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The Young Railroaders

by Francis Lovell Coombs · English · Gutenberg #25868 · 448,214 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: The Young Railroaders

Author: Francis Lovell Coombs


        
Release date: June 21, 2008 [eBook #25868]
                Most recently updated: January 3, 2021

Language: English

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THE YOUNG RAILROADERS

Tales of Adventure and Ingenuity

by

F. LOVELL COOMBS

With Illustrations by F. B. Masters







[Illustration: THE NEXT MOMENT THE MIDWAY JUNCTION GHOST STEPPED
GRIMLY FROM HIS BOX.]



New York
The Century Co.
1910

Copyright, 1909, 1910, by
The Century Co.

Published September, 1910

Electrotyped and Printed by
C. H. Simonds & Co., Boston




To
B. R. C. AND K. L. C.
A REMEMBRANCE




CONTENTS

CHAPTER                                                PAGE
     I.  One Kind Of Wireless                             3
    II.  An Original Emergency Battery                   24
   III.  A Tinker Who Made Good                          38
    IV.  The Other Tinker Also Makes Good                54
     V.  An Electrical Detective                         68
    VI.  Jack Has His Adventure                          86
   VII.  A Race Through The Flames                      102
  VIII.  The Secret Telegram                            117
    IX.  Jack Plays Reporter, With Unexpected Results   132
     X.  A Runaway Train                                146
    XI.  The Haunted Station                            163
   XII.  In A Bad Fix, And Out                          180
  XIII.  Professor Click, Mind Reader                   198
   XIV.  The Last Of The Freight Thieves                225
    XV.  The Dude Operator                              246
   XVI.  A Dramatic Flagging                            262
  XVII.  Wilson Again Distinguishes Himself             279
 XVIII.  With The Construction Train                    295
   XIX.  The Enemy's Hand Again, And A Capture          310
    XX.  A Prisoner                                     325
   XXI.  Turning The Tables                             337
  XXII.  The Defense Of The Viaduct                     357



ILLUSTRATIONS

                                                                   PAGE

The next moment the Midway Junction ghost stepped
grimly from his box.                                       Frontispiece

"Now I am going to cut your cords," Alex went on
softly.                                                               8

Held it over the bull's-eye, alternately covering and
uncovering the stream of light.                                      13

Threw himself at the front door, pounding upon it
with his fists.                                                      26

In the middle of the floor, the center of all eyes,
hurriedly working with chisel and hammer.                            31

He was gazing into the barrel of a revolver.                         54

But the response click did not come.                                 59

The clerk was colorless, but only faltered an instant.               72

"There!" said Jack, pointing in triumph.                             77

Looped it over the topmost strand, near one of the posts.            86

There, in the corner of the big barn, Jack sent as he
had never sent before.                                               91

With a rush they dashed into the wall of smoke.                      98

Closer came the roaring monster.                                    103

"Come on! Come on!" exclaimed the man in the
doorway.                                                            112

"How did you do it, Smarty?" snapped the shorter man.               117

They whirled by, and the rest was lost.                             140

The engineer stepped down from his cab to grasp Alex's
hand.                                                               143

The wait was not long.                                              146

Jack made out a thin, clean-shaven face bending over
a dark-lantern.                                                     159

The stranger drew the chair immediately before him,
and seating himself, leaned forward secretively.                    164

"And it's awfully like the light, jumpy sending of
a girl!"                                                            177

The next instant Jack felt himself hurled out into
the darkness.                                                       214

He saw the detective led by, his arms bound behind him.             221

Jack rose to his knees, and began working his way
forward from tie to tie.                                            250

With the sharp words he again grasped the key.                      253

With the boys' prisoner securely bound to the saddle
of the wandering horse, the Indian was off
across the plain.                                                   348

The Indian pulled up in a cloud of dust.                            351



THE YOUNG RAILROADERS






THE YOUNG RAILROADERS

I

ONE KIND OF WIRELESS


When, after school that afternoon, Alex Ward waved a good-by to his
father, the Bixton station agent for the Middle Western, and set off up
the track on the spring's first fishing, he had little thought of
exciting experiences ahead of him. Likewise, when two hours later a
sudden heavy shower found him in the woods three miles from home, and
with but three small fish, it was only with feelings of disappointment
that he wound up his line and ran for the shelter of an old log-cabin a
hundred yards back from the stream.

Scarcely had Alex reached the doorway of the deserted house when he was
startled by a chorus of excited voices from the rear. He turned quickly
to a window, and with a cry sprang back out of sight. Emerging from the
woods, excitedly talking and gesticulating, was a party of foreigners who
had been working on the track near Bixton, and in their midst, his hands
bound behind him, was Hennessy, their foreman.

For a moment Alex stood rooted to the spot. What did it mean? Suddenly
realizing his own possible danger, he caught up his rod and fish, and
sprang for the door.

On the threshold he sharply halted. In the open he would be seen at once,
and pursued! He turned and cast a quick glance round the room. The ladder
to the loft! He darted for it, scrambled up, and drew himself through the
opening just as the excited foreigners poured in through the door below.
For some moments afraid to move, Alex lay on his back, listening to the
hubbub beneath him, and wondering in terror what the trackmen intended
doing with their prisoner. Then, gathering courage at their continued
ignorance of his presence, he cautiously moved back to the opening and
peered down.

The men were gathered in the center of the room, all talking at once. But
he could not see the foreman. As he leaned farther forward heavy
footfalls sounded about the end of the house, and Big Tony, a huge
Italian who had recently been discharged from the gang, appeared in the
doorway.

"We puta him in da barn," he announced in broken English; for the rest of
the gang were Poles. "Tomaso, he watcha him."

"An' now listen," continued the big trackman fiercely, as the rest
gathered about him. "I didn't tell everyt'ing. Besides disa man Hennessy
he say cuta da wage, an' send for odders take your job, he tella da biga
boss you no worka good, so da biga boss he no pay you for all da last
mont'!"

The ignorantly credulous Poles uttered a shout of rage. Several cried:
"Keel him! Keel him!" Alex, in the loft, drew back in terror.

"No! Dere bettera way dan dat," said Tony. "Da men to taka your job come
to-night on da Nomber Twent'. I hava da plan.

"You alla know da old track dat turn off alonga da riv' to da old
brick-yard? Well, hunerd yard from da main line da old track she washed
away. We will turn da old switch, Nomber Twent' she run on da old
track--an' swoosh! Into da riv'!"

Run No. 20 into the river! Alex almost cried aloud. And he knew the plan
would succeed--that, as Big Tony said, a hundred yards from the main-line
track the old brick-yard siding embankment was washed out so that the
rails almost hung in the air.

"Dena we all say," went on Big Tony, "we alla say, Hennessy, he do it. We
say we caughta him. See?"

Again Alex glanced down, and with hope he saw that some of the Poles were
hesitating. But Tony quickly added: "An' no one else be kill buta da
strike-break'. No odder peoples on da Nomber Twent' disa day at night.
An' da trainmen dey alla have plent' time to jomp.

"Only da men wat steala your job," he repeated craftily. And with a
sinking heart Alex saw that the rest of the easily excitable foreigners
had been won.

Again he moved back out of sight. Something must be done! If he could
only reach the barn and free the foreman!

But of course the first thing to do was to make his own escape from the
house. He rose on his elbow and glanced about.

At the far end of the loft a glimmer of light through a crack seemed to
indicate a door. Cautiously Alex rose to his knees, and began creeping
forward to investigate. When half way a loud creak of the boards brought
him to a halt with his heart in his mouth. But the loud conversation
below continued, and heartily thanking the drumming rain on the roof
overhead, Alex moved on, and finally reached his goal.

As he had hoped, it was a small door. Feeling cautiously about, he found
it to be secured by a hook. When he sought to raise the catch, however,
it resisted. Evidently it had not been lifted for many years, and had
rusted to the staple. Carefully Alex threw his weight upward against it.
It still refused to move. He pushed harder, and suddenly it gave with a
piercing screech.

Instantly the talking below ceased, and Alex stood rigid, scarcely
breathing. Then a voice exclaimed, "Up de stair!" quick footsteps crossed
the floor towards the ladder, and in a panic of fear Alex threw himself
bodily against the door, in a mad endeavor to force it. But it still
held, and with a thrill of despair he dropped flat to the floor, and saw
the foreigner's head come above the opening.

[Illustration: "NOW I AM GOING TO CUT YOUR CORDS," ALEX WENT ON
SOFTLY.]

There, however, the man paused, and turned to gaze about, listening. For
a brief space, while only the rain on the roof broke the silence, the
foreigner apparently looked directly at the boy on the floor, and Alex's
heart seemed literally to stand still. But at last, after what appeared
an interminable time, the man again turned, and withdrew, and with a sigh
of relief Alex heard him say to those below, "Only de wind, dat's all."

Waiting until the buzz of conversation had been fully resumed, Alex rose
once more to his knees, and began a cautious examination of the door. The
cause of its refusal to open was soon apparent. The old hinges had given,
allowing it to sag and catch against a raised nail-head in the sill.

Promptly Alex stood upright, grasped one of the cross-pieces, carefully
lifted, and in another moment the door swung silently outward.

With a glance Alex saw that the way was clear, and quickly lowering
himself by his hands, dropped. Here the rain once more helped him. On the
wet, soggy ground he alighted with scarcely a sound. Momentarily,
however, though he now breathed easily for the first time since he had
entered the house, he stood, listening. The excited talking inside went
on uninterruptedly, and moving to the corner, he peered about in the
direction of the barn.

Leaning in the doorway, smoking, and most fortunately, with his back
towards the house, was the Italian, Tomaso. Beyond doubt the foreman was
inside!

At the rear of the barn, and some hundred feet from where Alex stood, was
a small cow-stable. Alex determined to make an effort to reach it, and
see if from there he could not get, unseen, into the barn itself.

The Italian continued to smoke peacefully, and with his eyes constantly
on him Alex stepped forth, and set off across the clearing on tiptoe. The
guard puffed on, and he neared the stable. Then suddenly the man moved,
and made as though to turn. But with a bound Alex shot forward on the
run, made the remaining distance, and was out of view.

The rear door of the stable was open. On tiptoe Alex made his way inside.
The door leading into the barn also was ajar. With bated breath, pausing
after each step, Alex went forward, reached it, and peered within.

Yes, the foreman was there, a dim figure sitting on the floor a few feet
from him. But the outer doorway, in which stood the man on guard, also
was only a few feet away, and at once Alex saw that the problem of
reaching the foreman without being discovered was to be a difficult one.
Trusting to the now gathering gloom of the twilight, however, Alex
determined to make a try. Opening his knife and holding it in his teeth,
he sank to the floor, and began slowly worming his way forward, flat on
his stomach. It was a nerve-trying ordeal. A dozen times he was sure the
crackling straw had betrayed him. But pluckily he kept on, inch by inch,
and finally was almost within touch of the unsuspecting prisoner.

Then very softly he hissed. Sharply, as he had feared, the foreman
twisted about. But at the moment, by great good luck, the foreigner at
the door turned to knock his pipe against the door-post, and hurriedly
Alex whispered, "Don't move, Mr. Hennessy! It's Alex Ward! I was in the
old house, and saw them bring you up.

"And, Mr. Hennessy, they plan to run Twenty into the river to-night. Tony
told them there were strike-breakers aboard her to take their places."

In spite of himself the foreman uttered a low exclamation. At once the
man in the door turned. But with quick presence of mind the prisoner
changed the exclamation to a loud cough, and after a moment, while Alex
lay holding his breath, the Italian turned his attention again to his
pipe.

"Now I am going to cut your cords," Alex went on softly. "Be careful not
to let your arms seem to be free."

The foreman nodded.

"There," announced Alex as the twine dropped from the prisoner's wrists.

"Now, what shall we do? There is a door behind you into the cow-stable--the
one I came in by. Suppose you work back towards it as far as you dare, then
make a dash for it?"

"Good," whispered the foreman over his shoulder. "But you get out first."

"All right," responded Alex, and immediately began moving backwards, feet
first, as he had come.

Their escape was to be made more easy, however. At the moment from the
house came a call. The man in the doorway stepped out to reply, and in an
instant seeing the opportunity both Alex and the foreman were on their
feet, and had darted out into the stable.

"Now for a sprint!" said the foreman.

"Or, say, suppose I hide here in the stable," suggested Alex. "They don't
know of my being here. Then as soon as the way is clear I can get off in
the opposite direction, and one of us would be sure to get away."

"Good idea," agreed the foreman. "All right, you--"

There came a loud cry from the barn, and instantly he was off, and Alex,
darting back, crept low under a stall-box. As he did so the Italian
dashed by and out, and uttered a second cry as he discovered the fleeing
foreman. From the house came an answer, then a chorus of shouts that told
the rest of the gang had joined in the chase.

Alex lay still until the last sound of pursuit had died away, then
slipped forth, glanced sharply about, and dashed off for the woods in the
direction of the river and the railroad bridge.

[Illustration: HELD IT OVER THE BULL'S-EYE, ALTERNATELY COVERING AND
UNCOVERING THE STREAM OF LIGHT.]

The adventure was not yet over, however. Alex had almost reached the
shelter of the trees, and was already congratulating himself on his
safety, when suddenly from the opposite side of the clearing rose a shout
of "De boy! De boy!" Glancing back in alarm he saw several of the Poles
cutting across in an endeavor to head him off.

Onward he dashed with redoubled speed. With a final rush he reached the
trees ahead of them, and plunging into the friendly gloom, darted on
recklessly, diving between trunks, and over logs and bushes like a young
hare.

A quarter of a mile Alex ran desperately, then halted, panting, to
listen. Not a sound save his own breathing broke the stillness. Surely,
thought Alex, I haven't shaken them off that easily, unless they were
already winded from their chase after--

Off to the right rose a shrill whistle. From immediately to the left came
an answer. Then he understood. They were heading him off from the
railroad and the river spur.

Alex's heart sank, and momentarily he stood, in despair. Then suddenly he
thought of the old brick-yard. It lay less than a mile north, and was
full of good hiding-places! If he could reach it ahead of them, what with
the daylight now rapidly failing, he would almost certainly be safe. At
once he turned, and was off with renewed vigor.

And finally, utterly exhausted, but cheered through not having heard a
sound from his pursuers for the last quarter mile, Alex stumbled into the
clearing of the abandoned brick-works, ran low for a distance under cover
of a long drying-frame, and scrambling through the low doorway of an old
tile oven, threw himself upon the floor, done out, but confident that at
last he was safe.

As he lay panting and listening, Alex turned his thoughts again to the
train. Had the foreman made his escape? With so many promptly after him,
it seemed scarcely probable. Then the saving of Twenty was still upon his
own shoulders!

And there was little time in which to do anything, for she was due at
7:50, and it must be after 7 already!

Could he not reach the switch itself, and throw it back just before the
train was due? That would be surest. And in the rapidly growing darkness
there should be at least a fair chance of getting by any of the
foreigners who might be on the watch.

Determinedly Alex gathered himself together, and crawled back to the
entrance. Near the doorway he stumbled over something. "Oh, our old
switch lantern!" he exclaimed, holding it to the light, and momentarily
paused to examine it. For it had been placed under cover there the
previous fall by himself and some other boys, after being used in a game
of "hold-up" on the brick-yard siding.

"Just as we left it," said Alex to himself, and was about to put it
aside, when he paused with a start, studied it sharply a moment, then
uttered a cry, shook it to see that it still contained oil, and scrambled
hurriedly forth, taking it with him.

A moment he paused to listen, then set off on the run for the old yard
semaphore, dimly discernible a hundred yards distant. Reaching it, he
caught the lantern in his teeth, and ran up the ladder hand over hand,
clambered onto the little platform, and turned toward the town.

Yes! Through the trees the station lamps were plainly visible! With a cry
of delight Alex at once set about carrying out his inspiration. Quickly
trimming the lantern wick, he lit it, with his handkerchief tied it to
the semaphore arm, and turned it so that the bull's-eye pointed toward
the station.

Then, catching off his cap, he held it over the bull's-eye, and
alternately covering and uncovering the stream of light, began flashing
across the darkness signals that corresponded with the telegraphic call
of the Bixton station.

"BX," he flashed. "BX, BX, BX!

"BX, BX--AW (his private sign)! BX, BX, AW!"

The station lights streamed on.

"Qk! Qk! BX, BX!" called Alex.

His right hand tired, and he changed to the left. "Surely they should be
on the lookout for me, and see it," he told himself. "For when I go
fishing I am always home at--"

One of the station lights disappeared. Breathlessly Alex repeated his
call, and waited. Was it merely some one pulling down a blind, or--

The light appeared again, then disappeared, several times in quick
succession, and Alex uttered a joyful "Hurrah!" and turning his whole
attention to the lamp, that the signals might be perfect, began flashing
across the night his thrilling message of warning:

"THE FOREIGN TRACK HANDS--"

From a short distance down the spur came a shout. Startled, Alex
hesitated. Again came a cry, then the sound of swiftly running feet.

He had been discovered! In a panic Alex turned and began to scramble down
the ladder. But sharply he pulled up. No! That would be playing the
coward! He must complete the message! And bravely choking down his
terror, he climbed back onto the platform, and while the running feet and
threatening cries came nearer every moment, continued his message:

"HANDS ARE--"

"Stop dat! Queek! I shoot! I shoot!" cried the voice of Big Tony,
immediately below him. Again for a moment Alex quailed, then again went
bravely on, while the old semaphore rocked and swayed as the enraged
Italian threw himself at it and scrambled up toward him.

"GOING TO RUN--"

With a plunge the big trackman reached up and caught him by the ankle,
wrenched him back from the lantern, and clambered up beside him. Catching
the light off the semaphore arm, he thrust it into the boy's face. "O
ho!" he exclaimed. "So it you, da station-man boy, eh? An' you da one
whata help Hennessy get away, eh?

"An' whata now you do wid dis?" he demanded fiercely, indicating the
lantern.

"If you can't guess, I'm not going to tell you," declared Alex stoutly,
though his heart was in his throat.

"O ho! You wonta, eh? Alla right," said Tony softly through his teeth,
and in a grim silence more terrifying than the threat of his words, he
blew the lantern out, tossed it to the ground, and proceeding to clamber
down, grasped Alex by the leg and dragged him down after.

But help was at hand. As they reached the ground a second tall figure
loomed up suddenly out of the darkness. "Who dat?" demanded Big Tony. The
answer was a rush, and a blow, and with a throttled cry of terror the big
track worker went to the ground in a heap, the foreman on top of him.

Alex uttered a cry of joy, then with quick wit, while the two men engaged
in a terrific struggle, he darted in search of the lantern, found it,
fortunately unbroken, and in a trice was again running up the semaphore
ladder.

As he once more reached his post on the platform the big Italian
succeeded in breaking from the foreman, scrambled to his feet, and dashed
off across the brick-yard. "Come down, Alex. It's all over," called
Hennessy, gathering himself up. "And now we've got to hike right off, a
mile a minute, for the main-line if we are to stop that train. They ran
me so far I only just got back. Unless Twenty's late we--"

"I am trying to stop her from up here," interrupted Alex, relighting the
lantern.

"Up there? What do you mean?" exclaimed the foreman.

"Signalling father at the station, with the telegraph code," said Alex as
he replaced the lantern on the semaphore arm. "Come on up."

"Al," said the incredulous foreman as he reached the platform, "can you
really do it?"

"I had it going when that Italian stopped me. Watch."

But Alex was doomed again to interruption. Scarcely had he begun once
more flashing forth the telegraph call of the station when from the
direction of the woods came a shout, several answers, then a rush of
feet.

"Some of the Poles!" exclaimed the foreman. "But you go ahead, Al, and
I'll see that they don't get up to interfere," he added, determinedly.

The running figures came dimly into view below. "If any of you idiots
come up here I'll crack your heads!" shouted Hennessy, warningly.

"I've got the station again," announced Alex. "Now it will take only a
few minutes."

One of the men below reached the ladder, and, looking up, shouted
threateningly: "Stop dat! Stop dat, or I shoot!"

"Go ahead, Al," said the foreman, looking down. "He hasn't a gun." But
even as he spoke there was a flash and a report, and a thud just over
Alex's head.

"Yes, stop! Stop!" cried the foreman. "Stop. They've got us. No use being
foolhardy."

Leaning over, he addressed the men below. "Look here," he said,
persuasively, "can't you fellows see that Big Tony is only using you to
make trouble for me, because I fired him for being drunk? As I told you
at first, everything he has said is untrue. Why won't you believe it?"

The men were silent a moment, then one of them addressed Alex. "Boy, is
dat true?"

"Every word of it," said Alex, earnestly. "And I would have heard all
about it at the station if they had intended cutting your wages, or
bringing others here to take your places."

"Den I believe it," said the Pole.

The man with the pistol returned it to his pocket. "I am sorry I shoot,"
he said.

"And now, what about the train?" inquired the foreman, quickly. "Did you
touch the switch?"

In the look of guilt the foreigners turned on one another he saw the
alarming answer. Whipping out his watch, he held it to the light.

"Alex," he said, sharply, "you have just ten minutes to catch that train
at the Junction! If you don't get her she's gone! There's not time now to
get down to the main line from here to flag her!"

