can I do?" panted the young railroader in desperation.

Just beyond the semaph.o.r.e was a symmetrical heap of bleached blocks of rock comprising a landmark guide for engineers. Ralph ran to it.

Groping among the gravel at its base, his fingers frantically grasped several loose stones. He glanced once at the glowering headlight of No. 38.

"If I can make it--if I can only make it!" he voiced, and the aspiration was a kind of a wail.

The young engineer of No. 999 had been the former leader of all boyish sports and exercises in Stanley Junction. Posed as he had posed many times in the past when he was firing at a mark, with all his skill, he calculated aim, distance and fling. The bull's eye target was the lantern pendant from the arm of the semaph.o.r.e.

One--failed! the missile missed its intended mark.

Two--a ringing yell of delight, of hope, of triumph rang from the lips of the young engineer. The skillfully-aimed projectile had struck the gla.s.s of the signal, s.h.i.+vering it to atoms. The wind and rain did the rest. Out went the light.

A sharp whistle from No. 38, the hiss of the air brakes, and panting and exhausted, the young engineer of No. 999 watched the Night Express whiz by on a lessening run and come to a stop two hundred yards away.