Читать книгу Mystery Rides the Rails - Gilbert A. Lathrop - Страница 7

4

OFF THE TRACK

FOR a long time after they were gone Mr. Orest sat looking at the door through which they had left. There was a dreamy light in his eyes. He was thinking back over a span of empty years in which no child of his had shared his love, and he was thinking what a wonderful thing it would be if these two lads were his own sons.

Early the following morning Joe and Tubby headed for the engine house. They ran their little locomotive out into the cold sunshine and carefully looked her over before they moved her down to the depot.

Quite a sizeable group of people was assembled on the platform to see them off on their final lap of opening the railroad to traffic again. News of their efforts had been noised around, and everyone, save Anson Weird and his fireman, was there to wish them every kind of success.

Joe coupled his engine into the coach. While he waited for the shovel men to come down to work, he dropped off beside his little charge and began carefully going over her again. He did not see the two men who came down the street, passed the depot, and halted beside him.

“I thought you two fellers would be gone from here today,” sneered the older of them in an ugly voice. His eyes were coal black, his nose long and pointed. His teeth were yellow fangs.

“No, we won’t be getting away today,” Joe smiled. “We have about half a mile of slides left to buck out.”

“Didn’t Mr. Orest talk to you last night?” demanded the stranger.

Joe frowned. “Perhaps an introduction might be in order,” he intimated.

“I’m Anson Weird, engineer on this railroad. An’ now you might answer my question.”

“Yes, I talked with Mr. Orest,” admitted Joe.

“I thought he told you he was going to let you go,” said Anson.

“He suggested something of the kind. He also suggested making a cash settlement for opening up his railroad, but we refused. His original bargain was to give my fireman and me regular jobs here!”

“An’ he’s gonna stick to that?” barked Anson, angrily.

Joe nodded.

Anson deliberately turned on his heel. Followed by his fireman he took himself off up the street, directly toward the Silver Town National Bank.

By this time all of the shovel men were assembled in the coach, so Joe climbed up into the cab and whistled off.

His thoughts raced with the drive rods all the way down to the remaining slides. When he had asked Mr. Orest to keep him and his partner as engineer and fireman, and when he had assured Mr. Orest that he was a trouble doctor, he had been playing on his luck. The luck of Joe Jutton had been phenomenal while he had worked for the Continental Divide Railroad. He had acquired the nickname of “Lucky” there. He had been relying solely on his luck when he had assured Mr. Orest that he felt sure he could help him from his dilemma with the mortgage. There were ninety days in which to get a renewal on that mortgage. From what Joe could see of the railroad and its equipment, it was the best kind of security on that amount of money. He felt that if the worst came to the worst, he could go east on a scouting expedition and easily raise the amount.

By this time they were down to the remaining slides. Joe halted while he waited for the men to face the first of them. When the shovel men clambered over the surface of that one, to start work on the next, he backed up the track to tear into the first one.

By eleven o’clock there remained but one slide. It was not a large one, and both lads felt sure that they could go through it in one trial. Every man was rejoicing in the fact that the line was almost open again. Now those much needed provisions could be brought into the camp. It meant that the Sunnyside Smelter could go to work at full blast once more.

Joe backed far up the track and came roaring down toward the last of the slides. He was tensed on his side of the cab. His reverse lever was clutched in both hands, ready to throw it over and back out on the first sign of the engine sticking. Tubby was on his side, a wide grin on his lips, and excitement glowing in his eyes.

Then they were into it. There came the slowing surge, then the leaping white mass of snow as it rose over the top of the wedge plow. The air of the cab filled with steam.

On the left-hand side the track dropped almost precipitously away from them several hundred feet to the river.

Both lads felt the pony truck wheels rise over the restraining rails. Both felt the rough, bucking plunge as their engine bounded over the ties. The wedge plow headed directly for the frozen river below, then the locomotive followed it!

The air of the cab was thick with steam. The steep bank of snow kept Joe from jumping from the right-hand side. Both realized they were trapped. Both of them felt their engine leave the rails. Joe shouted across to his chum: “Jump! Quick!”

He did not think of himself. His hands were clutching the reverse lever. It was almost unconsciously that he jerked it back in the reverse motion. The wheels of the little engine spun on the rails, and she rocked and rolled dangerously. But Joe had saved her from going over the edge of the cliff.

Slowly the steam cleared from the cab. Joe was standing with one hand still frozen to the reverse lever, his other on the throttle. But he was quite calm. He looked across to see if his chum had jumped. Tubby was still standing complacently on his side of the engine. His features were composed, and an indomitable grin was on his lips.

“Why didn’t you jump?” demanded Joe.

“Becauthe I didn’t want to leave you,” said Tubby simply.

“But you stood a chance of getting caught under her if she tipped over,” said Joe, a frown corrugating his forehead.

“Yeth an’ you thtood a chance of getting caught if the rolled over like the would have been thure to do,” grinned Tubby.

By this time several of the shovel men were running toward the engine. Joe climbed down into the snow to survey the damage, and to see just how badly they were off the track. The wedge plow and the pony truck wheels were hanging over the edge, but the drivers rested on the ties and the embankment. A glance showed him that the tender was still riding the rails.

Joe faced toward a shovel man who was slightly ahead of the balance.

“She looks bad, doesn’t she?” he said.

The shovel man nodded. “She sure does, but she looked worse there for a minute. You boys missed getting yours by a narrow margin this day,” he said, feelingly.

Joe chuckled. “Misses are as good as miles and miles,” he said.

“What do you want us to do?” The shovel man changed the subject.

“I expect you had better dig down to the ground so we can get some traction for the wheels. I think that by setting frogs and backing her up on the ties, she’ll go right back on the rails,” explained Joe.

The men fell to work with a will. In a short time the black cinder covered ground was laid bare. He showed the men how to place the “frogs,” which are heavy, steel, turtle-backed objects that serve to lift the wheels of cars or engines back on the rails.

Everything being done to his satisfaction, Joe climbed into the cab. He knew he faced the most hazardous part of the entire undertaking. The least slip was liable to turn the locomotive down the hillside. Once she started rolling, only the frozen river at the bottom would stop her.

“Are you all in the clear?” called Joe, his freckled face shoved out of the cab window.

He received an affirmative shout from the shovel men.

He pulled the reverse still farther into the back motion and grasped his throttle. He pulled it wide open. For a space the little engine acted as though she were not going to respond. Then she quivered into life. Her drivers spun on the ice beneath them, burning it away to the ground. Then they found traction where the snow had been shoveled away. Roughly, and with violent rocking and swaying, she jolted along for several feet. Her drivers found the frogs, climbed up on them, and dropped jokingly down on the rails again. The pony truck wheels and the ungainly wedge plow followed.

She was back on the rails!

Joe moved her slowly away from the balance of the slide. He halted, then clambered down to the snow and went ahead to instruct the men on their next move. He had them dig down to the rails, where the engine had left them. The track was undamaged. Ice had lifted the engine from the track. A couple of men with picks soon removed this. Joe waved the men out of the track and returned to his engine.

“We’ll hit her again, Tubby!” he called as he climbed back into the cab.

“Thath all right with me,” called Tubby. “Hit her hard, tho we’ll go clear through thith time!”

Joe pulled two blasts on his whistle. He opened the throttle, and they were on their way into the slide. This time the little engine stayed on the rails. She came nosing from the other side, shaking herself free of the clinging snow, and rolled to a halt.

Animas Canyon was cleared of its snowslides! The Silver Town Northern Railroad was free to resume operations again!