The Young Railroaders Part 3

The racing hoofs drew nearer, and placing his hands to his mouth he cried: "h.e.l.lo! 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 G.o.d! 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, m.u.f.fled 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 pa.s.sengers 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 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 pa.s.sengers, 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 G.o.d! Thank G.o.d!" 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 pa.s.sed?"

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

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