Before he had ceased speaking Alex had his cap over the light and was
once more flashing an urgent "BX! BX! BX!" while below the foreigners
looked on, now with an anxiety equal to that of the two on the tower.

"BX! Qk! Qk!" flashed the lantern.

The station light disappeared. "Got 'em!" cried Alex.

"Just tell them first to stop Twenty at the Junction," said the foreman.

"Right," responded Alex, and while the rest watched in profound silence,
he signaled:

"STOP NUMBER 20 AT JUNCTION. SPUR SWITCH IS THROWN. GOT IT?"

As Alex read off the promptly flashed "OK," the foreman sprang to his
feet and gave vent to a joyful hurrah of relief that echoed again in the
clearing and woods. Then, as Alex recovered the lantern, he caught him
under one arm, carried him down the ladder, and there, despite his
objections, hoisted him to the shoulders of two of the now enthusiastic
Poles, and all set off jubilantly down the spur for the switch, and home.

And an hour later Alex's father and mother, anxiously awaiting him at the
station, discovered his approach carried at the head of a sort of
triumphal procession of the entire gang of trackmen.

When Alex's father the following morning reported the occurrence to the
chief despatcher, that official called Alex to the wire to congratulate
him personally.

"That was a fine bit of work, my boy," he clicked. "I see you are cut out
for the right kind of railroader. If fourteen wasn't a bit too young I
would give you a job on the spot. But we will give you a start just as
soon as we can, you may be sure."




II

AN ORIGINAL EMERGENCY BATTERY


One afternoon two weeks later Alex returned from school to find his
father and mother hurriedly packing his suit-case.

"Why, what's up, Dad?" he exclaimed.

"You are off for Watson Siding in twenty minutes, to take charge of the
station there nights," said his father. "The regular man is ill, the
despatcher had no one else to send, and asked for you, and of course I
told him you'd be delighted."

"Delighted? Well, rather!" cried Alex, gleefully, and throwing his
school-books into a corner, he dashed up-stairs to change his clothes,
hastily ate a lunch his mother had prepared, and fifteen minutes later
was hurrying for the depot.

Needless to say Alex was a proud boy when shortly after seven o'clock he
reached Watson Siding, and at once took over the station for the night.
For it is not often a lad of fourteen is given such responsibility, even
though brought up on the railroad.

Alex was soon to learn that the responsibility was a very real one. The
first night passed pleasantly enough, but early the succeeding night,
following a day of rain, a heavy spring fog set in, and shortly before
ten o'clock Alex found, to his alarm, that he could not make himself
heard on the wire by the despatcher. Evidently there was a heavy escape
of current between them, because of the dampness.

Again the despatcher called, again Alex sought to interrupt him, failed,
and gave it up. "Now I am in for trouble," he said in dismay. "If
anything should--"

From apparently just without came a low, ominous rumble, then a crash.
Alex started to his feet and ran to the window. He could see nothing but
fog, and hastily securing a lantern, went out onto the station platform.

As he closed the door there was a second terrific crash, from the
darkness immediately opposite, and a rain of stones rattling against
iron.

"The bank above the siding!" cried Alex, and springing to the tracks, he
dashed across, and with an exclamation brought up before a mound of earth
six feet high over the siding rails.

As he gazed Alex felt his heart tighten. The westbound Sunset Express was
due to take the siding in less than half an hour, to await the Eastern
Mail, and at once he saw that if the engineer misjudged the distance in
the fog, and ran onto the siding at full speed, there would be a terrible
calamity.

And suppose the cars were thrown onto the main line track, and the Mail
crashed into them! And, apparently, he could not reach the despatcher, to
give warning of her danger!

What could he do to stop them? Helplessly Alex looked at the lantern in
his hand. Its light was smothered by the fog within ten feet of him.

Running back to the operating room he seized the key and once more sought
to attract the attention of the despatcher. It was useless. The
despatcher did not hear him. He sank back in his chair, sick with dread.

But he must attempt something! Determinedly he sprang to his feet. A
lantern was useless. Then why not a fire? A big fire on the track?
Hurrah! That was it! But--he gazed at the coal box, and thought of the
rain soaked wood outside, and his heart sank. Then came remembrance of
the big woodshed at the farm-house where he boarded, three hundred yards
away, and in a moment he had recovered the lantern, and was out, and off
through the darkness, running desperately.

On arriving at the house Alex found all in silence, and the family
retired, but without a moment's hesitation he threw himself at the front
door, pounding upon it with his fists.

It seemed an age before a window was raised. "Mr. Moore," he cried,
"there has been a landslide in the cut at the station, and there is
danger of the Sunset running into it. May I have wood from the shed to
make a fire on the track to stop her?"

"Gracious! Certainly, certainly!" exclaimed the voice from the window.
"And the boys and I will be down in a minute to help you. You run around
and be pulling out some kindling."

[Illustration: THREW HIMSELF AT THE FRONT DOOR, POUNDING UPON IT
WITH HIS FISTS.]

Alex darted about to the woodshed, there the farmer and his two sons soon
joined him, and each catching up an armful of wood, they were quickly off
for the railroad, Alex leading with the lantern.

Reaching the tracks, they hurried east, and a quarter mile distant
halted, and began hastily building a huge bonfire between the rails.

"There," said Alex, as the flames leaped up, "that ought to stop her."

"And now, Mr. Moore, suppose we leave Dick here to tend the fire, and you
and Billy and I hurry back to the station, and tackle the earth on the
track. We may get enough off to let the train plow through."

"All right, certainly," agreed the farmer; and retracing their steps, the
three secured shovels and more lanterns at the depot, and soon were hard
at work on the obstructed siding.

They had been digging some ten minutes when suddenly Billy paused.
"Listen," he said. "There's a horse coming, on the run." His father and
Alex also ceased shoveling, and a moment later the quick pounding of
horse's hoofs was plainly discernible.

"It must be something urgent to make a man drive like that in the dark,"
said Mr. Moore.

The racing hoofs drew nearer, and placing his hands to his mouth he
cried: "Hello! What's up?"

There was a sound of scrambling and plunging, and out of the darkness
came a man's excited voice: "How near am I to the station?"

"Right here below you!"

"Thank God! Run quick and tell the operator there has been a landslip in
the big cutting just beyond the river! My son discovered it when coming
home by the track from a party! I thought I could get here quicker than
do anything else!"

For a moment Alex stood speechless at this further calamity, then once
more dashed for the station. To reach Zeisler, two miles west of the cut,
was the only hope for the Mail.

Rushing in to the instruments, he in feverish haste began calling "Z. Z,
Z," he whirled. "Qk! Z, Z, WS!"

There was no answer. Z heard him no more than did the despatcher.

A feeling of despair settled upon the boy. But again returned the old
spirit of determination and contriving, and spinning about in his chair,
he cast his eyes around the room for some suggestion. They halted at the
big stoneware water-cooler. With a cry he was on his feet, thinking
rapidly.

Only a few hours before, during an idle moment, the similarity of the big
jar to a gravity cell had occurred to him, and the speculation as to
whether it could not be turned into a battery if need be.

Could he really make a battery of it? If he could, undoubtedly it would
be strong enough to so increase the current in the wire that both Zeisler
and the despatcher could hear him.

He ran to a little storage closet at the rear of the room. Yes; there was
enough bluestone! But no copper, or zinc! What could he do for that?

As though directed by Providence, his gaze fell on the floor-board of the
office stove. It was covered with a sheet of zinc! And even as he uttered
a glad "Good!" there came the remembrance that at the house that
afternoon he had seen a fine new wash-boiler--with a thick copper bottom.

"That's it," cried Alex, again catching up the lantern and darting for
the door.

A short distance from the depot Alex was halted by a long, muffled
whistle from the east. "The Express," he exclaimed, and in keen anxiety
awaited the next whistle. Would it be for the crossing this side of the
bonfire, or--

It came, a series of quick, sharp toots. Yes; they had seen the fire!

"Thank Heaven! She's safe at any rate," said Alex, at once running on.

A few minutes later he burst into Mrs. Moore's kitchen. The farmer's wife
was at the stove, preparing coffee for them.

"Mrs. Moore, where is your new copper-bottomed boiler? I must have it,
quick," said Alex.

"What! My new wash-boiler?"

"Yes; the copper-bottomed one. It's a matter of life and death!"

The astonished woman hesitated, then, wonderingly, pointed toward the
outer kitchen. Alex ran thither, and quickly reappeared with the fine new
boiler on his shoulder.

"And I must have that kettle of boiling water," he added, on a thought.
"I'll explain later." And catching it from the stove, he rushed away.

As he ran Alex further thought out his plans, and once more at the
station, he placed the kettle on the office stove, emptied the bluestone
into it, and poked up the fire.

Then, with a hammer and chisel, he attacked the copper bottom of the
boiler.

He was still pounding and cutting when presently there was the sound of
hurried footsteps without, the door flew open, and a voice exclaimed: "In
Heaven's name, young man, what are you doing? Why are you not at your
wire, trying to stop the other train?"

It was none other than the division superintendent of the road, who had
been aboard the Sunset.

Only pausing a moment in his work, Alex replied: "I can't reach anybody,
sir, the wire is so weak. I am making a battery of that water-cooler, to
strengthen it. It's the only hope, sir."

The superintendent uttered a horrified exclamation, then quickly added:
"Here, can't I help you?"

"Yes, sir," replied Alex, promptly. "Lift up the stove and slide out the
floor-board. I must have the sheet of zinc off it."

And a few minutes later a group of passengers from the stalled train,
seeking the cause of delay, paused in the doorway to gaze in blank
astonishment at the spectacle of the division superintendent of the
Middle Western, his coat off, energetically working under the direction
of his youngest operator.

[Illustration: IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR, THE CENTER OF ALL EYES,
HURRIEDLY WORKING WITH CHISEL AND HAMMER.]

"There you are, my lad," said the superintendent. "What next?"

"Get a stick, sir, and stir the bluestone in the kettle. We must have it
dissolved if the battery is to work the moment we connect it to the
wire."

The copper bottom of the boiler was at last cut through, and hastily
doubling it over several times, in order that it would lie flat in the
crock, Alex turned his attention to the zinc on the stove-board.

The scene in the little station had now become dramatic--the crowd of
passengers, increased until it half filled the room, looking on in
strained silence, or talking in whispers; the tall figure of the
superintendent at the stove, busily stirring the kettle, and in the
middle of the floor, the center of all eyes, the fourteen-year-old boy
hurriedly working with chisel and hammer, seemingly only conscious of the
task before him and the necessity of making the most of every minute.

The zinc was cut, and hurriedly folding it as he had the copper, Alex
sprang to his feet, and running to the cupboard, dragged out a bundle of
wire, and began sorting out a number of short ends.

"How much longer?" said the superintendent in a tense voice. "The train
should be at Zeisler now."

"Just a minute. But she's sure to be a little late, from the fog," said
Alex, hopefully, never pausing. "Has the bluestone dissolved, sir?"

"All but a few lumps."

"Then that'll do. Now please lift down the water-cooler, sir, and place
it by the table."

As the superintendent complied all conversation ceased, and the crowd,
moving hurriedly out of the way, looked on breathlessly, then turned to
Alex, on his knees, fastening two pieces of wire to the squares of copper
and zinc.

This done, Alex dropped the square of copper to the bottom of the big
jar, hung the zinc from the top, connected one wire end to the ground
connection at the switchboard, and the other to the side of the key. And
the task was complete.

"Now the kettle, sir," he said, dropping into his chair. The
superintendent seized the kettle, and emptied its blue-green liquid into
the cooler. The moment the water had covered the zinc Alex opened his
key.

It worked strongly and sharply.

"Thank God! Thank God!" said the superintendent, fervently. "Now, hurry,
boy!"

Already Alex was whirring off a string of letters. "Z, Z, Z, WS!" he
called. "Qk! Qk! Z, Z--"

The line opened, and at the quick sharp dots that came Alex could not
restrain a cry of triumph. "It works! I've got him," he exclaimed. Then
rapidly he sent:

"Has Number 12 passed?"

The line again opened, and over the boy leaned a circle of white, anxious
faces. Had the train passed? Had it gone on to destruction? Or--

The instruments clicked. "No! No! He says, no!" cried Alex.

And then, while the crowd about him relieved its pent-up feelings in wild
shouts and hurrahs, Alex quickly sent the order to stop the train.

"And now three good cheers for the little operator," said one of the
passengers as Alex closed his key. In confusion Alex drew back in his
chair, then suddenly recollecting the others who had taken part in the
night's work, he told the superintendent of the part played by Mr. Moore
and his sons, and of the sacrifice of Mrs. Moore's new wash-boiler.

"And then there was the man on the horse, who told us of the slide in the
cut across the river. He was the real one to save the Mail," said Alex,
modestly.

"I see you are as fair as you are ingenious," said the superintendent,
smiling. "We'll look after them all, you may be sure. By the first
express Mrs. Moore shall have two, instead of one, of the finest boilers
money can buy. And as for you, my boy, I'll see that you are given a
permanent station within a year, if you wish to take it. We need
resourceful operators like you."




III

A TINKER WHO MADE GOOD


Most telegraph operators, young operators especially, have a number of
over-the-wire friends. Alex Ward's particular telegraph chum was Jack
Orr, or "OR," as he knew him on the wire, a lad of just his own age, son
of the proprietor of the drug-store in which the town, or commercial,
office was located at Haddowville, a small place at the end of the line.
The two boys had become warm friends through "sending" for one another's
improvement in "reading," in the evenings when the wire was idle; but
also because of the similarities of taste they had discovered. Both were
fond of experimenting, and learning the "why and wherefore" of things
electrical.

And not infrequently they got themselves into trouble, as young
investigators will.

One evening that summer, the instruments being silent, Jack, at
Haddowville, bethought himself of taking the relay, the main receiving
instrument, to pieces, to discover exactly how the wire connections in
the base were arranged. To think with Jack was to act. Half an hour later
his father, entering with an important message, found Jack with the
instrument in a dozen pieces.

Mr. Orr viewed the muss with consternation. Then he spoke sharply. "Jack,
if that relay is not together again, and working, in five minutes, I'll
take you out to the woodshed!" Needless to say, Jack threw himself into
the restoring of the instrument with ardor, while his father stood grimly
by. And fortunately the relay was in its place again, and clicking,
within the prescribed time.

"But don't let me ever catch you tinkering with the instruments again,"
said Jack's father warningly, as he gave Jack the message to send.
"Another time it'll be the woodshed whether you get them together or no.
Remember!"

Shortly after midnight the night following Jack suddenly found himself
sitting up in bed, wondering what had awakened him. From the street below
came the sound of running feet, simultaneously the window lighted with a
yellow glare, and with a bound and an exclamation of "Fire!" Jack was
across the room and peering out.

"Jones' coal sheds! Or the station!" he ejaculated, and in a moment was
back at the bedside, dressing as only a boy can dress for a fire. Running
to his parents' bedroom he told them of his going, and was down the
stairs and out into the street in a trice.

Dim figures of men and other boys were hurrying by in the direction of
the town fire-hall, a block distant, and on the run Jack also headed
thither. For to help pull the fire-engine or hose-cart to a fire was the
ardent hobby of every lad in town.

A half dozen members of the volunteer fire company and as many boys were
at the doors when Jack arrived, and the fire chief, already equipped with
helmet and speaking-trumpet, was fumbling at the lock.

"Where is it, Billy?" inquired Jack of a boy acquaintance.

"They say it's the station and freight shed, and Johnson's lumber yard,
and the coal sheds--the whole shooting match," said Billy, hopefully.

"Bully!" responded Jack; who, never having seen his own home in flames,
likewise regarded fires as the most thrilling sort of entertainment.

"Out of the way!" cried the chief. The big doors swung open, and with a
rush the little crowd divided and went at the old-fashioned hand-engine
and the hose-cart. Billy and Jack secured the particular prize, the head
of the engine drag-rope, and like a pair of young colts pranced out with
it to its full length. Others seized it, and with the cry of "Let 'er
go!" they went rumbling forth, and swung up the street.

The hose-cart, with its automatic gong, clanged out immediately after,
and the race that always occurred was on. The engine of course had the
start, but the hose-cart, a huge two-wheeled reel, about which the hose
was wound, was much lighter, and speedily was clanging abreast of them.
Here, however, Big Ed. Hicks, the blacksmith, and Nick White, a colored
giant, rushed up, dodged beneath the rope, and took their accustomed
places at the tongue, and with a burst of speed the engine began to draw
ahead. Other firemen appeared from side streets and banging doorways, and
took their places on the rope, and a shout from the juvenile contingent
presently announced that the reel was falling to the rear.

Meanwhile the glare in the sky had brightened and spread; and when at
last the rumbling engine swung into the station road the whole sky was
ablaze. Overhead, before a stiff wind, large embers and sparks were
beginning to fly.

With a dash the panting company swept into the station square. Before
them the station and adjoining freight-shed were enveloped in flames from
end to end. It was apparent at once that there was no possibility of
saving either. But with a final rush the engine-squad made for the
fire-well at the corner of the square, brought up all-standing, and in a
jiffy the intake pipe was unstrapped and dropped into the water. The reel
clanged up, two of its crew sprang for the engine with the hose-end and
couplers, and the cart sped on, peeling the hose out behind it.

The speed with which they could get into action was a matter of pride
with the Haddowville firemen. Almost before the coupling had been made at
the engine the men and boys at the long pumping-bars were working them
gently; within the minute a shout from the cart announced that the hose
was being broken, the pumpers threw themselves into the work with zest,
and the next moment from the distant nozzle shot a sputtering stream.

With the other boys, Jack, though now considerably winded, was throwing
himself energetically up and down against one of the long handles. Before
many minutes, however, the remainder of the regular enginemen appeared,
and took their places, and presently Jack also was ousted.

At once he set off for a closer view of the fire. Half way he was halted
by a call.

"Hi, Jack! Come and help push the freight cars!"

The shout came from a group of boys running for the rear of the burning
freight-shed, and responding with alacrity, Jack joined them, and soon,
just beyond the burning building, was pushing against the corner of a
slowly moving box-car with all his might.

One car was rolled safely out of the danger zone, and Jack's party
hastened back for another. The innermost of the remaining cars, and on a
separate siding, was but a short distance from the flaming shed, and
already was blazing on the roof. Jack and several other adventurous
spirits determined to tackle this one on their own account. After much
straining they got it in motion.

Suddenly a wildly excited figure appeared rushing through the smoke, and
shouted at the top of his voice, "Get back! Get back! There's blasting
powder in that car!"

In a twinkle there was a wild stampede. And but just in time. With a
blinding flash and a roar like a thunderbolt, the car shot into the air
in a million pieces. Many persons in the vicinity were thrown violently
to the ground, including Jack. As he scrambled, thoroughly frightened, to
his feet, someone shouted, "Look out overhead!" and glancing up, Jack saw
a shower of burning fragments high in the air.

Then rose the cry, "The wind is taking them right over the town!" In
alarm many people began leaving the square for their homes.

Jack's own home and the drug-store block were well on the other side of
the town, however, and with no thought of anxiety Jack remained to watch
the burning station, now a solid mass of flame from ground to roof.

Presently, glancing toward the opposite corner of the square, Jack noted
a general, hurried movement of the crowd there into the street. He set
out to investigate. As he neared the fire-engine, still clanking
vigorously, a bareheaded man rushed up and asked excitedly for the fire
chief. "The telephone building and a house on Essex Street, and one on
the next street back, are burning!" he cried. "Quick, and do something,
or the whole town will be afire!"

Looking in the direction indicated, Jack saw a wavering glare, and with a
new thrill of excitement was immediately off on the run. The telephone
exchange was one of the largest buildings in town.

As he came within sight of the new conflagration the flames already were
leaping from the roof and roaring from the upper windows. Despite the
heat, the crowd before the building was clustered close about the door of
the telephone office, and Jack hastened to join them, to learn the cause.
Making his way through the throng, he reached the front as a blanketed
figure staggered, smoking, from the doorway. Someone sprang forward and
caught the blanket from the stumbling man, at the same time crying, "Did
you get them?"

"No," gasped the telephone operator, for Jack saw it was he; "the whole
office is in flames. I couldn't get inside the door."

Mayor Davis, the first speaker, turned quickly about. "Then we'll run
down to Orr's and telegraph."

At once Jack understood. The mayor wished to send for help from other
towns. He sprang forward. "I'm here, Mr. Davis--Jack Orr. I'll take a
message!"

"Good!" said the mayor. "Run like the wind, my boy, and send a telegram
to the mayors of Zeisler and Hammerton for help. As many steam engines as
they can spare. And have the railroad people supply a special at once.
Write the message yourself, and sign my name. Tell them four more fires
have broken out, and that the whole town may be in danger."

Jack broke through the crowd, and was off like a deer.

Farther down the street he passed another building, a small dwelling,
burning, with its frightened occupants and their neighbors hurrying
furniture out, and fighting the flames with buckets.

Down the next cross-street he saw flames bursting from a second house.

Then it was that the real gravity of the situation began to come home to
Jack. Till now it had all been only a thrilling drama--even the bearing
of the mayor's urgent message had appeared rather a dramatically
prominent stage-part he had had thrust upon him.

