The Grafters

by Francis Lynde

  XXVII

  BY ORDER OF THE COURT

  Between the hours of eight-thirty and ten P.M. the Union Passenger Stationat the capital presents a moving and spirited spectacle. Within the hourand a half, four through and three local trains are due to leave, and thespace within the iron grille that fences off the track platforms from thepublic part of the station is filled with hurrying throngs oftrain-takers.

  Down at the outer end of the train-shed the stuttering pop-valves of thelocomotives, the thunderous trundling of the heavy baggage trucks, and theshrill, monotonous chant of the express messengers checking in theircargoes, lift a din harmonious to the seasoned traveler; a medley softenedand distance-diminished for those that crowd upon the gate-keepers at theiron grille.

  It was the evening of the last day in the month; the day when theFederative Council of Railway Workers had sent its ultimatum to ReceiverGuilford. The reduction in wages was to go into effect at midnight: if, bymidnight, the order had not been rescinded, and the way opened for a jointconference touching the removal of certain obnoxious officials, a generalstrike and tie-up would be ordered. Trains in transit carrying passengersor United States mail would be run to their respective destinations;trains carrying perishable freight would be run to division stations: withthese exceptions all labor would cease promptly on the stroke of twelve.

  Such was the text of the ultimatum, a certified copy of which EngineerScott had delivered in person into the hands of the receiver at noon.

  It was now eight forty-five P.M. The east-bound night express was readyfor the run to A. & T. Junction; the fast mail, one hour and thirty-fiveminutes late from the east, was backing in on track nine to take on thecity mail. On track eight, pulled down so that the smoke from the engineshould not foul the air of the train-shed, the receiver's private car,with the 1010 for motive power and "Red" Callahan in the cab, had beenwaiting since seven o'clock for the order to run special to Gaston. And asyet the headquarters office had made no sign; sent no word of reply to thestrike notice.

  Griggs was on for the night run eastward with the express; and "Dutch"Tischer had found himself slated to take the fast mail west. The change ofengines on the mail had been effected at the shops; and when Tischerbacked his train in on track nine his berth was beside the 1010. Callahanswung down from his cab and climbed quickly to that of the mail engine.

  "Annything new at the shops, Dutchy?" he inquired.

  "I was not somet'ings gehearing, _nein_. You was dot _Arkoos_ newsbaperdis evening _schen_? He says nodings too, alretty, about dot strike."

  "Divil a worrd. Ye might think Scotty'd handed the major a bit av blankpaper f'r all the notice he's taking. More thin that, he's lavin' town,wid me to pull him. The Naught-seven's to run special to Gaston--bad cessto ut!"

  "Vell, I can'd hellup id," said the phlegmatic Bavarian. "I haf the mailand egspress got, and I go mit dem t'rough to Pighorn. You haf der brivatecar got, and you go mit dem t'rough to Gaston. Den ve qvits, ain'd it?"

  Callahan nodded and dropped to the platform. But before he could mount tothe foot-board of the 1010, M'Tosh collared him.

  "Patsy, I have your orders, at last. Your passengers will be down in a fewminutes, and you are to pull out ahead of the express."

  "Is it to Gaston I'm goin', Misther M'Tosh?"

  The fireman was standing by with the oil can and torch, ready toCallahan's hand, and the train-master drew the engineer aside.

  "Shovel needn't hear," he said in explanation. And then: "Are you willingto stand with us, Patsy? You've had time enough to think it over."

  Callahan stood with his arms folded and his cap drawn down over his eyes.

  "'Tis not f'r meself I'm thinkin', Misther M'Tosh, as ye well know. ButI'm a widdy man; an' there's the bit colleen in the convint."

  "She'll be well cared for, whatever happens to you," was the quick reply.

  "Thin I'm yer man," said Callahan; and when the train-master was gone, heordered Shovel to oil around while he did two or three things which, to aninitiated onlooker, might have seemed fairly inexplicable. First hedisconnected the air-hose between the car and the engine, tying the endsup with a stout cord so that the connection would not seem to be broken.Next he crawled under the Naught-seven and deliberately bled the air-tank,setting the cock open a mere hair's-breadth so that it would leak slowlybut surely until the pressure was entirely gone.

