The Young Engineers in Colorado Part 40

CHAPTER XXIII

BLACK'S TRUMP CARD

"You scoundrel---you unhung imitation of Satan himself!" gasped Reade, great beads of perspiration standing out on his face.

"Oho! We're fools, are we?" sneered Black "We're people whom you can beat with your cheap little tricks about a different signature for each station on the line, are we? For that was why the conductor refused the false order at Brewster's. He has a code of signatures for train orders---a different signature to be used for messages at each station?"

Black's keen mind had solved the reason for the conductor's refusal to hold his train on a siding. The conductor _had_ been supplied with a code list of signatures---a different one for each station along the line.

"Now, you know," mocked Black, enjoying every line of anxiety written on Tom Reade's face, "that we have you knocked silly.

You know, now, that your train can't get through by tonight---probably not even by tomorrow night. You realize at last---eh?---that you've lost your train and your charter---your railroad?"

"I wasn't thinking of the train, or of the road," Tom groaned.

"What I'm thinking of is the train, traveling at high speed, running into that blown-out place. The train will be ditched and the crew killed. A hundred and fifty pa.s.sengers with them---many of them state officials. Oh, Black, I wouldn't dare stand in your shoes now! The whole state---the entire country---will unite in running you down. You can never hope to escape the penalty of your crime!"

"What are you talking about?" sneered Black. "Do you think I'm fool enough to ditch the train? No, sir! Don't believe it.

I'm not running my neck into a noose of that kind. A cl.u.s.ter of red lights has been spread along the track before the blow-out.

The engineer will see the signals and pull his train up---he has to, by law! No one on the train will be hurt, but the train simply can't get through!"

"Oh, if the train is safe, I don't care so much," replied Reade, the color slowly returning to his face. "As for getting through tonight, the S.B. & L. has a corps of engineers and a full staff in other departments. Black, you'll lose after all your trouble."

"Humph!" muttered Black unbelievingly. "Your train will have to get through in less than three hours, Reade!"

"It'll do it, somehow," smiled Tom.

"Yes; your engineers will bring it through, somehow," taunted Black. "We have the chief of that corps with us right now."

"That's all right," retorted Tom. "You're welcome to me, if I can be of any real comfort to you. But you forget that you haven it my a.s.sistant. Harry Hazelton is at large, among his own friends.

Harry will see the train through tonight. Never worry."

Click-click-click-click! sounded the machine on the barrel.

"It's the division superintendent at Lineville, calling up Brewster's,"

announced the operator.

"Answer for Brewster, then," directed Black. "Let us see what the division super wants, anyway."

More clicking followed, after which the operator explained:

"Division super asks Brewster if through train has pa.s.sed there."

"Answer, 'Yes; twelve minutes ago,'" directed Black.

The instrument clicked furiously for a few moments.

"The division super keeps sending, 'Sign, sign, sign!'" explained the operator at the barrel. "So I've kept on signing 'Br,' 'Br,'

over and over again. That's the proper signature for Brewster's."

Again the machine clicked noisily.

"Still insisting on the signature," grinned the operator uneasily.

"Do you know the name of the operator at Brewster's?" demanded 'Gene Black.

"Yes," nodded the man at the barrel. "The operator at Brewster's is a chap named Havens."

"Then send the signature, 'Havens, operator, Brewster's," ordered Black.

Still the machine clicked insistently.

"Super still yells for my signature," explained the man at the barrel desk. "He demands to know whether I'm really the operator at Brewster's, or whether I've broken in on the wire at some other point."

"Don't answer the division super any further, then," snorted Black disgustedly.

Tom, with his ability to read messages, was enjoying the whole situation until Black, with a sudden flash of his eyes, turned upon the cub chief engineer.

"Reade," he hissed, "you must know the proper signature for tonight for the operator at Brewster's to use."

"Nothing doing," grunted Tom.

"Give us that signature the right one for Brewster's."

"Nothing doing," Tom repeated.

"Put a pistol muzzle to his ear and see his memory brighten,"

snarled the scoundrel.

One of the hard-looking men behind Tom obeyed. Reade, it must be confessed, s.h.i.+vered slightly when he felt the cold touch of steel behind his ear.

"Give us the proper signature!" insisted 'Gene.

"Nothing doing," Tom insisted.

"Give us the right signature, or take the consequences!"

"I can't give it to you," Tom replied steadily. "I don't know the signature."

"You lie!"

"Thank you."

Tom had gotten his drawl back.

"Do you want to have the trigger of that pistol pulled?" cried 'Gene Black hoa.r.s.ely.