On he sped with redoubled speed, and turned into the main street. Then
his alarm became genuine. Lurid flames were licking over the tree-tops
directly ahead of him--in the direction of the store! A moment later a
cry of horror broke from him. It was indeed the store block!

But his own personal alarm was quickly lost in a greater. Suppose the
telegraph office also should be in flames, and he unable to reach it? He
ran on madly.

He neared the store, and with hope saw that so far the flames were only
in the second story. Men were hurrying in and out, and from the
hardware-store adjoining. But as he rushed to the drug-store door a cloud
of heavy smoke rolled forth, driving a group of men before it.

Among them he recognized his father.

"Dad," he cried, "can't I reach the instruments? I've a message for help
to Hammerton and Zeisler from the mayor! The 'phone office and the
station are burned. There is no other way of getting word out."

Mr. Orr had halted in consternation. "No; you couldn't get to them. The
telegraph room is a furnace. The fire came in through the office windows
from the outhouse, and I closed the door from the store."

Through the haze of smoke within burst a lurid fork of flame.

"There! The fire is out through the telegraph-room door," said the
druggist. "You couldn't get near the table. And anyway, Jack, the
instruments would be useless by this time."

It was this remark that aroused Jack. "If I could rip them from the table
in any kind of shape, perhaps I could fix them up quickly so I could use
them," he thought.

To his father he said with sudden determination, "Dad, I'm going to make
a try for the key and relay."

"No. I won't permit it," declared Mr. Orr decisively.

"But father, if we don't get word out the whole town may be burned,"
cried Jack.

"I'll make a try myself," said Mr. Orr, and without further word lowered
his head and dashed back into the smoke.

While Jack stood anxiously awaiting his father's reappearance the owner
of the adjacent hardware-store stumbled from his doorway under a bundle
of horse-blankets. With an immediate idea Jack ran toward him. "Mr.
Wells, let me have some of those blankets," he said hurriedly. "We want
to try and reach the telegraph instruments. They are the only hope for
getting word out of town for help. Father is in after them, but I don't
think he can reach them with nothing over him."

The merchant promptly threw the whole bundle to the ground. "Help
yourself," he directed.

At the door again, he called back. "Can you use anything else?"

"No--Say, yes! A pair of leather gauntlets." The merchant disappeared,
reappeared, and threw toward Jack a bundle of leather gloves. "Many as
you want," he shouted.

Catching them up and two of the blankets, Jack sprang back for their own
store as his father reappeared.

"They can't be reached," coughed Mr. Orr. "Couldn't even get to the
door."

"I'll try with these blankets, then," said Jack decisively. "Throw them
over my head, please."

His father hesitated. "But my boy--"

"There's little danger, Dad. The blankets are thick. And I know just
where the instruments are. And see, I'll wear these gauntlets," he added,
pulling a pair over his hands.

Somewhat reluctantly Mr. Orr took the blankets and threw them over Jack's
head, and on the run Jack plunged into the wall of smoke.

With one gloved hand outstretched he found the telegraph-room door, and
the knob. He pressed against it, and with a crash and then a roar the
door collapsed before him. But without a moment's hesitation he darted on
within, groped his way to the table, found the relay, and with a
desperate wrench tore it from its place. The next moment he dashed
blindly into his father's arms at the outer door, and threw the smoking
blankets and sizzling, burning relay to the sidewalk.

"Water on it quick," gasped Jack, pointing to the instrument. Catching it
up in a corner of one of the blankets Mr. Orr ran with it to a
horse-trough in front, and plunged it into the water.

As he returned Jack was drawing on a second pair of gauntlets.

"Jack, you're not going back!" said his father sharply.

"I want the key, Dad."

"Look there." Glancing within Jack saw that the whole rear of the store
was now enveloped in flames.

"And it would be of no use in any case. Look at this," said Mr. Orr,
holding up the smoking relay.

The instrument did indeed look a hopeless wreck as Jack took it. The base
was cracked and charred, the rubber jacket about the magnet-coils was
frizzled and warped, the fine wire connections beneath were gone, and the
armature spring was missing.

But Jack was not one to give up while a single hope remained. "I could
improvise a key," he said, and with decision hastily sought the hardware
merchant.

"Mr. Wells, did you save any screw-drivers?" he asked.

"In a box down there. Help yourself."

Running thither Jack found the tool, and immediately began taking the
relay apart.

An exclamation of disappointment greeted the discovery that the fine
copper wire within one of the coil-jackets had been melted into a solid
mass. On ripping open the sizzled jacket of the other, however, Jack
found the silk covering the wire to be only scorched, and determined to
do the best he could with the one magnet.

Removing the relay entirely from the burned base, he secured a thin piece
of board from one of the boxes near him, from the miscellaneous tools in
another box found a gimlet, and made the necessary perforations. And soon
he had the brass coil-frame mounted.

Meantime Mr. Orr, not for a moment thinking Jack could do anything with
the charred instrument, had joined the crowd of men and women watching
the burning building from across the street.

"Father! Here, please!" called Jack.

In some wonder Mr. Orr responded, and with him the hardware merchant.

"Have you a rubber band in your pocket?" asked Jack. "I want it for the
armature spring."

"Why you are really not doing anything with it, Jack!" exclaimed his
father.

"Yes, sir. I think I can make it go," responded Jack with a little touch
of elation. "And with only one magnet. But have you the rubber?"

"Here," said Mr. Wells, snapping a rubber band from his pocketbook. "This
do?"

"Just the thing. Thanks." And while the two men looked on, Jack secured
one end of the elastic to the little hook on the armature, and knotted
the other about the tension thumb-screw.

That done, Jack caught up a hammer and smashed the useless coil to
pieces, from the wreck, secured several intact ends of the fine wire, and
with them quickly restored the burnt connections between the magnet and
the binding-posts. And with a cry, half of jubilation and half of nervous
excitement, he caught up the now roughly-restored instrument and ran
toward an iron gas street-lamp. In the roadway a short distance from the
lamp-post lay the burned-off end of the telegraph wire. Placing the
instrument on the sidewalk, Jack ran for the wire, and dragged it also to
the post.

Then, as the crowd, following his father and the hardware merchant,
gathered about him, they saw him secure a piece of wire about the iron
lamp-post, then to the instrument; and, dropping to a sitting position,
place the instrument on his knees, catch up the telegraph line, and hold
it to the other side of the relay.

Jack's low cry of disappointment was echoed by his father. "No use. I was
afraid of it, my boy," said Mr. Orr resignedly.

There was a disturbance on the outskirts of the crowd, and the mayor
appeared pushing his way through. "Didn't you get that message off,
Jack?" he cried excitedly.

"The fire was too quick for us," said Mr. Orr. "Jack risked his life
getting out one of the instruments. But it has proved useless."

"Oh say! Now I know what's the matter!" With the cry Jack sprang to his
feet, broke through the circle about him, and sped back toward the store.
The flames were now bursting from the front, but with head down he ran to
the iron door covering the street entrance to the cellar, and lifted it.
A thin stream of smoke arose, then disappeared as a draft toward the rear
set in. With a thankful "Good!" Jack leaped into the opening.

His father, the mayor, and several others who had rushed after in
consternation reached the sidewalk as Jack's head reappeared, followed by
a green battery jar. Placing the jar on the ledge, he stooped, and raised
another.

"What do you think you are doing?" cried his father.

"I'll explain in a minute. Take them over to the post, please." And Jack
had again disappeared.

The mayor promptly caught up the two cells, but Mr. Orr as promptly
dropped through the opening and followed Jack.

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded as he groped his way to the
battery-shelf. "You can't do anything with the battery if you have no
instrument."

"The instrument is all right, Father. The line has been 'grounded' south,
that's all. If we put battery on here, we can reach some office between
here and wherever the 'ground' is on."

"May it be so," said Mr. Orr fervently, but not hopefully, as they
hurried with four more jars to the entrance.

When they had carried out a dozen jars Jack declared the number to be
sufficient, and scrambling forth, they hastened back to the lamp-post.

Without delay Jack connected the cells in proper series, and removing the
wire between the instrument and the iron post, substituted the
battery--zinc to the post, and copper to the instrument.

Then once more he caught up the severed end of the main-line wire, and
touched the opposite side of the instrument.

A cry of triumph, then a mighty shout, greeted the responding click.

"But what about a key, son?" said Mr. Orr.

"This, for the moment," replied Jack, and simply resting his elbow on his
knee, and tapping with the end of the wire against the brass
binding-post, he began urgently calling.

"HN, HN, HN!" he clicked. "HN, HN, HV! Rush! Qk! HN, HN!"

"Perhaps the wire is grounded between here and Hammerton," suggested his
father breathlessly.

"Anybody answer! Qk!" sent Jack. "Does anybody hear this?"

"What's the matter? This is Z."

"Got Zeisler!" shouted Jack.

The mayor stepped forward. "Send them the message," he directed, "and
have them 'phone it to Hammerton."

Jack did so. And fifteen minutes later the cheering news ran quickly
about the threatened town that two steam fire-engines were starting by
special train from Hammerton immediately, would pick up another at
Zeisler, and would be on the scene within half an hour. All of which
report proved true, the engines arriving on the dot--and by daylight the
last of the several different fires were under control, and the safety of
the town was assured.

Needless to say, Jack's name played an important part in the dramatic
newspaper accounts of the conflagration--nor to add that he was the
envied hero of every other lad in town for weeks to come.

The final and particular result of the affair, however, was the offer to
Jack of a good position in the large commercial telegraph office at
Hammerton, which he at last induced his parents to permit him to accept.




IV

THE OTHER TINKER ALSO MAKES GOOD


One evening shortly after the beginning of the summer holidays Alex was
chatting over the wire with Jack, who was now a full-fledged operator at
Hammerton, when the despatching office abruptly broke in and called
Bixton.

"I, I, BX," answered Alex.

"Is young Ward there?" clicked the instruments.

"This is 'young Ward.'"

"Say, youngster, would you care to do a couple of weeks' vacation relief
at Hadley Corners, beginning next Monday? The man there wants to get off
badly, and we have no one here we can send."

"Most certainly I would," replied Alex, promptly.

"OK then. We'll count on you. I'll send a pass down to-night," said the
despatcher.

Thus it came about that the following Monday morning Alex alighted at the
little crossing depot known as Hadley Corners, and for the second time
found himself, if but temporarily, in full charge of a station.

Entering the little telegraph room, he announced his arrival to the
despatcher at "X."

"Good," clicked the sounder. "And now, look here, Ward. Don't do any
tinkering with the instruments while you are there. We don't want a
repetition of the mix-up you got the wire into at BX through your joking
a month or so ago."

The joke referred to was a hoax Alex had played on his father the
previous First of April. Through an arrangement of wires beneath the
office table, by which with his foot, unseen, he could make the
instruments above click as though worked from another office, he had
called his father to the wire, and posing as the despatcher, had severely
reprimanded him for some imaginary mistake in a train order. It had been
"all kinds of a lark," until, unfortunately, the connections became
disarranged, tying up the entire eastern end of the line for half an
hour.

At the recollection of the escapade Alex laughed heartily. Nevertheless
he promptly replied, "OK, sir. I won't touch a thing." And the despatcher
saying nothing more, he began calling Bixton.

"I'm here, Dad," he announced when his father answered; "and it's a fine
little place. The woods come almost up to the back of the station, and
the nearest house is a mile away. That's where I am to board. The other
operator arranged it. It's going to be a regular little picnic."

"That's nice," ticked the sounder. "I thought you would like it." And
then Alex again laughed as his father added, "And now, no tinkering with
things, my boy! Remember!"

"OK, Dad. I won't touch a thing. Good-by."

It was the following Monday that the "all agents" message was sent over
the wire announcing an unusually heavy shipment of gold from the Black
Hill Mines, and warning station agents and operators to look out for and
report any suspicious persons about their stations. But these messages,
usually following hold-ups on other roads, had been intermittently sent
for years, and nothing had happened on the Middle Western; and in his
turn Alex gave his "OK," and thought nothing more about it.

A half hour later he sat at the open window of the telegraph room, deeply
interested in the July St. Nicholas--so interested, indeed, that he did
not hear soft footfalls on the station platform without. The man came
quietly nearer--reached the window. Then suddenly Alex glanced up, the
magazine fell to the floor, and with a loud cry he sprang to his feet.

He was gazing into the barrel of a revolver, and behind it was a
black-masked face!

Hold-up men! The gold train!

Wildly Alex turned toward the telegraph-key. But the man leaned quickly
forward, seized him by the shoulder, and threw him heavily back into the
chair. "You move again and I'll shoot!" he said sharply, and Alex sank
back helpless.

Yes; hold-up men. And he had betrayed his trust. Betrayed his trust! That
thought stood out even above his terror. Oh, if he had only kept a
lookout!

[Illustration: HE WAS GAZING INTO THE BARREL OF A REVOLVER.]

The man, who had said nothing further, presently withdrew the revolver
and took a comfortable seat on the window-ledge. As the silence
continued, Alex began somewhat to recover himself, and fell to wondering
what the other bandits were doing while this man was watching him.

A few moments later the answer came in a single upward click from the
instruments.

"There--wires cut, ain't they?" said his captor.

"Yes, I suppose," said Alex, bitterly.

"They sure are," said the voice from behind the mask. "And when we get
through, them wires'll be cut so you won't be able to fix 'em up in a
hurry."

Fifteen minutes later a second masked and heavily armed figure appeared.
"Every wire cut five poles back on either side of the station," he
announced briefly. "It'll take a lineman half a day to fix 'em up again,
and we'll be twenty miles away by that time. Now we'll put the hobbles on
the youngster, and git."

Often Alex had longed for just such an adventure as this. The final
disenchantment was anything but glorious. Roughly seizing him, the two
men forced him stiffly upright in the chair, drew his arms about the back
of it, and there secured them, wrist to wrist, drawing the knot until
Alex almost cried out in pain. Then, as tightly, they bound his ankles to
the lower rungs, one on either side.

"Now one of us is going to watch from the woods for a spell--we'll leave
the back door open, so we can see right in--and if you make a move, you
get this quick! See?" said one of the desperadoes, tapping his pistol
significantly.

Therewith they passed out, leaving the rear door wide open, and in utter
misery of mind Alex watched them stride toward the trees.

Before the two bandits had crossed the open space, however, Alex's mind
had cleared. For plainly they were hurrying! Then their promise to watch
him must have been only a threat, to keep him quiet! Good! At once he
began straining at his wrists, paused as the two men reached the edge of
the clearing and momentarily turned, and as they disappeared amid the
trees, began struggling with grim determination.

It seemed a hopeless task at first, and the rawhide thongs cut cruelly
into Alex's wrists and ankles. But bravely he struggled on, wriggled and
twisted, paused for breath, and struggled again. And finally one hand
came suddenly free.

It required but a few seconds to get into his pocket, reach his knife,
and open it with his teeth. A moment later Alex was on his feet, and
staggered out onto the platform.

Yes, the wires were cut, five poles in either direction! Alex clenched
his hands. After all, what could he do? To restore the line was entirely
out of the question. Had there been but one break he could not have
climbed the pole and carried aloft that heavy stretch of wire.

And there was less than twenty minutes in which to work, to catch the
Overland at Broken Gap. For undoubtedly it was beyond that point that the
bandits planned holding her up--probably on one of the steep grades of
the Little Timber hills.

Suddenly Alex uttered a gasp of hope. A moment he debated, with nervously
clasped hands, then, exhaustion forgotten, dashed back into the little
telegraph room, found a screw-driver, and in a few minutes had loosened
from the table the telegraph-key and the receiving instrument. Catching
them up, with some short ends of wire, he darted out and up the track to
the west.

Two hundred yards distant the intact end of the telegraph line drooped
into the drainage ditch. Alex caught it up and dragged it to the rails.
Placing the key and relay on the end of a tie, he connected them on one
side to the rail, and on the other side to the end of the line wire.

But the responding click did not come. Alex groaned in disappointment. He
had counted on the rails giving a "ground" connection. Then the line
would have closed, and he could have worked it to the west. But
apparently the hot weather had entirely dried out the sand beneath the
rails, and thus insulated them.

But he was not yet beaten. There was a ground wire at the station. Why
could he not use the rails that far, if they were insulated? With a
hurrah he seized the end of the line wire, and in a few moments had
connected it to one of the rail joints. Then, catching up the
instruments, he dashed back for the station.

Placing the instruments again on the table, he found a piece of loose
wire that would reach from the instruments, out through the window, to
the rails; ran out and quickly connected it to a rail joint, and, darting
back, connected the other end to the instruments. Instantly there was a
sharp downward click. The line was closed!

Alex could not suppress a quick "Thank Heaven!" and, trembling with
excitement, he seized the key and began swiftly calling the despatcher.
"X, X, X, HC," he called. "X, X--"

He felt the line open, and closed his own key. Then, in surprise, he
read: "So you have been monkeying with the wires there after all, have
you? Now look here--"

Quickly Alex interrupted, and shot back: "Train robbers are after the
Overland. They held me up, and cut the wires both sides of the station. I
got free, and have made a connection through the rails--HC."

For a moment the line remained silent, while at his end of the wire the
despatcher sat bolt upright in his chair, eyes and mouth wide open. But
in another moment the despatcher had recovered himself, and, springing
back to the key, began madly calling Broken Gap.

"B, B, B, X!" he called. "B, B, X! Qk! Qk!"

[Illustration: BUT THE RESPONSE CLICK DID NOT COME.]

Alex shot a glance at the clock, and leaned forward over the instruments,
scarcely breathing. There was yet three minutes before the Overland was
due at Broken Gap. But she did not stop there, and frequently passed
ahead of time. If "B" did not answer the call immediately--

The whir of "B's" was interrupted, and slowly and deliberately came an
"I, I, B." Alex leaped in his chair, and again strained forward tensely.

"Has 68 passed?" hurled the despatcher.

"Just coming."

"Stop her! Flag her! Qk! Qk!"

The line opened, as though "B" was about to make a reply, then smartly
closed again.

"Stop her! Stop her!" repeated "X."

There was a leaden, breathless silence, while Alex nervously clenched and
unclenched his hands. At last the line again clicked open, and with a
characteristic deliberation that caused the nerve-strung boy a moment's
hysterical laugh, "B" announced: "Just got her. She's slowing in now.
What's up?"

The despatcher at "X" had regained his equilibrium, and in his usual
crisp manner he replied: "Take this for Conductor Bedford:

  "Bedford: Hold-up apparently planned between Broken Gap and Hadley
  Corners. Probably on one of the grades of the Little Timbers.
  Gather a posse quickly, and make sure of capturing them. Report at
  HC.

                                               "(Signed) Jordan, X."

As "B" gave his "OK" with the stumbling hesitation of blank astonishment,
the line again opened. And at the first word the intense strain broke,
and Alex sank forward over the table with a convulsive sob.

"Grand, my boy! Grand!" clicked the sounder. It was his father, at
Bixton. He had overheard it all.

"Grand! That's the word," came the despatcher. "There's not another
operator on the division who would have known enough to do what he did
to-day. I guess we won't bother him any more about his 'tinkering,' will
we?"

                    *       *       *       *       *

Only half an hour late, the mighty mogul pulling the Overland Limited
drew panting to a stop before the little station, and in a moment Alex
was surrounded by a crowd of congratulating trainmen and passengers. And
when he reappeared after sending the message which notified the
despatcher of the train's safe arrival and of the capture of the two
bandits, he was surprised and speechlessly confused by having pressed
upon him by the enthusiastic passengers an impromptu purse of
seventy-five dollars.

Later in the afternoon Alex was called to the wire by Jack, at Hammerton.
"Say, what is all this you've gone and done, Al?" clicked Jack
enthusiastically. "The afternoon papers here have a whole column story!
'Please attach statement at once!'"

"Oh, it looks much bigger than it really was," responded Alex modestly.
"And anyway, it came about through my own carelessness. I ought to have
been reprimanded, instead of patted on the back."

"Nonsense! Those hold-up men would have got you, anyway. If you had seen
them coming, they would simply have approached in a friendly way, then
got the drop on you. You had no gun.

"But, say," added Jack mock-seriously, "how is it these real high class
adventures always come your way? I'm getting jealous."

"I can assure you you needn't be. It's lots more fun reading about them.
Wait and see," said Alex.

Jack was soon to have his opportunity of "seeing," though a more
disagreeable experience was first to come.




V

AN ELECTRICAL DETECTIVE


"Orr, Mr. Black wants you."

Jack, who was passing through the business department of the Hammerton
office, toward the stair which led to the operating room, promptly turned
aside and entered the manager's private room.

"Good morning, Jack. Sit down.

"My boy," began the manager, "can you keep a secret?"

"Why yes, sir," responded Jack, wondering.

"Very well. But I must explain first. I suppose you did not know it--we
kept it quiet--but the real reason Hansen, the janitor, was discharged a
month ago was that he was found taking money from the safe here, which he
had in some way learned to open. After he left I changed the safe
combination, and thought the trouble was at an end.

"Last Tuesday morning the cash was again a little short. At the time I
simply thought an error had been made in counting the night before. This
morning a second ten-dollar bill is missing, and the cash-box shows
unmistakable signs of having been tampered with.