  Then he got a hammer and sledge out of the engine tool-box, and afterhooking up the safety-chain couplings between the private car and the1010, he crippled the points of the hooks with the hammer so that theycould not be disengaged without the use of force and the proper tools.

  "There ye are, ye ould divil's band-wagon," he said, apostrophizing theprivate car when his work was done. "Ye'll ride this night where PatsyCallahan dhrives, an' be dommed to ye."

  Meanwhile the train-master had reached the iron grille at the other end ofthe long track platform. At a small wicket used by the station employeesand trainmen, Kent was waiting for him.

  "Is it all right, M'Tosh? Will he do it?" he asked anxiously.

  "Yes, Patsy's game for it; I knew he would be. He'd put his neck in a ropeto spite the major. But it's a crazy thing, Mr. Kent."

  "I know it; but if it will give me twenty-four hours--"

  "It won't. They can't get home on our line because we'll be tied up. Butthey can get the Naught-seven put on the Overland's Limited at A. & T.Junction, and that will put them back here before you've had time to turnaround twice. Have they come down yet?"

  "No," said Kent; and just then he saw Loring coming in from the streetentrance and went to meet him.

  "I have the final word from Boston," said the ex-manager, when he hadwalked Kent out of earshot of the train-takers. "Your terms areaccepted--with all sorts of safeguards thrown about the 'no cure, no pay'proviso; also with a distinct repudiation of you and your scheme if thereis anything unlawful afoot. Do you still think it best to keep me in thedark as to what you are doing?"

  "Yes; there are enough of us involved, as it stands. You couldn't help;and you might hinder. Besides, if the mine should happen to explode in ourdirection it'll be a comfort to have a foot-loose friend or two on theoutside to pick up the pieces of us."

  Loring was polishing his eye-glasses with uncommon vigor.

  "I wish you'd drop it, David, if it isn't too late. I can't help feelingas if I had prodded you into it, whatever it is."

  Kent linked arms with him and led him back to the street entrance.

  "Go away, Grantham, and don't come back again," he commanded. "Then youcan swear truthfully that you didn't know anything about it. It is toolate to interfere, and you are not responsible for me. Go up to seePortia; she'll keep you interested while you wait."

  When Loring was gone, Kent went back to the wicket in the grille; butM'Tosh, who was always a busy man at train-time, had disappeared again.

  It was a standing mystery to the train-master, and to the rank and file,why Receiver Guilford had elected to ignore the fact that he was withinthree hours of a strike which promised to include at least four-fifths ofhis operatives; had taken no steps for defense, and had not confided, asit appeared, in the members of his own official staff.

  But Kent was at no loss to account for the official silence. If the secretcould be kept for a few hours longer, the junto would unload theTrans-Western, strike, tie-up and general demoralization, upon anunsuspecting Overland management.

  None the less, there were other things unexplainable even to Kent; forone, this night flitting to Gaston to put the finishing touch on anedifice of fraud which had been builded shamelessly in the light of day.

  Kent had not the key to unlock this door of mystery; but here the masterspirit of the junto was doing, not what he would, but what he could. Thenegotiations for the lease had consumed much time at a crisis when timewas precious. Judge MacFarlane had to be recalled and once more bulliedinto subjection; and Falkland, acting for the Plantagould interest, hadinsisted upon some formal co
mpliance with the letter of the law.

  Bucks had striven masterfully to drive and not be driven; but the delayswere inexorable, and the impending strike threatened to turn the orderlycharge into a rout. The governor had postponed the _coup_ from day to day,waiting upon the leisurely movements of Falkland; and at the end of theends there remained but three hours of the final day of grace when thetelegram came from Falkland with the welcome news that the Overlandofficials were on their way from Midland City to keep the appointment inGaston.

