Ralph, the Train Dispatcher; Or, The Mystery of the Pay Car

by Mrs. Molesworth

  CHAPTER XXV

  A WILD NIGHT

  "Tic-tac!"--"annul train 22--blockade at Fox Center"--"25-25-25-45stalled at Morey Gap." "Fast freight derailed--switch 19 outside ofAbingdon."

  "Whew!" exploded the first trick man at dispatcher's headquarters. "Didyou get all that, Fairbanks?"

  Ralph nodded, but did not speak. He was too busy for that. His hand wasconstantly on the key of his instrument, and his ear was bent withalmost painful tension to catch every faint vibration of the wires. Hiseyes jumped with magic swiftness from chart to note sheet and trainschedule. Ralph just now was a typical dispatcher in the midst ofmuddles, calls, cross-calls and piling up business enough to distractthe average man. The young railroader confessed to himself that this wasthe busiest hour of his life.

  It was a wild, stormy night outside, cozy enough in the warm,well-lighted dispatcher's room. The wind without went howling byshrilly. Great sweeps of snow deluged the window panes. Whistles fromthe yards sounded hoarse and muffled. Inside that room skilledintelligence and vigilance controlled the midnight workings of theimportant Great Northern. In a picture view Ralph could see some belatedlocomotive breasting the drifts of lonely gully and curve. He couldimagine a cumbersome freight feeling its way slowly past snow-cloudedsignals, marooned station men with their instruments knocked deadthrough fallen wires, and the venturesome repair crew wading throughdeep drifts to locate the break.

  And a finger on the key controlled all this mix-up, and intent eye andbrain tried to keep the various trains moving. As early as eight o'clockmessages had begun to come in fast and thick telling of the great stormof wind and snow, the third of the season, that was sweeping over theMountain Division of the Great Northern road.

  At ten o'clock the commercial wires went out from Rockton, and a specialoperator now sat over in a corner of the dispatcher's room at an extrainstrument taking press news over a roundabout circuit. Everything wentby jerks and starts. The insulation was bad and sometimes the soundersmoved without giving out any intelligible vibration.

  Towards eleven o'clock the rush was over on regular business, but thedelayed train list began to pile up alarmingly. Everything was late.Within the next half hour two blockades, four stalled freights and twotelegraph lines down were reported. It was now that Ralph was putdistinctly on his mettle. Glidden watched him anxiously but admiringlyfrom under his deep set eyebrows, and so far did not have to check up anerror in orders or a mistake in judgment.

  On either side of Ralph was a card. That on the right hand side had thenames of all the stations from Stanley Junction to Rockton. The one onthe left side had all the stations from Rockton to Stanley Junction. Onboth cards some of the stations had been crossed off, particularly onthe right hand card. In fact only one station this side of terminusremained.

  Glidden went quickly over to Ralph's table as a message ticked out thatboth had been waiting for. With a somewhat triumphant smile Ralphchecked off the last station with a dash of his pencil.

  "Gone through, eh?" spoke Glidden with a grin.

  "Safe and snug," answered Ralph. "You heard--one hour late on account ofthe snow, but no attack."

  "Good thing for the conspirators," observed Glidden. "Either they foundout it was a trap or saw the half dozen armed guards inside."

  "Perhaps they fancied we knew too much and gave up the experiment ofrobbing the pay car."

  "Well, she's through--now for the other one. How is it?"

  "Heavy snow, but she's making time," reported Ralph, glancing at theremaining card. "83 is a hundred miles out of Rockton. Just passedShoreham on the Mountain Division."

  "Say, those fellows will never guess what they've missed till it's toolate, hey?"

  "It seems so," nodded Ralph.

  There was a lapse of messages now. Only the ceaseless grind of pressdispatches clicked from the instrument over in the corner. Ralph satback and took a breathing spell.

  The pay car had gone through--the dummy pay car rather--which had leftthe Junction at eight o'clock that morning. It had been loaded uppretentiously with the apparent usual bags of coin and little safes thatwere used on regular trips. These, however, contained no money. Thepaymaster went aboard ostentatiously. The doors and windows weresecurely locked as usual. Inside, however, were half a dozen men armedto the teeth. The dummy pay car was a bait for the robbers. They had notappeared. The cypher message to Ralph just received told him that thetrain had reached terminus without hindrance or damage.

  "Now for the other one," Glidden had said. This meant a good deal. The"other one" was the real pay car, loaded with real treasure. Tocheckmate any possible attack, the railroad officials with great secrecyhad loaded up an ordinary baggage car with the pay safes and bullion intransit for banks. It was proposed to distribute this in parcels atsection centers out of the usual routine.

  So far it looked as if it would be smooth sailing except for the snowstorm. No. 83 was reported as having passed over one hundred miles onthe route. There was a train hand on guard on the front platform of thecar and two guards inside, according to the advices Ralph had received.

  The impromptu pay car had been hitched to the rear of a long train ofmilk cars. This had been done because she was to be switched at fourdifferent points before she reached Stanley Junction. The pay safes hadbeen boxed up and burlapped, giving the appearance of ordinary freight.

  There was some inconsequential messages during the ensuing half hour.Then a chance to tally on the route card on Ralph's table as No. 83 wasreported to have passed Fletcher, one hundred and twenty-five miles outof Rockton.

  Then the commercial wire slowed down for a spell. The operator got up,stretching his cramped fingers.

  "Snow two feet on the level at Rockton," he reported, "and coming downlike an avalanche. Why don't they send me 30? I've got the grist up to29. Hello, here she comes. No, she don't. Another item."

  The operator jumped to his instrument and began to flimsy the message.Ralph arose sharply from his chair. He had lost most of the message, butone part of it had caught his hearing.

  It startled him, for a name had tapped out clear and distinct, afamiliar name--Glen Palmer.