"Now Johnson, the counter clerk, to whom I had confided the new
combination (for it is customary, you know, that two shall be able to open
a safe, as a precaution against the combination being forgotten)--Johnson
is entirely above suspicion. Still, to make doubly sure, I am going to
alter the combination once more, and share it with someone outside of the
business department. And as you have impressed me very favorably, I have
chosen you.

"That is, of course," concluded the manager, "if you have no objection."

"Certainly not. I am sure I appreciate the confidence, sir," said Jack
quickly.

"Very well, then. The combination is 'Right twenty, twice; back nine;
right ten.' Can you remember that? For you must not write it down, you
know."

Jack repeated the number several times; and again thanking the manager
for the compliment, continued up-stairs to the telegraph-room.

Two mornings later Jack was again called into Mr. Black's office. For a
moment, while Jack wondered, the manager eyed him strangely, then asked,
"What was that combination, Jack?"

"Right ninety--no, right thirty--Why, I believe I have forgotten it,
sir," declared Jack in confusion.

"Perhaps you have forgotten this too, then?" As he spoke the manager took
from his desk a small notebook. "I found it on the floor in front of the
safe this morning."

"It is mine, sir. I must have dropped it last night. I worked extra until
after midnight, sir," explained Jack, "and on the way out I chased a
mouse in here from the stairway, and when it ran under the safe I dropped
to my knees to find it. The book must have fallen from my pocket.

"But what is wrong, sir?"

"The cash-box is not in the safe this morning."

Jack started back, the color fading from his cheeks as the significance
of it all came to him.

"And now you pretend to have the combination entirely wrong," went on the
manager.

Jack found his voice. "Mr. Black, you are mistaken! You are mistaken! I
never could do such a thing! Never!"

"I would prefer proof," Mr. Black said coldly.

Jack caught at the idea. "Would you let me try to prove it, sir? Will you
give me a week in which to try and clear myself?"

"Well, I did not mean it that way. But, all right--a week. And if things
do not look different by that time, and you still claim ignorance, you
will have to go. That is all there is to it."

"Thank you, sir."

At the door Jack turned back. "Mr. Black, you are positive you returned
the box to the safe?"

"Positive. It is the last thing I do before going home."

During spare moments on his wire that morning Jack debated the mystery
from every side. Finally he had boiled it down to two conflicting facts:

"First: That the box was placed in the safe the night before, and in the
morning was gone; and that, besides the manager, he was the only one who
could have opened the safe and taken it. And,

"Second: That, of course, he knew his own innocence."

The only alternative, then, was that Mr. Black had been mistaken in
thinking he had returned the box to the safe.

Grasping at this possibility, Jack argued on. How could the manager have
been mistaken? Overlooked the box, say because of its being covered by
something?

"Why it may be there yet!" exclaimed Jack hopefully. And a few minutes
later, relieved from his wire for lunch, he hurriedly descended again to
the manager's office.

"Mr. Black, may I look around here a bit?" he requested.

"Look around? What for?"

"To see if I cannot find something to help solve this mystery," responded
Jack, not wishing directly to suggest that the manager had overlooked the
box.

"So you keep to it that you know nothing, eh? Well, go ahead," said the
manager shortly, turning back to his desk.

Jack's hopes were quickly shattered. Neither on the desk, nor a table
beside the safe, was there anything which could have concealed the
missing box.

Stooping, he glanced under the table. Something white, a newspaper,
leaning against the wall, caught his eye. With a flutter of hope he
reached beneath and threw it aside. There was nothing behind it.

Disappointedly he caught the newspaper up and tossed it into the
waste-basket. Suddenly, on a thought, he recovered the paper, and opened
it. On discovering it was the "Bulletin," a paper he knew Mr. Black
seldom read, the idea took definite shape. And, yes, it was of
yesterday's date!

"Mr. Black," exclaimed Jack, "this is not your paper, is it?"

Somewhat impatiently the manager glanced up. "The 'Bulletin'? No."

"Were you reading it yesterday, sir?"

"Well, I don't see what you are driving at--but, no. It was probably left
here by Smith, one of the express clerks next door. He was in for a while
yesterday on some telegraph money-order business. Yes, he did have it in
his hand, now I remember. But why?"

At the mention of Smith's name Jack started, and there immediately came
to him a remembrance of having a few days previously seen the express
clerk on a street corner in earnest conversation with Hansen, the
discharged janitor.

In suppressed excitement he asked, "When was Smith here, Mr. Black? What
time?"

The manager smiled sardonically, and turned back to his work. "No; you
can't fasten it on Smith," he said shortly. "It was after he went out
that I returned the box to the safe. But, if it's any good to you--he was
in here from about five-thirty to ten minutes to six, and was talking
with one of the boys in the outer office when I left."

"And Mr. Black, were you outside during the time Smith was in here?"

"No, I--Yes, I was, too. About a quarter to six I was over at the
speaking-tube for a minute.

"But enough of this nonsense," the manager added sharply. "The box was in
the safe when I closed it. Don't bother me any further with your pretense
of investigating. I don't believe it is sincere."

Despite this cutting declaration Jack turned away with secret
satisfaction.

Just outside the office door he made a second discovery--a small one, but
one which further strengthened the theory he had formed.

It was a small coal cinder and an ash stain in the shape of a heel,
apparently overlooked by a careless sweeper.

They could only have been left by a foot which came from the cellar!

Promptly Jack turned toward the cellar door, and made his way down into
the big basement.

Going directly to one of the rear windows, he carefully examined it. The
cobwebs and the dust on the sill had not been disturbed for months.

He turned to the second, and instantly emitted a shrill whistle of
delight. Its cobwebs had been torn and swept aside, and the ledge brushed
almost clean. And evidently but a short time before, for the cleared
space showed little of the dust which constantly filtered through the
floor above.

"Fine!" exclaimed Jack. "Now I--" He paused. The window was securely
latched on the inside!

For several minutes Jack stood, disappointed and mystified. Then,
examining the latch closely, he laughed, and grasping it with his
fingers, easily pulled it out. It had been forced from the outside, and
merely pressed back into the hole.

But its being replaced showed that the intruder had not made his escape
that way.

Jack began an examination of the end of the cellar under the express
office. And the exit was soon disclosed.

The dividing wall was of boarding, and at the outer end, to facilitate
the examination of the gas metres of the two companies, was a narrow
door. Ordinarily this door was secured on the telegraph company's side by
a strong bolt.

The bolt was drawn, and the door swung easily to Jack's touch!

On the farther side all was darkness, however, and Jack returned to the
window. As he approached it something on the floor beneath caught his
eye. It was a lead-pencil. He picked it up, and with a cry of triumph
discovered stamped upon it the initials and miniature crest of the
express company. And, more, a peculiar long-pointed sharpening promised
the possibility of fixing its actual owner.

Filled with elation, and confident that it was now only a matter of time
when he should clear himself, Jack hastened up-stairs, determined to
pursue his investigation next door, where he knew several of the younger
clerks.

"Hello, Danny," he said, entering the express office, and addressing a
sandy-haired boy of his own age. "Say, who in here sharpens pencils like
this?"

"Hello! That? Oh, I'd know that whittle a mile off. We call 'em
daggers--Smith's daggers. Where did you get it?"

"Smith! Who wants Smith?"

Jack turned with a start. It was the clerk himself.

Instantly Jack extended the pencil. "Is this yours, Mr. Smith?" he asked,
and held his breath.

"Yes, it is. Where did you find--" Suddenly the clerk turned upon Jack
with a look of terror in his face. But in a moment he had recovered
himself, and abruptly snatching the pencil from Jack's hand, proceeded to
his desk.

Jack was jubilant. Nothing could have been more convincing of the clerk's
guilt. Following this feeling, however, came one of pity for the
unfortunate man; and after a silent debate with himself, Jack followed
him.

Placing a hand on the clerk's shoulder, he said in a low voice:

"Mr. Smith, I have found out about that cash-box of ours. Now look here,
why not confess the wretched business before it is too late, and--"

The clerk spun about. "Cash-box! Business! What do you refer to?"

"Mr. Smith, it was you took our cash-box last night."

The clerk was colorless, but he only faltered an instant. "What nonsense
is this?" he demanded angrily. "I never heard of your cash-box. What do
you mean by--"

"Well then, I'll tell you just how you did it," said Jack determinedly.
"While you were in Mr. Black's office yesterday afternoon he stepped out
and left you alone for a moment. The cash-box was on the table. You
immediately saw the opportunity (perhaps Hansen had done the same thing,
and put you onto it?)--you saw the opportunity, and threw over the box a
newspaper you had in your hand. As you had hoped, not seeing the box, Mr.
Black forgot it, and left at six o'clock without returning it to the
safe. You made sure of that by remaining about the outer office until he
left. And then, after midnight you came down to the office here, forced
an entrance into our cellar, and went up-stairs and secured the box.

"I'm sorry--but isn't that so?"

The clerk laughed drily. "The great Mr. Sherlock Holmes, junior!" he
remarked sarcastically. "Rubbish. Run away and don't bother me with your
silly detective theories," and turned back to his desk.

Jack stood, baffled and surprised.

[Illustration: THE CLERK WAS COLORLESS, BUT ONLY FALTERED AN INSTANT.]

"Look here, Orr!" As Smith again spun about a hard look came into his
face. "Look here, how do you come to know so much about this business,
yourself? Eh?"

Jack uttered an exclamation, and a sudden fear of the clerk came over
him. Was Smith thinking of trying to place the blame upon him?

However, further discussion was clearly useless, and he turned away.

The following morning brought quick proof that Jack's suddenly inspired
fear of Smith was too well founded. As he entered the telegraph office
Mr. Black called him and handed him a note. "Now what have you to say?"
he demanded solemnly.

In a lead-pencil scrawl Jack read:

  "Mr. Black: Your yung operatur Orr can tell you sumthin about thet
  cash box, he was showin the key of the box to sumone yesteday and i
  saw him. Mebee you will finde the key in his offis cote.

  "Yours, a frend."

"It is the key," said the manager, producing a small key on a ring. "I
recall having left it in the lock."

Jack stood pale and speechless. Despite the disguised writing and poor
spelling, the letter was from Smith, he had not a doubt. But how could he
prove it? Truly matters were beginning to look serious for him.

Quickly, however, Jack's natural spirit of fight-to-the-end returned to
him, and handing the letter back, he said, respectfully but determinedly,
"Mr. Black, I still hold you to your promise to give me a week in which
to prove my innocence. And I'll prove, too, sir, that this key was placed
in my pocket by someone else, probably by the one who really took the
box. I believe I know who it is, but I'll prove it first."

Reluctantly the manager consented, for he now firmly believed at least in
Jack's complicity; and leaving him, Jack sought the operating-room, to
spend every spare moment in turning the matter over in his mind.

What next could he do? If only he could find the box! What would Smith
probably have done with it? For it seemed unlikely he would have taken it
away with him. Might he not, after removing the money, have hidden it in
the cellar? Jack determined to search there; and accordingly, at noon,
hastening through his lunch, he descended and began a systematic hunt
amid the odds and ends filling the basement.

The first noon-hour's search brought no result. The second day, returning
to the task somewhat dispiritedly, Jack began overhauling a pile of old
cross-pieces. There was a squeak, and a rat shot out.

In a moment Jack was in hot pursuit with a stick. The rat ran toward the
old furnace, and disappeared. At the spot an instant after, Jack found a
hole in the brick foundation, and thrust the stick into it. The stick
caught, he pulled, and several bricks fell out.

Dropping to his knees, Jack peered into the opening. A cry broke from
him, and thrusting in a hand he grasped something, and drew it forth.

It was the lost cash-box!

Uttering a shout of triumph, Jack leaped to his feet and started on a run
for the stair. But suddenly he halted. After all, was he absolutely sure
it was Smith who had placed it there? Would the producing of the box
prove it?

The question, which had not before occurred to Jack, startled him.

As he stood thinking, half consciously he tried the cover of the box. To
his surprise it gave. He opened it. And the box almost fell from his
hands.

It still contained the money! And apparently untouched!

But in a moment Jack thought he understood. Smith, or whoever it was, had
left it as a clever means of saving themselves from the worst in the
event of being found out, intending to return for it if the excitement
blew safely over.

Then why not wait and catch them at it?

Good. But how?

Jack's inventive genius soon furnished the answer. "That's it! Great!" he
said to himself delightedly. "I'll get down and do it early in the
morning. And now I'll stick this back in the hole and fix the bricks up
again."

Seven o'clock the following morning found Jack carrying out his plan.
First conveying to the cellar from the battery room two gravity-jars, he
placed them in a dark corner behind the furnace. Next, finding an old
lightning-arrester, he opened up the hiding-place, and arranged the
arrester beneath the cash-box in such a way that on the box being moved
the arrester arm would be released, fly back, and make a contact. Then,
having carefully closed the opening, he procured some fine insulated
wire, and proceeded to make up his circuit: From the arrester, out
beneath the bricks, around the furnace, to the battery; up the wall, and
through the floor by the steam-pipes into the business office; and,
running up-stairs and procuring a step-ladder, on up the office wall,
through the next floor, into the operating room. And there a few minutes
later he had connected the wires to a call-bell on a ledge immediately
behind the table at which he worked. And the alarm was complete.

Although Jack knew that the clerk next door returned from his dinner a
half hour earlier than the others in the express office, he had little
expectation of Smith visiting the cash-box at that time. Nevertheless, as
the noon-hour drew near he found himself watching the alarm-bell with
growing excitement.

"There might be just a chance of Smith visiting the box," he told
himself, "just to learn whether I had--"

From behind him came a sharp "zip, zip," then a whirr. With a bound Jack
was on his feet and rushing for the door. Down the stairs he went, three
steps at a time, and into the manager's private office.

[Illustration: "THERE!" SAID JACK, POINTING IN TRIUMPH.]

"Mr. Black," he cried, "I've got the man who took the box! Down the
cellar! Quick!

"I found the box, with the money still in it, and fixed up an alarm-bell
circuit to go off when he came for it," he explained hurriedly, as the
manager stared. In a moment Mr. Black was on his feet and hastening after
Jack toward the cellar stairway.

Quietly they tiptoed down. They reached the bottom.

"There!" Jack said, pointing in triumph. And looking, the manager beheld
Smith, the express clerk, on his knees beside the furnace, before him on
the floor the missing cash-box.

Ten minutes later the manager of the express company, who had been called
in, passed out of Mr. Black's office with his clerk in charge, and the
telegraph manager, turning to Jack, warmly shook his hand.

"I am more sorry than I can say to have placed the blame upon you, my
boy," he said sincerely. "And I am very thankful for the clever way you
cleared the mystery up.

"You are quite a detective--sort of 'electrical detective'--aren't you?"
he added, smiling.

And for some time, about the office, and even over the wires, Jack went
by that name--the "Electrical Detective."




VI

JACK HAS HIS ADVENTURE


One afternoon a few days following the affair of the missing cash-box
Manager Black appeared in the Hammerton operating room, and after a
consultation with the chief operator, called Jack Orr from his wire.

"Jack," said the manager, "there have been some important developments in
the big will case on trial out at Oakton, and the 'Daily Star' has asked
for a fast operator to send in their story to-night. The chief tells me
you have developed into a rapid sender. Would you care to go?"

"I'd be glad of the opportunity, sir," said Jack, delightedly.

"All right. The chief will let you off now, so you will have plenty of
time to catch the seven o'clock train. And now, Jack, do your best, for
the 'Morning Bulletin' is sending its news matter in by the other
telegraph company, and we don't want them to get ahead of us in any way."

When Jack reached the station, several of the newspaper men, including
West of the "Star," already were there. Among them he saw Raub, a
reporter of the "Bulletin," and with him Simpson, an operator of the
opposition telegraph company.

"Why, hello, kid!" said the latter on seeing Jack. "They are not sending
you out to Oakton, are they?"

"They are," responded Jack, with pride. Simpson laughed, and, somewhat
indignant, Jack passed on down the platform. On turning back, he noticed
Simpson and Raub apart, talking earnestly. As he again neared them, both
glanced toward him, and abruptly the conversation ceased. At once Jack's
suspicions were aroused, for he knew Raub had the name of being very
unscrupulous in news-getting matters, and that Simpson was not much
better. He determined to watch them.

But nothing further attracted his attention, and finally, the train
arriving, they boarded it, and made a quick run of the ten miles to the
little village. There Jack headed for the local telegraph office.

He found it a tiny affair, in a small coal office on the southern
outskirts of the village. Introducing himself to the elderly lady
operator, who was just leaving, he went to the key and announced his
arrival to the chief at Hammerton.

It was an hour later when West, the "Star" reporter, appeared. "Here you
are, youngster," said he; "a thousand words for a starter. It's going to
be a great story. I'll be back in half an hour with another batch."

Promptly Jack called "H," and soon was clicking away in full swing. But
suddenly the instruments ceased to respond. The wire had "opened." Jack
tested with his earth connection, and finding the opening was to the
south, waited, thinking the receiving operator at Hammerton had opened
his key. But minute after minute passed, and finally becoming anxious, he
cut off the southern end and began calling "B," the terminal office to
the north.

"I, I," said B.

"Get H on another wire and ask him what is wrong here," Jack sent
quickly. "We are being held up on some very important stuff."

"H says it is open north of him," announced B, returning. "We are putting
in a set of repeaters here, so you can reach him this way."

A moment later Jack heard Hammerton calling him from the north, and in
another moment he was again sending rapidly.

But scarcely had Jack sent a hundred words when this wire also suddenly
failed. When several minutes again passed and no further sound came, Jack
leaned back in despair. Suddenly he sat upright. Raub and Simpson! Was it
possible this was their work? Was it possible they had cut the wires?

Quickly he made a test which would show whether the breaks were near him.
Adjusting the relay-magnets near the armature, he clicked the key. There
was not the faintest response. Switching the instruments to the southern
end of the wire, he repeated the test, with the same result.

On both ends the break was within a short distance of him. Undoubtedly
the wires had been cut!

Jack sprang to his feet and seized his hat. "I'll find that southern
break if I have to walk half-way to Hammerton," he said determinedly, and
leaving the office, set off down the moonlit road, his eyes fixed on the
wire overhead.

Scarcely a mile distant Jack uttered an exclamation, and, running
forward, caught up the severed end of the telegraph line.

A moment's examination of the wire showed it had been cut through with a
sharp file.

Yes; undoubtedly it was the work of Raub and Simpson, in an effort to
keep the news from the "Star," and score a "beat" for the opposition
telegraph company and the "Morning Bulletin."

"But you haven't done it yet," said Jack grimly, turning to look about
him. How could he overcome the break in the wire? As the cut had been
made close to the glass insulator on the cross-arm, only one of the two
ends hung to the ground, and he saw that he could not splice them. And in
any case he could not climb the pole and take that heavy stretch of wire
with him.

His eyes fell on a barb-wire fence bordering the road, and like an
inspiration Alex Ward's feat with the rails at Hadley Corners occurred to
him. Could he not do the same thing with one of the fence wires? Connect
this end of the telegraph line (and fortunately it was the Hammerton
end), say to the upper strand, then run back to the office and string a
wire from the fence in to the instruments?

To think was to act. Dragging the telegraph wire to the fence, Jack
looped it over the topmost strand near one of the posts, and wound it
about several times, to ensure a good contact. Then on the run he started
back for the telegraph office.

As he neared the little building Jack saw a figure within. Thinking the
"Star" reporter had returned with further copy, he quickened his steps.
At the doorway he halted in consternation. Instead of the reporter were
two desperate-looking characters, and on the table beside them a
half-emptied bottle and a large revolver.

Jack hesitated a moment, then stepped inside. "What are you men doing
here?" he demanded.

"Oh, hello, kiddo! We are the new operators," said one of them with tipsy
humor. "You're discharged, see? And you git, too!" he suddenly shouted,
catching up the pistol. And promptly Jack "got." A few yards distant,
however, he halted. Now what was he to do?

"Oh here you are, eh? Where have you been?" It was West, the "Star" man,
and he spoke angrily. "I was here ten minutes ago, and found the office
empty, and if the other company could have handled my stuff yours would
have lost it. I've just been--"

Interrupting, Jack hastily explained, telling of the severed wire, and
his plan to bridge the break. The reporter uttered an indignant
exclamation. "It's Raub's work, sure as you're born," he said hotly.

"But say, youngster, we can't permit ourselves to be beaten this way.
Can't we do something?"

"We might get some help, and drive the roughs out," suggested Jack.

"No; we haven't time. And then they might put up a drunken fight and
shoot somebody. Come, think of something else. You surely can get over
this new difficulty, after your clever idea for getting around the cut in
the wire."

"I don't know," replied Jack doubtfully, glancing toward the office
window. "If there was any way of getting the instruments--"

"What could you do with them?"

"We could turn the barn there into an office. I'd run connections out
through the back to the fence. It's just behind."

"Say--I've an idea then! If it wouldn't take you long to remove the
instruments from the table?"

"Only a couple of minutes."

"Come on," said West. Leading the way back toward the office, he
explained, "I'll get these beggars out, you hide round the corner, and
soon as the way is clear rush in and get your instruments, and duck for
the barn. I'll join you later."

"How are you going to get them out?" whispered Jack.

"Watch," said the reporter.