  Of all this Kent knew nothing, and was anxious in just proportion as theminutes elapsed and the time for the departure of the east-bound expressdrew near. For the success of the desperate venture turned upon this: thatthe receiver's special must leave ahead of the passenger train. With theexpress blocking the way the difficulties became insurmountable.

  Kent was still standing at the trainmen's wicket when Callahan sent theprivate car gently up to the trackhead of track eight. M'Tosh had beentelephoning again, and the receiver and his party were on the way to thestation.

  "I was afraid you'd have to let the express go first," said Kent, when thetrain-master came his way again. "How much time have we?"

  "Five minutes more; and they are on the way down--there they come."

  Kent looked and saw a group of six men making for the nearest exit in thegrille. Then he smote his fist into his palm.

  "Damn!" he muttered; "they've got the vice-president of the Overland withthem! That's bad."

  "It's bad for Mr. Callafield," growled M'Tosh. "We're in too deep now toback down on his account."

  Kent moved nearer and stood in the shadow of the gate-keeper's box,leaving M'Tosh, who was on the track platform, free to show himself. Fromhis new point of espial Kent checked off the members of the party. WhenMajor Guilford left it to come back for a word with M'Tosh, there werefive others: the governor, his private secretary, Hawk, Halkett, thegeneral superintendent, and the Overland's vice-president.

  "All ready, M'Tosh?" said the receiver.

  "Ready and waiting, Major," was the bland reply.

  "Who is our engineer?"

  "Patrick Callahan."

  "That wild Irishman? The governor says he'd as soon ride behind thedevil."

  "Callahan will get you there," said the train-master, with deliberateemphasis. Then he asked a question of his own. "Is Mr. Callafield goingwith you?"

  "No. He came down to see us off. How is the fast mail to-night?"

  "She's just in--an hour and thirty-five minutes late."

  The major swore pathetically. He was of the generation of railwayofficials, happily fast passing, which cursed and swore itself intoauthority.

  "That's another five hundred dollars' forfeit to the Post-officeDepartment! Who's taking it west?"

  "Tischer."

  "Give him orders to cut out all the stops. If he is more than fifty-fiveminutes late at Bighorn, he can come in and get his time."

  Tischer had just got the word to go, and was pulling out on the yard mainline.

  "I'll catch him with the wire at yard limits," said M'Tosh. Then: "Wouldyou mind hurrying your people a little, Major? The express is due toleave."

  Guilford was a heavy man for his weight, and he waddled back to theothers, waving his arms as a signal for them to board the car.

  Kent saw the vice-president of the Overland Short Line shake hands withBucks and take his leave, and was so intent upon watching the tableau ofdeparture that he failed to notice the small boy in Western Union blue whowas trying to thrust a telegram, damp from the copying rolls, into hishand.

  "It's a rush, sir," said the boy, panting from his quick dash across thetrack platforms.

  It was Ormsby's message from Breezeland; and while Kent was trying tograsp the tremendous import of it, M'Tosh was giving Callahan the signalto go. Kent sprang past the gate-keeper and gave the square of damp paperto the train-master.

  "My God! read that!" he gasped, with a dry sob of excitement. "It was ourchance--one chance in a million--and we've lost it!"

  M'Tosh was a man for a crisis. The red tail-lights of the private-carspecial were yet within a sprinter's dash of the trackhead, but thetrain-master lost no time chasing a ten-wheel flyer with "Red" Callahan atthe throttle.

  "Up to my office!" he shouted; and ten seconds later Kent was leaningbreathless over the desk in the despatcher's room while M'Tosh calledDurgan over the yard limits telephone.

  "Is that you, Durgan?" he asked, when the reply came. Then: "Drop theboard on the mail, quick! and send somebody to tell Tischer to side-track,leaving the main line Western Division clear. Got that?"

  The answer was evidently prompt and satisfactory, since he began againalmost in the same breath.