As Jack drew out of sight about the rear of the building his
mystification was added to when he saw West pause before the door, stoop
and pick up a handful of gravel. But immediately the reporter entered the
doorway and spoke his purpose was explained.

"Hello, you two big rummies," he said in his most offensive tones. "What
are you doing here?"

The two men were in a momentarily genial mood, however, and missed the
insult. "Why, hello pard, ol' man," responded one of them cordially.
"Come in an' make 'self t' home. Wanta buy a telegraph office? Cheap?"

"Cheap! You are the cheapest article I see here," replied West, yet more
insultingly. "What do you mean by sitting down in respectable chairs? You
ought to be tied up in a cow-stable. That's where you belong."

There was an angry growl as the two men scrambled to their feet, and
peering about the corner Jack saw West back into the door.

"Come on out, you big, overgrown cowards," shouted the reporter. "I'll
thrash the both of you, with one hand tied behind me!

"And take that!"

With his last words West suddenly threw the gravel full in the faces of
the now enraged men, and spinning about, raced off down the road. They
stumbled forth, shouting with rage, and one of them fired. The bullet
went yards wide, and West ran on. Without further wait Jack darted into
the office, in a few minutes had the relay and key from the table,
secured some spare ends of wire for connections, and sped for the barn.

[Illustration: LOOPED IT OVER THE TOPMOST STRAND, NEAR ONE OF THE POSTS.]

There all was darkness. Entering, a search with matches soon produced a
lantern, however. Lighting it, Jack stepped without to discover whether
its glimmer could be seen from the direction of the office. As he closed
the door West appeared, panting and laughing.

"Well, what do you think of that stunt, youngster?" he chuckled. "Did you
get the instruments?"

"Yes. I was out here to learn whether the light of a lantern I found
could be seen."

"Good head! No; it doesn't show.

"And come on! Here the beggars are again!" West led the way inside, and
closed the door behind them.

"Now what, my boy?"

"A table first. Here, the very thing," said Jack, making towards a long
feed-box at the rear of the barn.

As they cleared its top of a pile of harness West asked, "Just what is
the scheme here, youngster? I don't think I understand it."

"Oh, simple enough. I'll just run the wires out through that knot-hole,
and connect one to the fence and the other to the ground."

"Simple! It looks different to me," declared the reporter admiringly.
"All right, go ahead. I'll get down on this box and grind out the rest of
my story."

Already Jack was at work sorting over the odd pieces of wire he had
brought. Finding two suitable lengths, and straightening them out, he
quickly connected them to the instruments, placed the instruments in a
convenient position on the top of the box, and thrust the wire ends
through the knot-hole. Then, hastening outside to the rear of the barn,
he proceeded to connect one of them to the same strand of the fence wire
to which the telegraph line was secured a mile distant. The other he
drove deep into the damp earth beneath the edge of the building. And,
theoretically, the circuit was complete.

Hurriedly he re-entered the barn to learn the result.

"Well?" said West anxiously.

"There is current, but it's too weak." Jack's voice quavered with his
disappointment. "I suppose the rusty splices of that old fence offer too
much resistance.

"But I'm not beaten yet," he exclaimed, suddenly recovering his
determination. Turning from the box, he began pacing up and down the
floor. "I'll figure it out somehow if I--oh!" With the cry Jack darted
for the door, out, and toward the office.

The intoxicated roughs were again in possession. Quietly he made his way
to a dark window adjoining the lighted window of the operating room--the
window of a little store-room, where, the local operator had told him,
the batteries were located.

The window was unlocked, and with little difficulty he succeeded in
raising it. Cautiously he climbed within, and feeling about, found the
row of glass jars. Quickly disconnecting two of them, he carried them to
the window-sill, clambered out, and hastened with them to the barn.

"Now I've got it, Mr. West!" he cried. "I'll have H again in fifteen
minutes!"

West started to his feet. "Can't I help you?"

"All right. Come on," said Jack. And ten minutes later, working like
beavers, they had transferred to the barn the entire office battery of
twenty cells.

In nervous haste Jack connected the cells in series, then to the wire.
Instantly the instrument closed with a solid click.

"Hurrah! We win! We win!" cried West, and Jack, springing to the key,
whirled off a succession of H's. "H, H, H, ON! Rush! H, H--"

"I, I, H! Where have you been? What's the matter?" It was the chief, and
the words came sharply and angrily.

"The wire was cut both sides of the village," shot back Jack. "I think it
was Raub and Simpson's work. And two roughs chased me out of the office
with a revolver. Hired by them, I suppose. I've fixed up an office in the
barn, and am sending for a mile through a wire fence, to bridge the cut.
Orr."

For a moment the chief was too amazed to reply. Then rapidly he said:
"Orr, you are a trump! But come ahead with that report now. And make the
best time you ever made in your life. I'll copy you myself."

And there, in a corner of the big barn, by the dim light of the lantern,
and to the strange accompaniment of munching cattle and restlessly
stamping horses, West wrote as though his life depended upon it, and Jack
sent as he had never sent before. And exactly an hour later the young
operator sent "30" (the end) to one of the speediest feats of press work
on that year's records of the Hammerton office.

Though it was 3 A. M. when Jack got back to Hammerton, he found the chief
operator at the station to meet him. "I had to come down, to congratulate
you," said the chief. "That was one of the brightest bits of work
all-round that I've heard of for years."

"But did we beat them?" asked Jack.

"We assuredly did. For didn't you know? Those two roughs later went up
and cleaned out the other office--the very men who had hired them to
disable us! And what with having had a slow-working wire previously, the
'Bulletin' didn't get in more than five hundred words. We gave the 'Star'
over three solid columns."

The manager's congratulation the following morning was as enthusiastic as
that of the chief. "And as a practical appreciation, Jack," he added, "we
are going to give you a full month's vacation, with salary. We think you
earned it."

When Jack returned to his wire one of the first remarks he heard was from
Alex Ward, at Bixton.

"Well, old boy," clicked Alex, "your adventure came, didn't it. And it
has me beaten to a standstill."

[Illustration: THERE, IN THE CORNER OF THE BIG BARN, JACK SENT AS HE
HAD NEVER SENT BEFORE.]

"Nonsense. It was your stunt at Hadley Corners that suggested the trick
that got me out of it," declared Jack. "But say, the manager has given me
a month's vacation. What do you think of that?"

"He did! Look here," sent Alex quickly, "come to Bixton and spend some of
it with me. I'll promise you all kinds of a good time. Though I am not
sure I can guarantee anything as exciting as last night's work," he
added.

Jack readily accepted the invitation. And, as it turned out, Alex might
as well have made his promise. He could have kept it.




VII

A RACE THROUGH THE FLAMES


The fall had been an exceptionally dry one in that section of the middle
west, and in consequence several forest fires had occurred, several not
far from Bixton. Thus, when a few mornings following Jack's arrival he
and Alex proposed a visit to the old house in the woods where Alex had
had his thrilling experience with the foreign trackmen, Mrs. Ward
objected.

"You know there was a fire but five miles west yesterday, Alex," she
said.

"But that was only in the grass along the track, Mother, and the
section-men soon had it out. They are watching everywhere. And on the
first sign of smoke we will light for home like good fellows--won't we,
Jack?" he promised. Somewhat reluctantly Mrs. Ward finally consented, and
gave the boys a lunch, and they set off to make a day of it.

Paying a visit first to the abandoned brick-yard, it was noon when Jack
and Alex emerged from the woods at the rear of the deserted old cabin.

"So that's it!" exclaimed Jack with keen interest as they went forward.
"And up there is the very door you dropped from, I suppose?"

"Yes, that is it. Still half open, too--just as I left it. And over there
is the barn and cow-stable. But let us have lunch first, and I'll explain
everything afterward," Alex said, leading the way toward the house. "I am
as hollow as a bass-drum."

Ten minutes later, sitting on the cabin floor just within the doorway,
eating and chatting, the two boys became suddenly silent, and sniffed at
the air. With an exclamation both leaped to their feet, and to the door.

Rolling from the trees at the southern border of the clearing was a white
bank of smoke. The woods were on fire!

"Which way?" cried Jack, as they sprang forth. "The railroad?"

Alex darted to the corner of the house and glanced about. "No! The wind
has swung to the southwest! We'd never make it! North, for the
brick-yard! Come on!

"If we are cornered there, we can swim the river," he explained as they
ran. "The fire isn't likely to cross the water."

They reached the trees, and immediately found themselves in a madly
frightened procession. At their feet scurried rabbits, squirrels,
chipmunks. A fox flashed by within a yard of them. Overhead, birds
screamed and called in terror.

On they dashed, and a ghostly yellow light began to envelop them. "The
smoke overhead," said Alex. "It will soon be down here, too."

"I smell it," panted Jack a moment later. Soon they began to feel it in
their eyes.

Jack began to lag. "How much farther, Alex?" he gasped.

"Only a short distance, now. Yes, here we are," announced Alex, as
brighter light appeared ahead of them. A moment after they broke into the
clearing.

Without slackening pace Alex headed for the old semaphore. "From up there
we can see just how we stand," he explained. Almost exhausted, they
reached it, and Alex ran up the ladder. Scrambling onto the little
platform, he turned toward the river, two hundred yards distant. A cry
broke from him.

"We are cut off! The fire has crossed the river!"

Jack hastily clambered up beside him, and above the tree-tops beyond the
river he beheld a gray-white cloud.

The boys gazed at one another with paling faces. "What shall we do?"
asked Jack.

Alex shook his head. "We might swim the river, and try a dash for it. It
is two miles out of the woods, but there might be a chance."

"We couldn't do it. We're too nearly exhausted.

"How about staying right in the river, by the bank?" Jack suggested.
"I've heard of people doing that."

"It is too deep here, and it's awfully cold. We would chill and cramp in
no time.

"No; I tell you," went on Alex suddenly. "We'll try one of the old tile
ovens on the other side of the yard. Perhaps we can box ourselves up in
one of them."

There was no time to lose, for the clearing was now blue with smoke, and
climbing hastily to the ground, the boys were again off on the run. They
reached the group of round-topped ovens.

A glance showed that their hope was futile. All about the furnaces were
thickets of dead weeds, and a short distance away, and directly to
windward, was a huge pile of light brushwood.

Promptly Alex turned back. "We would be smothered or roasted in five
minutes," he declared. "No. It is the water, or nothing. Perhaps we can
work it by floating on a log."

As they approached the river, the boys crossed the old yard siding.
Stumbling over the rails, partially blinded with the now stinging smoke,
both suddenly ran into something, and fell in a heap. Scrambling to their
feet, they found an old push-car, with low sides.

Alex uttered a cry. "Jack, why can't we make a dash down the spur with
this old car--pushing it? And say, couldn't we lift it onto the main-line
rails, and run all the way home?"

Jack hesitated. "Look there," he said, pointing to the wall of smoke into
which the track disappeared a hundred yards away. "And wouldn't there be
burned-down trees across the rails?"

"No; not yet. The fire hasn't been burning long enough. And as to the
smoke, it'll soon be just as bad on the river," Alex declared.

"All right. Let us try it. But first, let us jump in the river and get
good and wet," suggested Jack.

"Good idea! Come on!

"Or; wait!" exclaimed Alex. "Another idea. There is an old rubbish pile
just over here, and a lot of tin cans. Let us get some, and fill them
with water--to keep our handkerchiefs wet, to breathe through."

They turned aside, quickly found and secured several empty cans each, and
ran on. Reaching the water, they dropped the cans on the bank, and
plunged in bodily.

As Alex had said, the water was intensely cold, and despite the relief to
their eyes from the smoke, they clambered out again immediately, hastily
filled the tins, and only pausing to tie their dripping handkerchiefs
over their mouths, dashed back for the siding.

"You help me start her, Jack," directed Alex as they placed the cans of
water in the forward end of the car, "and when we reach the edge of the
woods, jump in. I'll run it the first spell, then you can relieve me.
That way we can keep it going at a good clip.

"All ready? Let her go!" With bowed heads they threw themselves against
the little car, the rusty wheels began to screech; rapidly they gained
headway, and soon were on the run.

They neared the smoke-hidden border of the clearing.

[Illustration: WITH A RUSH THEY DASHED INTO THE WALL OF SMOKE.]

"Jump in, Jack!" cried Alex. Jack sprang over the tail-board and threw
himself flat on his face, and with a rush they dashed into the wall of
smoke.

Rumbling and screeching, the car sped onward. Alex began to feel the
heat. Suddenly it swept over them like the breath of a furnace, and there
came a mighty roar.

They were in the midst of the flames.

"Are you all right, Alex?" cried Jack.

"Yes." A moment later, however, Alex too sprang into the car, as he did
so tearing off his handkerchief and stuffing it into one of the
water-cans. "I couldn't have held on another minute," he choked. "I
believe the handkerchief was burning."

Jack prepared to climb out to take Alex's place.

"No! Lay still!" interposed Alex. "The car will run by itself here.
There's a down grade."

Jack dropped back thankfully. "Isn't it awful," he gasped. "My eyes are
paining as though they would burst."

On rushed the car down the roaring, crackling tunnel of flames, groaning
and screeching like a mad thing. Tongues of fire began to lick over the
sides of the car at the cringing boys within.

Faster the car went. Presently it began to rock. "She'll be off the
track!" cried Jack at last.

"Lie farther over!" directed Alex above the roar, himself moving in the
opposite direction. The rearrangement steadied the car slightly, but
still it rocked and plunged on the long unused track so that at times the
boys' hearts leaped into their throats.

The heat was now terrific. The floor and sides of the car began to
blister and crack.

"We can't stand it much longer! We'll be cooked!" coughed Jack.

"Empty one of the cans over your head," Alex shouted. "Keep up a few
minutes longer, and we will be over the worst. It is the leaves and brush
that are making the heat, and we'll soon be where they have burned out.

"I think we are over the worst of it now," he announced a moment later.
"There's not so much crackling; and I don't think it is so hot."

Simultaneously the car began to leap less wildly, then perceptibly to
slow up. Alex at once prepared to climb out again. "I'll give her another
run," he said. But promptly Jack pressed him back. "No you don't! I'm
going to take my turn." And in another moment he was out in the full
glare of the still shrivelling heat, rushing the car on at the top of his
speed. A hundred yards he drove it, and scrambled back within, gasping
for breath. Emptying one of the remaining cans over Jack's head, Alex
sprang out and took his place.

A moment after, they struck a slight up grade. Alex uttered a joyful
shout. "Only a short run farther, Jack, and we're out of the woods!"

But immediately he followed this glad announcement with one of new alarm.

"The washout! I'd forgotten it! It's just ahead! The rails there almost
hang in the air!"

In a panic Alex slowed up. Jack climbed out beside him. "Let us rush it,"
he suggested. "The rails may hold--like a bridge. We're not heavy. And we
may as well take one more chance."

Alex debated. "All right! Come on! And jump quick when I say! I think I
can tell when we are near it."

Once more the car was flying onward through the haze.

"Here we come! _Now!_"

With a bound Jack was back in the car. Alex made a final rush, and sprang
after. The car dipped forward and sideways, a breathless instant seemed
to hang in mid-air, then righted, and shot forward smoothly. Uttering a
hoarse shout of joy, the boys leaped out, and were again running the car
ahead, and a moment later gave vent to a second and louder cry.

In their faces blew the cooler air of a clearing.

A few yards farther they halted.

"I can't see a thing. Can't open them," declared Jack, as they stood
rubbing their eyes, and recovering their breath.

"Neither can I. Give me your hand, and we'll soon fix it. There is a path
here down to the water." Feeling with his foot, Alex found it, and
pulling Jack after, hastened down, and in another moment both were on
their stomachs on the river-bank, their faces deep in the cooling water.

Ten minutes later, greatly revived, but with faces and hands intensely
smarting from their burns, the boys replenished the cans of water--for
they still had a two miles' run through the smother of smoke--and lifted
the car onto the main-line rails.

As they did so, from far to the west came a whistle.

"A train! Can't we stop her?" suggested Jack.

"They'd never see us in the smoke."

"Then, say, let us throw the old car across the tracks, so they'll strike
it. They would probably stop to see what it was."

"It might derail her. No. I've got it. Come on, and get the car started
so she'll cross the bridge, and I'll explain."

"Now," said Jack, as they rolled out on the trestle.

"You remember the steep grade just over the bridge? Well, we'll stop
about fifty yards this side, wait till the train whistles the last
crossing, then hit it up for all we are worth, and--"

"And let the train catch us?" cried Jack. "But, gracious! won't that be
taking an awful chance?"

"No, for she won't be going very fast, on account of the curve at the
bottom, and we'll be going like a house afire," declared Alex,
confidently. "And when she bunts us, we'll jump for her cow-catcher, and
five minutes later we'll be out in the glorious fresh air again."

[Illustration: CLOSER CAME THE ROARING MONSTER.]

"Well, all right. If you are willing to take the risk, I am," said Jack.

They reached the spot designated by Alex, and brought the car to a stand.

Again came the whistle of the train. "Ready!" cried Alex. "The next
time!"

It came. Like sprinters they threw themselves at the car, and in a few
strides were racing down the rails at full speed; reached the head of the
grade, and sprang over the tail-board just as the train rumbled onto the
bridge.

Downward they shot, gaining momentum at every turn of the wheels.

"Whe-ew! But we're taking an awful chance," said Jack, nervously.

"No. Listen to her brakes," said Alex.

Despite his assurance, when, a moment later, the great engine suddenly
appeared out of the smoke and came thundering down upon them, Alex
faltered, and, with Jack, nervously clutched the sides of the little car.
But dashing on unrestrained, they yet further increased their mad speed,
and for a few seconds seemed even to be holding their own with the mighty
mogul.

Then the great engine began eating up the distance between them, and the
boys gathered themselves together for the supreme moment.

Closer came the roaring monster. "Now, don't jump," cautioned Alex, who
had regained his nerve. "Wait until she is just going to hit us, then
fall forward and grab the brace--that rod there.

"Here she comes! Ready! _Now!_"

With a jolt the engine hit the car, and in an instant the boys fell
forward, grasped a smoke-box brace, and in another moment had scrambled
to the top of the cow-catcher.

And they were safe!

When, ten minutes later, the train came to a standstill at Bixton, the
engineer suddenly felt his hair rise on end as two wildly unkempt and
blackened figures appeared slowly dismounting from the front of his
engine, and stumbled across the station platform. But the shout of joy
which greeted them told they were no ghosts.

"Although I think we weren't far from it, were we, Jack?" said Alex, at
home a few minutes after, when his mother made a similar comparison.

"I hope I'll not be as near it again for a long time to come," said Jack,
earnestly.




VIII

THE SECRET TELEGRAM


"Alex, will you work for me three or four hours to-night?" requested the
Bixton night operator of Alex one evening late in October. "I have just
had an invitation to a surprise party at Brodies', and wouldn't care to
miss it."

Alex agreed willingly. "I'll be right in line then for the latest news of
the chase," he declared. For an attempt had been made that morning to rob
the Farmers' Savings Bank at Zeisler, a posse had been sent from Bixton
to aid in the pursuit of the robbers, and reports from the hunt were
being anxiously looked for.

"Take care you don't get in line for any bullets," laughed the operator
as he left. "It's your weakness, you know, to get mixed up in any
excitement that's going on within a mile of you."

To Alex's disappointment hour after hour passed, however, and brought no
further word, either of the pursued, or the pursuers. Finally, just
before midnight, hearing Zeisler "come in" on the wire to report the
passing of a freight, Alex reached for the key, determined to inquire.

As he did so footsteps sounded on the silent platform without, the
waiting-room door opened, and two strangers appeared at the ticket-window.
Glancing in, they turned to the office door, and entered.

"Hello, youngster," said the taller of the two, cordially, leaning over
the parcel-counter. "What's the news from the man-hunt?"

"I was going to ask Zeisler just as you came in," replied Alex, turning
again to the key.

"Well, never mind, then. Just tell them they were captured here,
instead."

"What! Captured here?" exclaimed Alex.

"That's it. About an hour ago, just north, by the Bloomsbury posse.
Sheriff O'Brien sent us down with the news, so you could send word up and
down the line and call in the other posses. No need of them plugging
around all night."

But, instead of complying, Alex suddenly turned more fully toward the two
men. "What posse did you say you were with?"

"Bloomsbury! Bloomsbury!" said the smaller man, impatiently.

"Bloomsbury! Don't you mean Bloomsburg?"

"Well, what thundering difference--" The taller man flashed a warning
gesture, and in an instant Alex understood.

_He was face to face with the bank robbers themselves!_

For a moment he stared from one to the other in consternation. Then,
sharply recovering himself, he turned quickly back to the key. But he was
too late. He had betrayed his discovery.

Both men laughed. "Your surmise is correct, my young friend," said the
taller man, lightly. "We are the gentlemen who were forced to leave
Zeisler so hurriedly this morning.

"But don't let that make any difference," he continued, producing a
revolver and placing it significantly on the counter before him. "Go
right ahead with the message.

"Or wait, give me a blank, and I'll write it, so you will be sure to have
it right."

"Oh, hold on," interposed his companion. "Now that he knows who we are,
how do you know he will send the message as you write it, and not just
the other thing--give us away?"

The first speaker threw down his pen. "Well, I'm an idiot. That's so."

He thought a moment, then, turning toward Alex, eyed him sharply an
instant, and said: "Youngster, I'll give you a dollar a word if you will
give me your solemn promise to send this message just as I write it."

A bare instant Alex hesitated, while the tempter whispered that it would
mean thirty or forty dollars for a few minutes' work, and that everyone
would take it for granted he had been compelled to send it. Then abruptly
he leaned back in his chair and shook his head. "I couldn't do it," he
said quietly but positively.

"Oh, you couldn't, eh, Goody-goody?" exclaimed the smaller man, with a
snarl, catching up the revolver and pointing it at Alex's head. "Now
could you do it?"

The taller man caught his arm. "Don't be a fool, Jake. After all, we
couldn't be sure he wasn't fooling us even if he took the money.

"Look here, I have a scheme."

They stepped back and spoke together in low tones for a moment; then the
taller turned again to Alex, who meantime had remained quiet in his
chair, futilely endeavoring to think of some means of spreading the
alarm.

"I suppose you are not the only operator at this station, kid?"

"No; there is a day and a night operator. I am only 'subbing' for the
night man," responded Alex, wondering.

"Where is he?"

"At a party."

"Where is the day man?"

"At his boarding-house. But you couldn't get either of them to do it,"
Alex declared confidently, thinking he had caught the drift of their
purpose.

"Never mind what we could or what we couldn't. Where does the day
operator board? Is it far?"

Momentarily Alex had a mind to refuse to tell; then, on the thought that
suspicion might be aroused if one of the robbers went to rout the day man
out, he replied, "About a quarter of a mile," and described how the house
could be reached.

Again the two men held a whispered consultation, and at its conclusion
the smaller man hurriedly left.

"Now I suppose you are wondering what we propose doing with the day
operator," said the tall man, with a grin, when they were alone. "Well,
it's so good I think I'll tell you. One of the cleverest getaway schemes
you ever heard of, and my own idea. Can you guess?"

Alex shook his head. "If it's not to send the message--and which I know
he won't--I don't know."

The robber laughed. "You are going to send the message, and he is going
to stand just outside the door here and tell us letter by letter just
what you make the instruments say. See?"

Alex uttered an exclamation. And, strange as it may seem, it was not
entirely of chagrin, for the striking originality and ingenuity of the
plan immediately appealed to his own peculiar genius for getting over
difficulties.

"And then," continued the talkative safe-breaker, "we will tie you both
in your chairs, cut the wires, then flag the night express, and depart
for the East like respectable citizens, and by the time you have been
found and the wires restored we will be well out of danger.

"Now, I claim there is some class to that scheme. What?"

Despite himself, Alex could not forbear a smile, even while he at once
saw that to defeat the plan would be almost an impossibility.
Nevertheless, as the bank robber turned his attention to a time-table,
Alex determinedly addressed his wits to the problem.

Presently, as he sat looking at the telegraph instruments for an
inspiration, he started. That last First of April joke he had played on
his father! The cut-off arrangement of wires was still in place beneath
the instrument table! Could he not use it?

He determined to see whether the connections were still in order.
Fortunately he was sitting close to the table, with his feet beneath.
Making a move as though tired of his position, he crossed one foot over
the other, and sank a little lower in the chair. Then, the change having
brought no comment from the man at the counter, he carefully reached out
the upper foot, found the two wires and pressed them together.
Immediately came a click from the instruments.

It was in working order! With hope Alex at once addressed himself to its
possibilities, and soon a suggestion came. "Yes, I believe I could do
it," he told himself with satisfaction. "I'll make a try anyway. So much
for never giving up."

At that moment the footfalls of the returning robber and those of another
sounded on the platform without. Both men were talking, and as they
entered the waiting-room Alex heard the evidently still unsuspecting
Jones say: "Funny, though. I never heard of the boy being troubled with
his heart before."

[Illustration: "COME ON! COME ON!" EXCLAIMED THE MAN IN THE
DOORWAY.]

The next moment Jones's casual tones changed to a sharp cry of fright,
and Alex knew that the robber had revealed himself. "Now you keep your
tongue between your teeth, and do exactly what you are told, young man,
or you get this! You understand?

"Now turn about--your back toward the office door--so." The door was
flung open, and the robber appeared standing sideways, his gun in his
hand, pointing at the day operator, who was just out of Alex's sight.

"Now what you are to do is to read off letter by letter what this young
shaver in here sends on the wire. You are a tab on him. You understand?"

In a trembling voice Jones responded in the affirmative.

"And the first one of you who appears to do anything not straight and
aboveboard gets daylight through his head," he added, raising his voice
for Alex's benefit. Then, addressing his partner, he said: "Give the kid
the message, Bill."

The tall man leaned over the counter and tossed the blank on the table
before Alex.

"Who will I send it to first?" asked Alex.

"The sheriff, Watson Siding."

"All right. But first, you know, I have to call him," explained Alex,
somewhat nervously, now that the critical moment had come. "His call is
WS."

Therewith he began slowly calling, that Jones might read off each letter
as he sent it, "WS, WS, WS, BX."

"WS, WS--"

"I, I," answered WS.

"WS answers," interpreted Jones.

Steadying himself with a deep breath, Alex proceeded to carry out his
plan. Carefully reaching forth with his foot beneath the table, he
pressed the two wires together, then loudly clicked his key. The
instruments, thus "cut out," of course failed to respond.

"The wire appears to have opened," announced Jones. "Probably the man at
WS has opened his key while getting a blank or a pen."

Again Alex clicked the key as though in a futile effort to send, then
leaving it open, thus holding the instruments on the table "dead," began
ticking his foot against the impromptu key beneath the table.

And while the instruments at Bixton remained momentarily silent, the
surprised operator at Watson Siding read in draggy but decipherable
signals the words:

"Read every other word."

"Come on! Come on!" exclaimed the man in the doorway, turning
suspiciously. Immediately Alex withdrew his foot and closed the key, and
at the resulting audible click Jones announced: "The wire has closed. He
can send now."

"All right. Come ahead," commanded the short man, impatiently.

Then very deliberately, with a pause after each word, seemingly to enable
Jones to interpret, but really to give himself time to send another word,
unheard, beneath the table, Alex sent on the key, and Jones read aloud,
the following message:

  "Sheriff,

  "Watson Siding:

  "Safe-blowers have been captured near here. Call in your posse.

                                                 "(Signed)  O'Brien,

                                             "Sheriff Quigg County."

What the at first puzzled and then thunderstruck operator at Watson
Siding read off his instrument ran very differently. It read:

  "Safe THEY blowers ARE have HERE been IN captured STATION near
  INTEND here. GOING call OUT in BY your NIGHT posse. EXPRESS.

  "(Signed)  'PHONE O'Brien, "BACK Sheriff HERE Quigg QUICK County."

A moment after giving his "OK" the Watson Siding operator was at the
telephone calling for Bixton central.

Meantime, having thus sent the message to WS to the bank-breakers'
satisfaction, Alex proceeded to call and send it by turns to Zeisler,
Hammerton, and other stations on the line. Sending slowly, to make the
most of his time, it was within fifteen minutes of the hour the express
was due when Alex had sent the last of the messages.

"Now you can step in and see your friend," said the man in the doorway,
addressing Jones, who appeared, white and trembling, and coming behind
the counter, dropped into a chair facing Alex. The speaker then once more
disappeared, and presently an opening click of the instruments told the
nature of his errand. The wires had been cut.

He soon returned, and rummaging about, while the taller man stood guard
over them, he found some ropes, and proceeded to bind Alex and the day
operator tightly in their chairs.

Just as the task was completed there came a long-drawn whistle from the
west. Both robbers promptly turned to the door. "Well, good night,
gentlemen," said the smaller, grimly. "Much obliged for your kind
services."

"And I would just pause to repeat," said the taller, jocosely, "that
there is some class to this getaway scheme, should any one ask you. Good
night."

"_Yes, there is class--but it isn't first!_"

Uttering a cry the two bank robbers staggered back from the door, and
with a bound the deputy sheriff and a constable were upon them, bore them
to the floor, and after a brief but terrific struggle disarmed and
handcuffed them.

"Yes," said the sheriff, rising, and with his knife quickly freeing the
two prisoners, "there was class to it, but it was _second_.

"Our young friend here takes '_first_.'"

[Illustration: "HOW DID YOU DO IT, SMARTY?" SNAPPED THE SHORTER MAN.]

The robbers turned upon Alex with furiously flashing eyes. "How did you
do it, smarty?" snapped the shorter man.

Alex laughed, kicked one foot beneath the table, and the instrument
responded with a click. "A little First of April trick. What do you think
of it?"

Whatever the two renegades might have said through their gritting teeth,
there was no doubt as to what the sheriff and the others thought. Nor the
bank officials at Zeisler, when, a day later, there came to Alex a highly
commendatory letter and a check for two hundred dollars.

But better even than this, in Alex's estimation, a few mornings after the
chief despatcher called him to the wire and announced his appointment as
night operator at Foothills, a small town on the western division.




IX

JACK PLAYS REPORTER, WITH UNEXPECTED RESULTS


Not long after Alex left Bixton to take up his duties at Foothills, Jack,
at Hammerton, also received an advancement. In itself it was not of
particular note, beyond an encouraging increase in salary, and a transfer
from the day to the night force; but indirectly it resulted in an
experience more thrilling than any Jack's genius for tackling adventurous
difficulties had yet brought him.

Wheeling by the office of the "Daily Star" one afternoon, he heard his
name called, and turned his head to discover West, the reporter with whom
he had made the memorable Oakton trip, hastening after him.

"Just the man I was looking for, Jack," declared West, as the young
operator wheeled to the curb. "I have a job for you.

"How would you like to tackle a bit of Black Hand investigation?"

Jack laughed. "You don't mean it."

"I certainly do. It's this way," went on the reporter, lowering his
voice. "A Black Hand letter demanding money was received last week by
Tommy Spanelli, of the Italian restaurant. It was mailed here; and we
have the tip that last evening two foreigners were seen stealing across
the old quarry turnpike, and into the woods, as though not wishing to be
seen. Of course they may not be connected with this at all, but again
they may; and I was put on the job to find out. The difficulty is that I
am too well known. If they caught sight of me, they would be suspicious
immediately.

"But they would never suspect a lad like you," West proceeded; "and I
know you could carry anything through that came along. So will you run
out there and investigate for me?"

"Why, certainly. But just what shall I do?" Jack asked.

"Wheel up and down the quarry turnpike for an hour or so, then, if you
have seen no one, beat around through the woods as far as the old stone
quarry. And any foreigners you come upon, take a good look at. That's
all. And drop in at the office here in the morning, and report."

"That's easy. All right," agreed Jack readily.

"Thank you. And keep the matter quiet, you know," West added. "We want an
exclusive story for the 'Star' if anything comes of it."

"I understand. And, say," said Jack as he turned away, "I'll take my
camera, too. I may be able to get a snap of them, if I see anyone."

"Good idea. A picture would help to land them, if they are the fellows we
want; and we could run it in the paper with our story. Go ahead, Jack,
and good luck."

Jack was not long in wheeling home and securing his folding Brownie; and
a half hour later found him pedalling slowly along the quarry road near
the point several miles from the city where the suspicious foreigners had
been seen to enter the woods.

An hour passed, however, and he had seen no doubtful characters, and
finally dismounting at the entrance to a path he knew to lead toward the
old stone quarry, Jack concealed his wheel in a thicket, and set off to
make an investigation in that direction.

A moment after he came to a halt with a sharp exclamation. In the path at
his feet lay a murderous-looking stiletto. Picking it up, he examined it.
Yes; it was of foreign make. And the still damp mud stains on the side of
the blade which had lain uppermost showed it had been but recently
dropped.

Apprehensively Jack cast a glance about him, almost immediately to utter
a second suppressed exclamation. Emerging from the woods on the opposite
side of the road was a short, dark man--undoubtedly an Italian.

With beating heart Jack watched him. Was he one of the men he was looking
for?

In the middle of the road the stranger halted, looked sharply to right
and left, and came quickly forward. Darting from the path Jack threw
himself on the ground behind a bush, and the next moment the man
hurriedly passed him. He was soon out of sight, and rising, Jack placed
the dagger carefully in an inside pocket, and determinedly set off after.

Half a mile he followed the Italian amid the trees. Then there appeared
the light of an opening, and going forward more carefully, Jack found
himself on the edge of the quarry clearing. The foreigner was hurrying
along the brink of the excavation, evidently heading for a small
tumble-down cabin at its farther end.

The man reached the shanty, and knocked. To Jack's surprise the door was
opened by a negro.

Wonder at this was quickly forgotten, however, for as the door closed
from the woods behind Jack came the sound of voices, then an ejaculation
in Italian. A moment Jack stood, in consternation, believing he had been
seen. But a glance showed that the owners of the voices were yet out of
sight beyond a rise, and recalling his wits, Jack ran for a nearby clump
of elders.

The voices came quickly nearer. Suddenly then, for the first time Jack
recalled the camera. At once came the suggestion to get a snap of the
newcomers as they stepped into the clearing.

Jack glanced about him. A short distance away, and but a few feet from
the path, was a low, tent-like spruce. With instant decision he made for
it, drawing the camera from his pocket as he ran.

Dropping to his knees, he wormed his way beneath the tree, and through to
the opposite side. Finding an aperture commanding the exit of the path,
he opened and focused the camera upon it. The next moment the two
Italians appeared. For the fraction of a second Jack hesitated, fearing
the click of the shutter might betray him. But he took the chance, there
was a crisp, low click--and he had them, and they had passed on.

Chuckling with delight, Jack crept forth. What next? Looking toward the
shanty, he again saw the door opened by the negro. This decided him.
Replacing the camera in his pocket, he set off on a circuit through the
trees that would bring him back to the clearing immediately opposite the
shanty, determined if possible to reach it, and learn what was going on
inside.

Without incident he made the point desired, and gazing from the cover of
a bush, discovered with satisfaction that the two hundred yards
separating him from his goal was dotted with small bushy spruce. More
important still, on that side of the cabin were no windows.

Stooping, Jack was about to steal forth, when he paused with a new idea.
It came from a stray piece of wrapping-paper lying on the ground before
him.

Why couldn't he conceal the camera in this paper, with a string tied to
the shutter; approach the house, knock, ask some question, and secretly
snap whoever opened the door?

To think was to decide, and at once he set about preparations. Finding
some cord in a pocket, he first deadened the click of the shutter with a
thread of the string, and secured a piece of it to the shutter trigger.
Carefully then he wrapped the camera, open, in the paper, and with his
knife cut a small hole opposite the lens, and a second and smaller hole
beneath. Through the latter he fished out the trigger-string--and the
detective camera was complete.

Without delay Jack adjusted the parcel under his arm, holding the
trigger-string in his fingers, and strode boldly forward toward the
shanty. He reached it, approached the door, and knocked. From within came
the sound of voices, then a heavy step. Drawing the string taut Jack
moved back several paces, and pointed the opening in the package at the
door.

But success was not to come too easily. The latch lifted, and the door
opened only a few inches, barely showing the eyes and flat nose of the
negro.

"W'at yo' want?" he demanded.

"Would you please tell me the way out to the road?" said Jack steadily.

The negro regarded him sharply a moment, then opening the door barely
sufficient to reach out a hand, pointed toward the woods, and said
gruffly, "Yo' see dat broke tree? Right out dah."

"Which one? I see two," declared Jack, coolly.

Impatiently the negro threw the door wide, stepped out, and pointed
again. In an instant Jack had pulled the string, and from the parcel had
come a soft "thugk!" "Thank you, sir," said Jack, turning away, and
inwardly chuckling at the double meaning of the words. "Thank you."

"But look aheah, boy," added the colored man threateningly, "doan yo' be
prowlin' roun' heah! Un'stan'?"

"No fear. I'll be glad when I'm away," responded Jack, again secretly
laughing, and headed for the woods, the negro watching him until he was
half way across the clearing.

Once more in the shelter of the trees, Jack determined to follow up his
success by endeavoring to discover just what was taking place at the
cabin. Hiding the camera in a convenient brush-heap, he made sure all was
quiet, and again stole forth. Slipping quickly from shrub to shrub, he
safely made the crossing, and came to a halt at the rear of the shanty.

To his ears came the sound of voices in subdued discussion. They were so
muffled, however, that he could distinguish nothing, and recalling a
partly open window at the front, he went forward to the corner, peered
cautiously about, and tiptoed to within a few feet of it.

At once the voices came to him plainly.

"You gotta dat?"

"Stan' in doo'way, hat in yo' han', upside down," responded the colored
man's gruff voice.

Wondering, Jack drew nearer.

"At halfa da past two by da beeg clock," continued the first speaker.

There was a pause, and the negro repeated, "At half pas' two by dah city
clock, shahp."

Suddenly it came to Jack. At the dictation of the Italian, the negro was
writing a "Black Hand" letter--ordering one of their victims to display
some signal to show that the demand for money would be complied with!

The Italian's next sentence left no further doubt. "If you no giva da
sign, you deada man by seex clock."

At the words, and the fierceness with which they were uttered, Jack felt
a chill run up his spine. Had he followed his immediate impulse he would
have fled. But determining to learn if possible who the letter was for,
he waited.

"What numbah?" asked the negro.

"Feefity-nine Main."

The Italian restaurant! Another letter to Spanelli! The men he was after!

Jack waited to hear no more, but tiptoeing back about the corner, was off
for the woods, jubilant at his success.

Indeed Jack was over jubilant--so jubilant that he forgot the necessity
of caution, made a short cut across an open space in full view of the
shanty, and half way was brought to a sudden realization of his mistake
by the creak of an opening door. In consternation he at once saw he could
not reach cover before being seen, and also that did he run, the
Black-Handers would understand they had been discovered.

With quick presence of mind he recognized and instantly did the one thing
possible. Turning, he headed back boldly for the cabin. The next instant
the three Italians came into view, immediately discovered him, and
halted. Secretly trembling, but with a cool front, Jack approached them
as they stood, excitedly whispering.

"Would you kindly tell me the time?" he asked.

The three men exchanged glances, then, as at a signal, stepped forward
and surrounded him. "Now, whata you want?" demanded one of them sharply,
thrusting his dark face close to Jack's. Before Jack could repeat his
question the shanty door opened and the negro appeared. Exclaiming
angrily, he ran toward them.

"W'at he want? W'at he want now?" he demanded.

"He say, whata da time," repeated one of the Italians.

"W'at de time? He am a spy! A spy!" cried the negro. "In de house with
him!" Jack sprang back, and turned to run. With a rush the negro and one
of the foreigners were upon him, and despite his terrified struggles he
was dragged bodily into the shanty. There they flung him heavily into a
chair, and gathered menacingly about him.

"Now boy, w'at yo' spyin' roun' heah fo'? Eh?" demanded the negro
fiercely.

Instinctively Jack opened his lips to deny the charge, but closed them,
and remained in dogged silence. Despite his peril, he felt he could not
tell a deliberate falsehood. The negro repeated the question.

"I simply asked them the time," said Jack evasively.

With a snarl one of the foreigners caught him by the shoulders and yanked
him upright. "Tie heem!" he directed, and roughly two of the others drew
Jack's hands behind him, and bound them with a cord. As one of the
Italians then proceeded to tie a handkerchief about his ankles, Jack
barely suppressed a cry of fright. But grimly he clenched his teeth, and
not a sound escaped him as the negro then caught him up, carried him
across the room, kicked open a door, and threw him upon the floor within.

For a few minutes Jack lay dazed, then turning on his side, he looked
about him. By the dim light of a dusty window he saw he was in a small,
roughly furnished bedroom. Before he had taken in further particulars,
however, a sound of heated discussion in the outer room drew his
attention.

"No, no! We can't taka da chance!" came the voice of one of the Italians.
"Not wid dat boy!"

Filled anew with terror Jack struggled to a sitting position and began
straining desperately at his bonds. A moment's effort caused his heart to
sink. The knots were as taut as though made of wire.

Determinedly he continued to strain and pull, however, and presently,
losing his balance, he rolled over on his side, and something hard
pressed into his chest.

The dagger he had picked up! Quickly he saw the possibility of using it.
Working again into a sitting position, he bent low and sought to reach
inside his coat and seize the hilt of the knife with his teeth. But as
often as he reached, the coat swung, and the hilt evaded him.

Jack was not to be beaten, however. Getting to his knees, he bent far
over, until his head almost touched the floor, and fell vigorously to
shaking himself. At the second effort the dagger slipped out to the
floor. Quickly then he got a firm hold on the end of the handle with his
teeth, struggled again to a sitting position, drew his knees up as far as
possible, and bending low between them, began stabbing at the
handkerchief about his ankles with the point of the weapon.

At the first attempt the knife barely touched the handkerchief. He tried
again, and just reached it. Throwing his head far back, to gain momentum,
he lunged forward with all his strength. The keen point struck the linen
squarely, there was a rip and tear--and his feet were free.

As the severed handkerchief fell from his ankles, the dagger, slipping
from Jack's teeth, clattered to the floor. But the noisy discussion still
going on without prevented its being heard; and promptly Jack turned to
the problem of freeing his hands.