  "Now go out yourself and flag Callahan before he reaches the limits. Tellhim the time-card's changed and he is to run _west_ with the special toMegilp as first section of the mail--no stops, or Tischer will run himdown. Leg it! He's half-way down the yard, now!"

  The train-master dropped the ear-piece of the telephone and crossedquickly to the despatcher's table.

  "Orders for the Western Division, Donohue," he said curtly, "and don't letthe grass grow. 'Receiver's car, Callahan, engineer, runs to Megilp asfirst section of fast mail. Fast mail, Hunt, conductor; Tischer, engineer;runs to the end of the division without stop, making up all timepossible.' Add to that last, 'By order of the receiver.'"

  The orders were sent as swiftly as the despatcher could rattle them off onhis key; and then followed an interval of waiting more terrible than abattle. Kent tried to speak, but his lips were parched and his tongue waslike a dry stick between his teeth. What was doing in the lower yard?Would Durgan fail at the pinch and mismanage it so as to give the alarm?The minutes dragged leaden-winged, and even the sounders on thedespatcher's table were silent.

  Suddenly the clicking began again. The operator at "yard limits" wassending the O.K. to the two train orders. So far, so good. Now if Callahancould get safely out on the Western Division...

  But there was a hitch in the lower yard. Durgan had obeyed his orderspromptly and precisely, and had succeeded in stopping Callahan at thestreet-crossing where Engineer Dixon had killed the farmer. Durgan climbedto the cab of the 1010, and the changed plan was explained in a dozenwords. But now came the crux.

  "If I stand here till you'd be bringin' me my orders, I'll have the wholekit av thim buzzin' round to know fwhat's the matther," said Callahan; butthere was no other thing to do, and Durgan hurried back to the telegraphoffice to play the messenger.

  He was too long about it. Before he got back, Halkett was under the cabwindow of the 1010, demanding to know--with many objurgations--whyCallahan had stopped in the middle of the yards.

  "Get a move on you!" he shouted. "The express is right behind us, andit'll run us down, you damned bog-trotter!"

  Callahan's gauntleted hand shot up to the throttle-bar.

  "I'm l'avin', Misther Halkett," he said mildly. "Will yez go back to thecar, or ride wit' me?"

  The general superintendent took no chance of catching the Naught-seven'shand-rails in the darkness, and he whipped up into the cab at the firstsharp cough of the exhaust.

  "I'll go back when you stop for your orders," he said; but a shadowyfigure had leaped upon the engine-step a scant half-second behind him, andCallahan was stuffing the crumpled copy of the order into the sweat-bandof his cap. The next instant the big 1010 leaped forward like a bloodedhorse under an unmerited cut of the whip, slid past the yard limitstelegraph office and shot out upon the main line of the Western Division.

  "Sit down, Misther Halkett, an' make yerself aisy!" yelled Callahan acrossthe cab. "'Tis small use Jimmy Shovel'll have for his box this night."

  "Shut off, you Irish madman!" was the shouted command. "Don't you seeyou're on the wrong division?"

  Callahan gave the throttle-bar another outward hitch, tipped his seat andtook a hammer from the tool-box.

  "I know where I'm goin', an' that's more thin you know, ye blandh
anderin'divil! Up on that box wit' you, an' kape out av Jimmy Shovel's road, orI'll be the death av yez! Climb, now!"

  It was at this moment that the tense strain of suspense was broken in thedespatcher's room on the second floor of the Union Station. The telephoneskirled joyously, and the train-master snatched up the ear-piece.

  "What does he say?" asked Kent.

  "It's all right. He says Callahan is out on the Western Division, withTischer chasing him according to programme. Halkett's in the cab of the1010 with Patsy, and--hold on--By George! he says one of them jumped thecar as it was passing the limits station!"

  "Which one was it?" asked Kent; and he had to wait till the reply camefrom Durgan.

  "It was Hawk, the right-of-way man. He broke and ran for the nearestelectric-car line the minute he hit the ground, Durgan says. Does hecount?"

  "No," said Kent; but it is always a mistake to under-rate an enemy'scaliber--even that of his small arms.