As they were tied behind him, this promised to be far more difficult.
Indeed Jack's courage was beginning to fail him, when the method of
freeing his ankles suggested a possibility. At once he essayed it. Rising
to a kneeling position, he strained at his wrists for several minutes,
then, bending far over, began working his hands down beneath him.

It seemed as though they would never come, and again and again he had to
pause for breath. Desperately he continued, and suddenly at last they
slipped, and were under him, directly below his knees.

Throwing himself over on his side, he once more grasped the dagger hilt
in his teeth, and as he lay, carefully aimed the point between his legs
at the cord about his wrists, and gave a quick, hard thrust. At the first
blow he struck the cord fairly, but only half severed the strand. Again
he lunged, and the next moment he was free.

The heated debate was still in progress in the outer room, and nearly
exhausted though he was, Jack immediately scrambled to his feet and
tiptoed to the window. To his joy he discovered it was made of a sliding
frame, only fastened by a loosely-driven nail. It required but a few
minutes' work to remove this, and very cautiously he began sliding the
window back.

Half way it went easily, without noise. Then it stuck. Carefully Jack put
his shoulder to it. Suddenly, without warning, it gave, then stopped with
a jar, and to his horror a broken pane shot from the frame and fell
clattering to the floor.

From the other room came a shout and a rush of feet. In desperation Jack
stepped back, and with a run fairly dove at the opening. His head and
shoulders passed through, then he stuck. Behind him the door flew open.
With a desperate wriggle he struggled through, and fell in a heap to the
ground just as the negro reached the window and made a wild lunge for
him. The next moment Jack was on his feet and off across the clearing
like a hare.

The four lawbreakers were quickly out of the house in full chase.
Presently there was the report of a pistol, and a shrill "wheeeu" just
over Jack's head. Ducking instinctively, but with grimly set lips, he
rushed on. Again came the whine of a bullet, and again. With a final
sprint Jack reached the cover of the woods in safety, darted to the
brush-pile and recovered his camera, and on, straight through the trees
for the spot at which he had hidden his wheel.

Love of outdoor life and sports now stood Jack in good stead. Despite the
exhausting efforts of his escape, and the hard running amid the trees,
over trunks and through undergrowth, he kept on at the top of his speed,
and finally reached the road ahead of the nearest of his pursuers.

Rushing for his wheel, he dragged it forth, and quickly had it on the
road. Not a moment too soon. As he sprang into the saddle there was a
shout and a crash of bushes but a few feet from him. But throwing all his
weight on the pedals, he shot away, and a moment after sped about a bend
in the road--and was safe.

Jack would not have been a real boy had there not been considerable pride
in his voice when, entering the "Star" office the following morning, he
handed West, the reporter, two small photographs, neatly mounted, and
said:

"Here are the pictures, Mr. West."

West sprang to his feet. "No! Great! Splendid!" he cried. "How did you do
it, Jack?

"But here--" Pushing Jack into a chair, he dropped back into his own, and
caught up a pencil. "Give me the whole story, from beginning to end. If
the police round up these fellows this morning we will run it in to-day's
edition."

This, with the aid of Jack's snap-shots, the police did, capturing the
entire band; and that afternoon's edition of the "Star" carried a
two-column story of Jack's adventure with the Black-Handers, which, with
the pictures, made what West declared "the biggest story of a month of
Sundays."




X

A RUNAWAY TRAIN


"Hurry in, Ward, or the lamp will be out!"

Alex, who had now been night operator at Foothills six months, closed the
station door behind him, and laughingly flicked his rain-soaked cap
toward the day operator, whom he had just come to relieve.

"Is it raining that hard? You look like a drowned rat for sure," said
Saunders as he reached for his hat and coat. "Why didn't you stay at
home, and 'phone down? I would have been glad to work for you--not."

"Wait until you are out in it, and you'll not laugh," declared Alex,
struggling out of his dripping ulster. "It is the worst storm this
spring."

"And wait until you see the fun you are going to have with the wire
to-night, and you'll not indulge in an over-abundance of smiles. I
haven't had a dot from the despatcher since six o'clock. Had to get
clearance for Nineteen around by MQ, and now we've lost them."

"There is someone now," said Alex, as the instruments began clicking.

"It's somebody west. IC, I think. Yes; Indian Canyon," said Saunders,
pausing as he turned to the door. "What is he after? He certainly can't
make himself heard by X if we can't."

"X, X, X," rapidly repeated the sounder, calling Exeter, the despatching
office. "X, X, X! Qk!"

Alex and Saunders looked at one another with a start. Several times the
operator at Indian Canyon repeated the call, more urgently, then as
hurriedly began calling Imken, the next station east of him.

"There must be something wrong," declared Alex, stepping to the
instrument table. Saunders followed him.

"IM, IM, IC, Qk! Qk!" clicked the sounder.

"IM, IM--"

"I, I, IM," came the response, and the two operators at Foothills
listened closely.

"A wild string of loaded ore cars just passed here," buzzed the
instruments. "Were going forty miles an hour. They'll be down there in no
time. If there's anything on the main line get it off. I can't raise X
for orders."

The two listening operators exchanged glances of alarm, and anxiously
awaited Imken's response. For a moment the sounder made a succession of
inarticulate dots, then ticked excitedly, "Yes, yes! OK! OK!" and closed.

"What did he mean by that?" asked Saunders beneath his breath. "That
there was something on the main track there?"

"Perhaps a switch engine cutting out ore empties. We'll know in a
minute."

The wire again snapped open, and whirred, "I got it off--the yard engine!
Just in time! Here they come now! Like thunder!

"There--they're by! Are ten of them. All loaded. Going like an avalanche.
Lucky thing the yard engine was--"

Sharply the operator at Indian Canyon broke in to hurriedly call
Terryville, the next station east.

"But the runaways won't pass Terryville, will they?" Alex exclaimed.
"Won't the grades between there and Imken pull them up?"

Saunders shook his head. "Ten loaded ore cars travelling at that rate
would climb those grades."

"Then they will be down here--and in twenty or thirty minutes! And
there's the Accommodation coming from the east," said Alex rapidly, "and
we can't reach anyone to stop her!"

Saunders stared. "That's so. I'd forgotten her. But what can we do?" he
demanded helplessly.

Terryville answered, and in strained silence they awaited his report.
"Yes, they are coming. I thought it was thunder.

"Here they are now," he added an instant after.

"They're past!"

"They'll reach us! What shall we do?" gasped Saunders.

Alex turned from the table, and as the Indian Canyon operator hastily
called Jakes Creek, the last station intervening, began striding up and
down the room, thinking rapidly.

If they only had more battery--could make the current in the wire
stronger! Immediately on the thought came remembrance of the emergency
battery he had made the previous year at Watson Siding. He spun about
toward the office water-cooler. But only to utter an exclamation of
disappointment. This cooler was of tin--of course useless for such a
purpose.

Hurriedly he began casting about for a substitute. "Billy, think of
something we can make a big battery jar of!" he cried. "To strengthen the
wire!"

"A battery? But what would we do for bluestone? I used the last
yesterday!"

Alex returned to the table, and threw himself hopelessly into the chair.

At the moment the Jakes Creek operator answered his call, and received
the message of warning.

"Say," said Saunders, "perhaps some of the other fellows on the wire have
bluestone and the other stuff, and could make a battery!"

Alex uttered a shout. "That's it!" he cried, and springing to the
telegraph key, as soon as the wire closed, called Indian Canyon. "Have
you any extra battery material there?" he sent quickly.

"No. Why--"

Abruptly Alex cut him off and called Imken. He also responded in the
negative. But from Terryville came a prompt "Yes. Why--"

"Have you one of those big stoneware water-coolers there?"

"Yes, but wh--"

"Do you know how to make a battery?"

"No."

"Well, listen--"

The instruments had suddenly failed to respond. A minute passed, and
another. Five went by, and Alex sank back in the chair in despair.
Undoubtedly the storm had broken the wire somewhere.

"Everything against us!" he declared bitterly. "And the runaways will be
down here now in fifteen or twenty minutes. What can we do?"

"I can't think of anything but throwing the west switch," said Saunders.
"And loaded, and going at the speed they are, they'll make a mess of
everything on the siding. But that's the only way I can think of stopping
them."

"If there was any way a fellow could get aboard the runaways--"

Alex broke off sharply. Would it not be possible to board the runaway
train as he and Jack had boarded the engine on the day of the forest
fire? Say, from a hand-car?

He started to his feet. "Billy, get me a lantern, quick!

"I'm going for the section-boss, and see if we can't board the runaways
from the hand-car," he explained as he caught up and began struggling
into his coat. "I did that once at Bixton--boarded an engine."

"Board it! How?"

"Run ahead of it, and let it catch us."

Saunders sprang for the lantern, lit it, and catching it up, Alex was out
the door, and off across the tracks through the still pouring rain for
the lights of the section foreman's house. Darting through the gate, he
ran about to the kitchen door, and without ceremony flung it open. The
foreman was at the table, at his supper. He started to his feet.

"Joe, there is a wild ore train coming down from the Canyon," explained
Alex breathlessly, "and the wire has failed east so we can't clear the
line. Couldn't we get the jigger out and board the runaways by letting
them catch us?"

An instant the section-boss stared, then with the promptitude of the old
railroader seized his cap, exclaiming "Go ahead!" and together they
dashed out to the gate, and across the tracks in the direction of the
tool-house.

"Where did they start from? How many cars?" asked the foreman as they
ran.

"Indian Canyon. Ten, and all loaded."

The section-man whistled. "They'll be going twenty-five or thirty miles
an hour. We will be taking a big chance. But if we can catch them just
over the grade beyond the sand-pits I guess we can do it. That will have
slackened them.

"Here we are."

As they halted before the section-house door the boss uttered a cry. "I
haven't the key!"

Alex swung the lantern about, and discovered a pile of ties. "Smash it
in," he suggested, dropping the lantern. One on either side they caught
up a tie, swayed back, and hurled it forward. There was a crash, and the
door swung open.

Catching up the lantern, they dashed in, threw from the hand-car its
collection of tools, placed the light upon it, ran it out, and swung it
onto the rails.

"Do you hear them?" asked Alex as he threw off his coat. The foreman
dropped to his knees and placed his ear to the rails, listened a moment,
and sprang to his feet. "Yes, they're coming! Come on!

"Run her a ways first." They pushed the car ahead, quickly had it on the
run, and springing aboard, seized the handles, and one on either side,
began pumping up and down with all their strength.

As they neared the station the door opened and Saunders ran to the
edge of the platform. "The wire came O K and I just heard Z pass
Thirty-three," he shouted, "but couldn't make them hear me. He reported
the superintendent's--"

They whirled by, and the rest was lost.

"Did you catch it?" shouted Alex above the roar of the car.

"I think he meant," shouted the foreman as he swung up and down,
"superintendent's car ... attached to the Accommodation ... heard he was
coming ... makes it bad.... We need every minute ... and Old Jerry ...
the engineer ... 'll be breaking his neck ... to bring her ... through on
time!

"Do you hear ... runaways yet?"

"No."

[Illustration: THEY WHIRLED BY, AND THE REST WAS LOST.]

On they rushed through the darkness, bobbing up and down like
jumping-jacks, the little car rumbling and screeching, and bounding
forward like a live thing.

The terrific and unaccustomed strain began to tell on Alex. Perspiration
broke out on his forehead, his muscles began to burn, and his breath to
shorten.

"How much farther ... to the grade?" he panted.

"Here it is now. Six hundred yards to the top."

As they felt the resistance of the incline Alex began to weaken and gasp
for breath. Grimly, however, he clenched his teeth, and fought on; and at
last the section-man suddenly ceased working, and announced "Here we are.
Let up." With a gasp of relief Alex dropped to a sitting position on the
side of the car.

"There it comes," said the foreman a moment after, and listening Alex
heard a sound as of distant thunder.

"How long before they'll be here?"

"Five minutes, perhaps. And now," said the section-boss, "just how are we
going to work this thing?"

"Well, when we boarded the engine at Bixton," explained Alex, getting his
breath, "we simply waited at the head of a grade until it was within
about two hundred yards of us, then lit out just as hard as we could go,
and as she bumped us, we jumped."

"All right. We'll do the same."

As the foreman spoke, the rain, which had decreased to a drizzle,
entirely ceased, and a moment after the moon appeared. He and Alex at
once turned toward the station.

Just beyond was a long, black, snake-like object, shooting along the
rails toward them.

The runaway!

On it swept over the glistening irons, the rumble quickly increasing to a
roar. With an echoing crash it flashed by the station, and on.

Nearer it came, the cars leaping and writhing; roaring, pounding,
screeching.

"Ready!" warned the foreman, springing to the ground behind the hand-car.
Alex joined him, and gazing over their shoulder, watching, they braced
themselves for the shove.

The runaways reached the incline, and swept on upward. Anxiously the two
watched as they waited. Would the incline check them?

"I don't see that they're slowing," Alex said somewhat nervously.

"It won't tell until they are half way up the grade," declared the
section-man. "But, get ready. We can't wait to see.

"Go!" he cried. Running the car forward, they leaped aboard, and again
were pumping with all their might.

[Illustration: THE ENGINEER STEPPED DOWN FROM HIS CAB TO GRASP ALEX'S
HAND.]

For a few moments the roar behind them seemed to decrease. Then suddenly
it broke on them afresh, and the head of the train swept over the rise.

"Now pull yourself together for an extra spurt when I give the word,"
shouted the foreman, who manned the forward handles, and faced the rear,
"then turn about and get ready to jump."

Roaring, screaming, clanking, the runaways thundered down upon them.

"Hit it up!" cried the section-man. With every muscle tense they whirled
the handles up and down like human engines.

"Let go! Turn about!"

Alex sprang back from the flying handles, and faced about. The foreman
edged by them, and joined him.

Nearer, towering over them, rushed the leading ore car.

"Be sure and jump high and grab hard," shouted the foreman.

"Ready! _Jump_!"

With a bound they went into the air, and the great car flung itself at
them. Both reached the top of the end-board with their outstretched
hands, and gripped tenaciously. As they swung against it, it seemed the
car would shake them off. But clinging desperately, they got their feet
on the brake-beam, and in another moment had tumbled headlong within.

Alex sank down on the rough ore in a heap, gasping. The seasoned
section-man, however, was on his feet and at the nearby hand-brake in a
twinkle. Tightening it, he scrambled back over the bounding car to the
next.

Ten minutes later, screeching and groaning as though in protest, the
runaways came to a final stop.

Another ten minutes, and the engineer of the Accommodation suddenly threw
on his air as he rounded a curve to discover a lantern swinging across
the rails ahead of him.

"Hello there, Jerry! Say, you're not good enough for a passenger run,"
said the section foreman humorously as he approached the astonished
engineer. "We're going to put you back pushing ore cars. There's a string
here just ahead of you."

When he had explained the engineer stepped down from his cab to grasp
Alex's hand. "Oh, it was more the foreman than I," Alex declared. "I
couldn't have worked it alone."

A moment later the superintendent appeared. "Why, let me see," he
exclaimed on seeing Alex. "Are you not the lad I helped fix up an
emergency battery at Watson Siding last spring? And who has been
responsible for two or three other similar clever affairs?

"My boy, young as you are, my name's not Cameron if I don't see that you
have a try-out at the division office before the month is out," he
announced decisively. "We need men there with a head like yours."

[Illustration: THE WAIT WAS NOT LONG.]



XI

THE HAUNTED STATION


True to the division superintendent's promise, a month following the
incident of the runaway ore train, Alex was transferred to the
despatching office at Exeter. It was the superintendent himself who on
the evening of his arrival presented him for duty to the chief night
despatcher; and a few minutes later, having been initiated into the
mysteries of directing and recording the movements of trains, Alex was
shown to his wire.

"It is a short line--only as far as the Midway freight junction," the
chief explained; "but if you make good here, you will soon be given
something bigger.

"And, by the way, take your time in sending to the operator at the
Junction," he added. "He's a rather poor receiver, but was the only man
we could get to go there, on account of that so-called 'haunting'
business."

"Oh, has the 'ghost' appeared there again?" inquired Alex with interest.
For the "haunting" of the Midway Junction station had been a subject of
much discussion on the main-line wire a few weeks back.

"Yes, two nights ago. And like the four men there before him, the night
man left next morning. It is a strange affair. But I think the man there
now will stick."

At midnight Alex called Midway Junction, and sent the order starting
north the last freight for the night. Fifteen minutes later the operator
at MJ suddenly called, and clicked, "That 'Thing' is here again. It's
walking up and down the platform just outside.

"There it is now!" he sent excitedly. "And twice I've jumped out, and the
moment I opened the door it was gone!

"There it is again!

"Now it's on the roof!" he announced a few moments after. "Rolling
something down--just like the other chaps said! Gee, I'm no coward, but
this thing is getting my nerve."

Though himself now considerably excited, Alex sought to reassure the MJ
man. "But you know there must be some simple explanation to it," he sent.
"No one really believes in ghosts these days. Just don't allow yourself
to be frightened."

"Yes, I know," ticked the sounder. "That's what I told myself before I
came. It seems vastly different, though, right here on the spot, and all
by yourself, and it dark as pitch outside. If there was only someone
else--"

The wire abruptly closed, a moment remained so, then suddenly opened, and
in signals so excitedly made that Alex could only guess at some of them,
he read: "Did you hear that? Did you get that?"

"Hear what? The wire was closed to me."

"Clooossclosd! Goed 6eavns! Whiiieeeeee Whyyy--" By an effort the
frightened operator at the other end of the wire pulled himself together,
and sent more plainly:

"When I stopped that time someone broke in here and said: 'Ha ha! Hi hi!
Look behind! Look beh--'"

Again the wire closed, again opened.

"Theeeereit waaawas again!"

Alex called the chief. "Mr. Allen, that 'ghost,' or whatever it is--"

Once more the instruments broke out in an almost inarticulate whirr, and
with difficulty together they picked out the words: "... sounds in the
next room ... yelling and groaning just other side partition ...
whispering at me through a knot-hole ... an eye looking at me ... stand
it any longer ... right now! G. B. (Good-by)!"

Grasping the key, the chief sent quickly, "Look here! Wait a moment! You
there?"

There was no response. Again he called, and gave it up. "No use. He's off
like the rest of them. Well, I'm not sure I blame him. There must be
something wrong. But it beats me!"

As he was about to move away the chief turned back and handed Alex a
letter. "I overlooked giving it to you when you came in," he explained.

"From Jack Orr!" said Alex with pleasure. A moment later he uttered a
second exclamation, again read a paragraph, and with a delighted "The
very thing!" hastened after the chief.

"Mr. Allen, this letter is from a friend of mine, a first class
commercial operator, who wants to get into railroad telegraphing, and who
would be just the man to send to MJ.

"He is a regular amateur detective, and has all kinds of pluck," Alex
went on, and in a few words recounted Jack's clearing up of the cash-box
mystery at Hammerton, the part he played in the breaking up of the band
of Black-Handers, and his resourcefulness when the wires were cut at
Oakton.

The chief smiled and reached for a message blank. "Thank you, Ward," he
said. "That's the man we want exactly. How soon can he come?"

"He says he could take a place with us right away, sir."

"Good. We'll have him there if possible to-morrow evening," decided the
chief, writing.

Needless to say Jack was delighted when early the following morning at
Hammerton he received the telegraphed appointment to the station at
Midway. At once resigning at the Hammerton commercial office, he hurried
home, by noon was on the train, and arrived at Midway Junction at 7
o'clock.

Entering the telegraph room, he called Exeter. "Well, here I am, Al," he
ticked, when Alex himself responded. "And I'm ever so much obliged to
you, old boy, for getting me the position."

"Don't mention it. And anyway," responded Alex, "you had better save your
thanks until you learn just what you are up against there. I didn't have
time to write--but the former man left last night, simply on the run."
And continuing, Alex explained.

"So you see, you were called in as a sort of expert."

"Hi," laughed Jack. "Well, I'll do the best I can. But probably the
'ghost' won't show up again now for a month or so?"

"On the contrary, it is more likely to return soon," clicked Alex. "That
has been the way every time so far--three or four appearances in
succession. So you had better prepare for business at once."

Alex's prediction was realized two nights later. A few minutes after the
last freight had gone north, and Jack had been left entirely alone in the
big station, he heard light footfalls outside on the platform. Going to
the window, he peered out into the darkness, and seeing nothing, turned
to the door. As he opened it the footsteps ceased.

Surprised, Jack returned and secured a lantern, and passed out and down
the long platform. From end to end it was deserted and silent.

He returned to the office. Scarcely had he closed the door when again
came the sound of footsteps.

Jack paused and listened. They were light and quick, like those of a
woman--up and down, up and down, now pausing a moment, now briskly
resuming, as though the walker was anxiously waiting for someone.

On tiptoe Jack went back to the door, suddenly flung it open and flashed
the lantern. As quickly the steps had ceased. Not a moving object was to
be seen.

Immensely puzzled, Jack withdrew, and stepped to the instrument table. As
he reached toward the telegraph key from almost directly overhead broke
out a thundering rumble, as of a heavy wooden ball bounding down the
roof.

Catching up the lantern, he once more rushed forth. Immediately, as
before, all was silence. Nervous at last, in spite of himself, Jack
hesitated, then resolutely set forth on a complete round of the station
and freight shed, throwing the lantern light upon the roof, through the
dusty windows, and into every nook and corner. Nowhere was there a sign
of life.

He returned. The moment he closed the office door the rumble broke out
afresh.

Jack sprang to the instruments, called Exeter, and sent rapidly, "Al,
that 'ghost' is here, and in spite of me, is beginning to get on my--"

The line opened, then sharply clicked: "Look behind! Look behind!"

With a cry Jack was on his feet, and had started for the door. Half way
he pulled up, with a determined effort controlled his panic, and returned
to the key. "I suppose you didn't hear that, Al?" he asked.

"Not a letter."

"Well, good gracious, what--_Oh!_"

A cold chill shot up Jack's back. The cause was a low, long-drawn moan,
apparently from just the other side of the wooden partition, in the
freight room. Again it came, then suddenly ceased to give place to a low,
tense whispering immediately behind him. Jack sprang about, and leaped to
his feet. Within touch of him was a large knot-hole.

And was there not an eye at it? Peering at him?

He sprang toward it.

No! Nothing! The whispering, too, had ceased.

Thoroughly shaken, Jack again turned for his hat--and again faltered
between the chair and the door.

"You there, Jack?" clicked Alex. "Hang on, old boy. Keep your nerve."

Clenching his teeth and gripping his hands Jack regained control of
himself, and returned to the instruments. "Thanks, Al," he sent. "I was
about all in, sure enough. But I am OK again now, and going to stick it
out unless 'they,' or 'it,' or whatever it is, lugs me off bodily."

"That's the talk," said Alex encouragingly. "I knew you'd make good. Just
keep on telling yourself there must be some natural explanation somehow,
and you'll win out OK."

                    *       *       *       *       *

"Yes, that's my cue--'a natural explanation somehow,'" Jack repeated to
himself the following afternoon as he left the big railroad boarding-house,
a half mile from the station, and set out for a walk, to think things over.

"And I believe the starting point is that talk on the wire. That
certainly is the work of an operator.

"Now, why is it heard only at this office?

"Say! Could it be on the loop? A cut-off arrangement on the station loop?

"I'll go down and look into that right now," declared Jack, and turning
about, headed for the station.

The platforms and the big freight shed were alive with the bustle of the
freight handlers, loading and unloading cars, trundling boxes and bales
from one part of the platform to another and in and out of the big shed;
and unnoticed, Jack discovered where the wires from the pole passed in
under the roof. Entering the shed, he proceeded carefully to follow their
course along the beams toward the telegraph room. He had almost reached
the partition, and was beginning to think his conclusion perhaps too
hastily drawn, when a few feet from the wall, where the light from an
opposite window struck the roof, he caught two unmistakable gleams of
copper. With a suppressed cry he made his way directly beneath, and at
once saw that the insulation of both wires of the loop had been cut
through.

"Right! I was right!" exclaimed Jack jubilantly beneath his breath. "And
I can see in a minute how it's done. Whoever it is, simply gets up there
somehow, and ticks one wire against the other--and of course the
instruments inside click as they are alternately cut off and cut on, and
the rest of the line is not affected!

"Good! I'm on the trail.

"But what can be the object of it all?"

Jack turned to look about him, and as in answer the lettering of a nearby
box caught his eye:

"VALUABLE! HANDLE WITH CARE!"

"Freight stealing! Could that be it?"

On reporting for duty that evening Jack called Alex on the wire and asked
if any freight had recently been reported missing from the Midway depot.

"No, but I understand some valuable stuff has been mysteriously
disappearing at Claxton and Eastfield," was the reply.

Jack was considerably disappointed; but before giving up this line of
investigation he determined to study the freight records of the station,
to discover whether any freight for the two places mentioned by Alex had
passed through Midway. A few minutes' search produced the record of a
valuable shipment of silk to Claxton. A moment later he found another.

When presently he found still others, and several to Eastfield, he
hurried back to the wire and calling Alex asked the nature of the goods
lost track of at those stations, and breathlessly awaited the reply.

"I'll ask," said Alex--"Silverware and silk. Mostly silk."

Jack uttered a shout. "Hurrah, Alex," he whirred, "I'm on the track of
our friend the 'ghost.' But keep mum.

"And now the question is," he told himself, leaning back in his chair,
"how do they work it?"

The answer to the query came very unexpectedly as Jack left the station
office at daybreak. Strolling down the front platform, where several men
already were at work unloading a car, he inadvertently got in the way of
a loaded truck. On the sudden cry of the truckman he sprang aside,
tripped, and fell headlong against a large, square packing-case. As he
did so, he distinctly heard from within a sharp "Oh!"

Only with difficulty did Jack avoid crying out, and scrambling to his
feet, hastened away, that his discovery might not be suspected by the man
in the box.

The whole mystery was now clear. The "ghost" was a freight thief, who had
himself shipped, in a box, to some point which would necessitate his
being transferred and held over night at the freight junction. He played
"ghost" either to frighten the operator away, or to lead to the belief
that any noises overheard were caused by "spirits," then overhauled the
valuable freight in the shed, took what he wanted with him into his own
box (which supposedly he could open and close from the inside), and was
shipped away with it the following morning. The rifled packages,
carefully re-sealed, also went on to their several destinations, and the
blame of the theft was laid elsewhere.

Jack was not long in deciding upon his next move. Coming down from the
boarding-house before the sheds had been closed that afternoon, he noted
where the box containing the unsuspected human freight had been placed,
and selecting a window at the far end of the shed, seized a favorable
moment to quietly loosen its catch.

It was near midnight, and Jack was once more the sole guardian of the
station when he took the next step. And despite a certain nervousness,
now that the exciting moment was at hand, he found considerable amusement
in carrying it out.

It was nothing less than making up a dummy imitation of himself asleep on
a cot in a corner of the telegraph room--as a precaution against the
"ghost" peering within to learn the effect of his "haunting."

In making the dummy Jack used a brown fur cap for the head, a glimpse of
which under an old hat looked remarkably like his own brown head. A
collection of old overalls and record books carefully arranged formed the
body, and his own shoes the feet.

When over the whole he threw his overcoat, the deception was complete.
Chuckling at the subterfuge, Jack lost no time in slipping forth for the
next step in his program.

Tiptoeing down the platform to the window whose latch he had loosened, he
softly raised it, listened, and climbing through, dropped noiselessly to
the floor. Feeling his way in the darkness amid the bales and boxes, he
reached a nook behind a piano-case he had previously noted, and settling
down, prepared to await the appearance of the "spectre."

The wait was not long. Scarcely had he made himself comfortable when from
the direction of the big packing-case came the muffled sound of a
screw-driver. Soon there followed a noise as of a board being softly
shoved aside, then a step on the floor. Simultaneously there was the
crackle of a match, and peering forth Jack momentarily made out a thin,
clean-shaven face bending over a dark-lantern. But quickly he drew back
with a start of fright as the man turned and came directly toward him.

A few feet away, however, the intruder halted, and again peering
cautiously forth Jack discovered the lantern, closely muffled, on the
floor, and beside it the dim figure of the man working with his hands at
a plank. As Jack watched, wondering, the plank came up. Laying it aside
carefully, the stranger stepped down into the opening, recovered the
lantern, and disappeared.

"Now what under the sun is he up to?" exclaimed Jack to himself.

From the platform outside came the sound of footsteps. Jack started,
listened a moment, and uttered a low cry of triumph. At last he
understood.

"Well, what a dolt I am," he laughed. "Why didn't I think of that?

"The fellow is simply out beneath the platform, making sounds against the
under side of the planking--probably with a stick!"

[Illustration: JACK MADE OUT A THIN, CLEAN-SHAVEN FACE BENDING OVER
A DARK-LANTERN.]

Jack was still chuckling delightedly over this simple explanation of the
mysterious "walking" when the noise ceased, and the light of the lantern
returned.

On reappearing, the unknown dragged after him a long pole. As Jack
watched, puzzling over its use, the "spectre" hoisted the pole to his
shoulder, cautiously picked his way amid the freight to the telegraph-room
partition, and mounted a large box.

And then, while Jack fairly shook with internal laughter, he laboriously
raised the pole, and began bumping and scraping it up and down the under
side of the roof.

"Natural explanations!" bubbled Jack through his handkerchief. "And
imagine anyone being frightened at it--beating it for home!"

When the man on the box had concluded his second "demonstration," and
descended, Jack had cause to thank himself for his precaution in leaving
the dummy. Evidently puzzled at the silence in the operating-room, the
man placed his eye to the knot-hole in the partition, and peered through.
Muttering something in surprise, he listened closely, and looked again,
while Jack looked on, shaking, and holding his mouth. Apparently at last
satisfied that the "operator" within was asleep at his post, the intruder
turned about and threw a shaft of light up toward the wires of the loop.
Expectantly Jack waited. Had he also guessed right here?

But to his disappointment, after a brief debate with himself, the "ghost"
muttered, "If he's asleep, what's the use?" And catching up the pole, he
returned it to the hole in the floor, and replaced the plank.

Then, in final confirmation of Jack's deductions, the intruder turned his
attention to the packages of merchandise about him, speedily selected a
box, and proceeded to open it.

For several hours the unsuspecting freight robber worked, frequently
returning to the crack in the partition to assure himself that the
negligent "operator" there was still in the land of dreams, each time to
Jack's great amusement. And finally, having secured all the booty he
could handle, and having carefully closed the cases from which it had
been taken, he moved the plunder into his own box, crept in after; again
came the squeak of the screw-driver--and the robbery was complete.

At once Jack crept from his place of concealment, and back to the window;
dropped out, and was off on the run for the boarding-house. And twenty
minutes after he returned with the freight-house foreman and several
freight hands, armed, and with lanterns.

Entering by the door, he led them directly to the robber's box.

Sharply the foreman kicked at it, and called, "Hello, in there! Your
little game is up, my friend! Come out!"

There was no response, and he drew his revolver. "Open up quick, or I'll
shoot!"

"Oh, all right! All right!" cried a muffled voice hurriedly.

The next moment the Midway Junction "ghost" stepped grimly from his box,
and stood before them.

"But look here, youngster," ticked the chief despatcher, who some minutes
later followed Alex Ward on the wire in congratulating Jack on the
solution of the mystery, "don't you talk too much about this business, or
first thing you know they'll be taking you from the telegraph force, and
adding you to the detective department. We want you ourselves."

"No fear," laughed Jack. "I might try a matter like this once in a while,
but I want to work up as an operator, not a detective."

"You'll work up OK," declared the chief.




XII

IN A BAD FIX, AND OUT


"Good evening, young man!"

With a start Jack turned toward the quietly opened door of the
telegraph-room to discover a short, dark, heavily-bearded man, over whose
eyes was pulled a soft gray hat.

"I suppose you don't have many visitors at the station at this time of
night?" said the stranger, entering.

"No; but you are quite welcome. Have a chair," responded Jack
courteously.

To the young operator's surprise, the stranger drew the chair immediately
before him, and seating himself, leaned forward secretively. "My name is
Watts," he began, in a low voice, "and I've come on business. For you are
the lad who worked out that 'ghost' mystery here, and caused the capture
of the freight robber, aren't you?"

"Yes," confirmed Jack, in further wonder.

"I thought so. I thought as much. I know a clever lad when I see one. And
that was one of the cleverest bits of detective work I ever heard of,"
declared Mr. Watts, with a winning smile. "If the railroad detectives had
done their work as well, the whole freight-stealing gang would have been
landed. As it was none of the rest were caught, were they?"

[Illustration: THE STRANGER DREW THE CHAIR IMMEDIATELY BEFORE HIM,
AND SEATING HIMSELF, LEANED FORWARD SECRETIVELY.]

Instead of being pleased, the man's flattery and ingratiating manner had
ruffled Jack, and briefly he answered, "No, sir."

"No. I knew that already. I was one of them myself."

At this startling statement Jack stared. "I beg your pardon, sir?" he
exclaimed.

"I was a member of that gang myself," repeated Jack's strange caller,
again smiling broadly. "Don't you think I look the part?" So saying, he
pushed his hat back from his face.

Jack had no doubt of it. The small dark eyes were repellent with low
cunning and greed. Instinctively he half turned to cast a glance toward
the door. At once the smile disappeared, and the self-confessed
law-breaker threw open his coat and significantly tapped the butt of a
revolver. "No. You just sit still and listen," he ordered sharply; but
immediately again smiling, added, "though there needn't be anything of
this kind between two who are going to be good friends.

"Listen. What I called for was this: We want another man in the gang in
place of Joe Corry--that is the man you caught.

"And we decided to invite you."

Jack fairly caught his breath. "Why, you must be joking, or--"

"Or crazy, eh? Not quite. I was never more serious in my life. Listen!"
The speaker leaned forward earnestly. "After your spoiling our little
'ghost' game here the railroad people would never look for us starting in
again at the same place. Never in the world--would they? And likewise,
after your causing the capture of Corry, they would never in the world
suspect you of working with us. Do you see the point?

"And all you would have to do would be to keep your ears closed, and not
hear any noises out in the freight-room at night."

"And for doing that," concluded the law-breaker, "we will give you a
regular salary of $25 a month. We'll send it by mail, or bank it for you
at any bank you name, and no one will know where it comes from.

"What do you say?"

Jack drew back indignantly. "Most certainly not," he began. Then suddenly
he hesitated.

As the freight-robber had said, the authorities had been unable to obtain
a single clue to the whereabouts or identity of the remainder of the
freight-stealing gang. Should he accept the man's offer, came the
thought, undoubtedly, sooner or later, he would be able to bring about
the capture of every one of them.

Immediately following, however, there recurred to Jack one of his
mother's warnings--"that even the appearance of evil is dangerous,
always, as well as wrong."

But this would be quite different, Jack argued to himself--to cause the
capture of criminals. And what possible danger could there be in it? No
one would believe for an instant that I would go into such a thing
seriously, he told himself.

"All right, Mr. Watts," he said aloud. "I'll do it."

"Good! It's a go!" The freight-stealer spoke with satisfaction, and
rising, grasped Jack's hand. "I told you I knew a clever boy when I saw
one--and that means a wise one.

"Well, that's all there is to it, excepting the money matter. Where will
we send that? Here?"

Jack responded with an effort. "Yes, you may as well send it to me here."

"All right. Look for it at the end of the month," said Watts, proceeding
to the door.

"Remember, you are dumb. That's all. Good night."

Jack's sense of honor was not long in convincing him that he had made a
mistake in entering into such a bargain, even with a law-breaker. A dozen
times during the days that followed he would have given anything to have
been able to wipe out the agreement.

Unhappily this dissatisfaction with himself was to prove but a minor
result of the misstep.

Shortly after he had relieved the day operator at the station a week
later he was surprised by the appearance of one of the road detectives,
and with him a stranger.

"Good evening, Orr," said the detective in a peculiar tone. "Let me make
you acquainted with Sheriff Bates."

Jack started, and glanced from one to the other. "Is there anything
wrong?" he asked.

"Very slightly. Your little game is up, that's all. Your older partner
has given the thing away, and we have just found the watch in your room
at the boarding-house," announced the detective.

"Given the thing away? The watch? Why, what do you mean?" exclaimed Jack
in alarm.

"Oh, come! Watts has squealed, and we found the watch hidden, just as he
said, in the mattress of your bed up at the house."

In a flash Jack saw it all. Watts' offer had been a trap! A mere trap to
get him into trouble, probably in revenge!

He sprang to his feet. "It's not true! It's false! Whatever it is, it's
false! I did see Watts, and he asked me to go in with them, but I only
agreed so as to learn who they were, so we could capture them!"

To his utter dismay the two officers only laughed drily.

"No, no! That's quite too thin," declared the detective. "Read this."

Blankly Jack took the letter, and read:

  "Chief Detective,

  "Middle Western R. R.

  "Dear Sir: The young night operator at Midway Junction has joined
  the freight-stealing gang that Corry belonged to, and if you will
  look under the mattress in his room at the railroad boarding-house
  you will find a watch and chain of the lot we stole at Claxton two
  weeks ago. I gave it to him last Friday night. I came to Midway by
  the Eastfield freight, and when I saw another operator in the
  station office, I started up towards the boarding-house, and met
  Orr coming down. I mention this to show my story is all straight.

  "I heard he was going to give us away as soon as he had got enough
  loot himself, and claim he only went in with us to get us. That is
  why I am showing him up.

                                                       "Yours truly,

                                                         "W. Watts."

And the day operator _had_ worked for him that Friday evening, while he
was at the landlady's daughter's birthday party! And he _had_ come down
to the station at about the time the Eastfield night freight came in!

Jack sank back in the chair, completely crushed.

"Changed your mind, eh?" remarked the sheriff sarcastically.

Jack shook his head, but said nothing. What could he say!

"If it's 'false,' as you claim, how do you explain our finding the watch
in your room?" demanded the detective.

"I don't know. Someone must have put it there."

"Very likely. It wouldn't have crept up stairs and got under the bed
itself. And I suppose you will deny also that you saw Watts on the night
of the party, despite the fact that he could not otherwise have known the
unusual hour you came down to the station that night. Eh?"

"I never saw him after the night he called here," affirmed Jack
earnestly, but hopelessly.

"Well, you will have to prove it," declared the sheriff. And to Jack's
unspeakable horror he was informed he must be taken into custody.

                    *       *       *       *       *

Needless to say, the news of Jack's arrest, and of his early trial at
Eastfield, the county seat, came as a tremendous shock to Alex, at
Exeter. Of course he thoroughly disbelieved in Jack's guilt, despite the
net of circumstantial evidence which, according to the newspapers, had
been woven about his friend; and morning and afternoon he read and
re-read the papers, in the hope of something more favorable to Jack
developing.

It was through this close reading that Alex finally came upon the
discovery that was to draw him into the case himself, and to have so
important a bearing on the outcome of the trial.

Early in the evening preceding the day set for the hearing, Alex, before
starting work on his wire, was studying the paper as usual. For the
second time he was reading the letter from the man Watts that had had
such serious results for Jack.

Suddenly as he read Alex started, again read a portion of the letter, a
moment thought deeply, and with a cry sprang to his feet and hastened to
the chief despatcher's desk.

"Mr. Allen," he said excitedly, "in this letter Watts says he reached
Midway Junction that Friday night by the Eastfield freight, and that he
met and gave Jack Orr the watch after that.

"Now I remember distinctly that it was Jack reported the arrival of the
Eastfield freight that night. She was twenty minutes late, and I recall
asking if she was in sight yet, and his reply that she had just whistled.

"That means Jack was back at the station before the time at which Watts
claims he met him!"

"Ward, why in the world didn't you think of this before?" the chief
exclaimed. "It is the most important piece of evidence your friend could
have.

"Call Eastfield right away on the long-distance, and get Orr's lawyer,
and tell him."

Alex hastily did so, and a few minutes after he heard the lawyer's voice
from the distant town, and quickly told his story.

To his surprise the lawyer for a moment remained silent, then said
slowly, "Of course I would like to believe that. In fact it would make an
invaluable piece of evidence--practically conclusive.

"But really now, how could you be sure it was Orr you heard? What
possible difference can there be between the ticks made over a telegraph
wire by one distant operator, and those made by another?"

"Why, all the difference in the world, sometimes, sir," declared Jack.
"Any operator would tell you that. I would recognize Jack Orr's sending
anywhere I heard it."

But the lawyer at the other end was still incredulous. "Well," he said at
last, "if the jury was made up of telegraph operators, perhaps your claim
might go. As it is, however--"

"Say, I have it!" cried Alex. "Let me give a demonstration right there in
court of my ability to identify the sending of as many different
operators as we can get together, including Jack Orr. Could you arrange
that?"

The lawyer was interested at last. "But could you really do it? Are you
really that sure?"

"I am absolutely positive," declared Alex.

"Then you come right ahead," was the decisive response. "Come down here
by the first train in the morning, and bring two or three other
operators, and the necessary instruments.

"And if you can prove what you claim, I'll guarantee that your friend is
clear."

"Hurrah! Then he is clear!" cried Alex joyously.

Accompanied by three other operators from the Exeter office, and with a
set of telegraph instruments and a convenient dry-battery, Alex reached
the court-room at Eastfield at 10 o'clock the following morning.

The trial, which had attracted a crowd that packed the building to its
capacity, already had neared its conclusion. Jack's demeanor, and that of
his father, who was beside him, quickly informed Alex that matters were
looking serious for his chum. Confidently he waited, however, and at last
the court clerk arose and called his name.

The preliminary questions were passed, and Jack's attorney at once
proceeded. "Now Alex," he said, "this letter here, which has been put in
evidence, declares that the writer, Watts, went to Midway Junction by the
Eastfield freight on the Friday night in question, and that he then met
the defendant coming down to the station from his boarding-house, and
gave him the watch.

"Have you anything to say to this?"

"Yes, sir. Jack Orr was at the telegraph instruments in the Midway
Junction station several minutes before the Eastfield freight reached
there that night. It was he who reported her coming over the wire to me
at Exeter."

The lawyer for the prosecution looked up with surprise, then smiled in
amusement, while Jack and his father started, and exchanged glances of
new hope.

"You are positive it was the defendant you heard over the wire?" asked
Mr. Brown.

"Positive, sir."

"If necessary co

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