The Young Railroaders Part 45

From a trouser pocket Alex drew out a large jack-knife. With a suspicion of trembling he opened one of the blades and examined it, while the owner regarded him curiously. With a shake of the head the young operator opened the second blade. A quick smile of triumph lit up his face, and delving into a vest pocket, he brought forth a sc.r.a.p of paper, unfolded it, and took out a fragment of charred pine shaving.

Turning his back on the now anxiously watching, though still puzzled, owner of the knife, he held the shaving against the edge of the blade.

The superintendent bent over it, and uttered a delighted "Exactly!"

Triumphantly Alex turned toward the prisoner, and held the hand with the knife and shaving before him. "Does this help you to recall what K. & Z.

means?" he asked.

"Recall? I don't--"

"See these two little ridges on the shaving? See these two little nicks in the blade?"

With a hoa.r.s.e cry the man flung himself backward, and bound as he was, began struggling like a madman. Alex, the superintendent and the Indian were to the oiler's a.s.sistance in a twinkle, however, and a few minutes later saw the renegade in their midst on the way to the boarding train--and, as it finally proved, to the jail at Exeter.

"I don't know who to thank most," said Superintendent Finnan later--"you, Ward, or the oiler, or Little Hawk. Nor what appreciation to suggest higher up."

"You might make it a blanket and Winchester for the Indian, and a purse for the oiler, for the knocks he got and the bribe he refused," Alex suggested.

"And yourself?"

"Oh, just let me keep the rascal's knife, as a memento," responded Alex modestly.

"Very well; we'll agree on that--for the present," said the superintendent.

XX

A PRISONER

When the early-morning mail train stopped at Yellow Creek Junction on Tuesday, Alex was at the little box-car station to greet Jack Orr and Wilson Jennings. Jack, who had not met Wilson before the latter boarded the train at Bonepile, had taken a liking to the easterner at once, and confided to Alex that he was "the real goods," despite the "streak of dude."

"We ought to have some good times together," Jack predicted, as, with lively interest, he and Wilson accompanied Alex back toward the nondescript but businesslike-looking boarding-train.

Jack's hope, as far as it concerned the three boys being together, was soon shattered. As they reached the telegraph-car, Superintendent Finnan appeared, and having cordially shaken hands with Jack and Wilson, turned to Alex. "Ward," he said, "I have just decided to send you on to the Antelope viaduct. A courier has brought word from Norton, the engineer in charge, that trouble appears to be brewing amongst his Italian laborers, and I would like to get in direct touch with him. The telegraph line was strung within two miles of the bridge yesterday, and should reach Norton's camp to-day. How soon could you start?"

"As soon as I have breakfast, sir," responded Alex, stifling his disappointment. "It's twenty miles there, isn't it, Mr. Finnan? How am I to go?"

"You can ride a horse?"

"Yes, sir."

"Elder will have a pony here for you by the time you are ready. And you had better take an extra blanket with you," advised the superintendent as he turned away. "You will be living in a tent, you know."

Half an hour later Alex, mounted on a spirited little cow-pony, with a few necessities in a sweater, strapped to the saddle, and a blanket over his shoulder, army fashion, waved a good-by to Jack and Wilson, and was off over the prairie at a lope, following the telegraph poles.

It was a beautiful morning, and with the sun shining and the sparkling air brushing his cheeks and tingling in his nostrils, Alex quickly forgot his disappointment at being so quickly separated from Jack and Wilson, and soon was enjoying every minute of his ride. Keeping on steadily at a hand-gallop, before he realized he had covered half the distance, he came upon the wire-stringing and pole-erecting gangs. A half mile farther, a long, dark break appeared in the plain, and a m.u.f.fled din of pounding began to reach him. And pushing ahead, Alex drew up on the brink of a wide, deep gully, from either side of which reached out a great wooden frame, dotted with busy men.

It was the bed of the old Antelope river, which years before had changed its course, and which the railroad finally proposed crossing with a permanent fill.

Directly below, in a group of shrubby trees on the border of the stony creek which alone remained of the river, was a village of white tents.

From Alex's feet a rough trail slanted downward toward it. Giving his pony free rein, he descended.

"Where is Mr. Norton?" he asked of a water-boy at the foot of the path.

"That's him at the table in front of the middle tent," the boy directed.

Thanking him, Alex urged the pony forward, and leaped to the ground beside a dark-haired, energetic young man bending over a sheet of figures.

"I am the operator Mr. Finnan sent on," Alex announced as the engineer looked up.

"Glad to meet you," said the engineer, cordially rising and extending his hand. "You are a trifle young for this rough work, though, are you not?"

he ventured, noting Alex's youthful face. "You are not the operator who caught that K. & Z. man Sunday?"

"I helped catch him," Alex corrected.

"You'll do, then," said Norton. "And I'll give you a place here in my own tent," he added, turning and entering a small marquee, followed by Alex.

"This corner will be yours, and the box your 'office.' It will do for the instruments?"

"Fine," responded Alex.

As the wire-stringing gang was not due to reach the viaduct before mid-afternoon, on completing his arrangements in the tent, Alex set out for a tour of his new surroundings. Climbing up the western slope of the gully, he found a large gang of foreigners, mostly Italians, working in a cutting. Judging that this was the gang which was causing the anxiety, Alex paused some moments to watch them.

Scattered over a system of miniature track, the men were shovelling earth into strings of small dump-cars, which when filled were run out over the completed western end of the viaduct, and dumped. As Alex stood regarding the active scene, a string of cars rumbled toward him from one of the more distant sidings. Others had been pushed by several men. This was being driven by a single burly giant. With admiration Alex watched.

Suddenly a sense of something familiar about the figure stirred within him. The man came opposite, and Alex uttered an involuntary e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

It was Big Tony, the Italian who had led the trouble amongst the trackmen at Bixton two years back, and with whom he had had the thrilling encounter at the old brick-yard.

When the Italian glanced toward him, Alex started back. But the foreigner did not recognize the young operator, with his two years of rapid growth, and pa.s.sed on. Breathing a sigh of relief, Alex turned and made his way to the foreman in charge of the gang.

"How do you do," he said, introducing himself. "Who is that big Italian pushing the string of cars alone?"

"Tony Martino. The best man in the gang," responded the foreman. "Why? Do you know him?"

"He was on a surfacing-gang near my father's station two years ago," said Alex, "and caused no end of trouble. He was discharged finally."

"He must have reformed, then," the foreman declared. "He's certainly the best man we have--more than willing, and strong as an ox."

"He had nothing to do with the trouble you have had here, then?"

"He helped me put it down," said the foreman. "No; I only wish we had a few more like him."

Alex pa.s.sed on, thoughtful. At Bixton Big Tony had been no more remarkable for his willingness to work than for his peaceableness. Had he really changed for the better? Or was it possible he was "playing possum," to cover the carrying-out of some plan of revenge against the road?

Three evenings later, a beautiful, moonlit night, Alex left the camp for a stroll. To obtain a look up and down the old river-bed by the moonlight, he made his way out on the now nearly completed viaduct.

As he stood gazing down the ravine to the south, a half-mile distant a dark figure pa.s.sed over a bright patch of sand. It was quickly lost in the dark background beyond. But not before Alex had recognized the unmistakable figure and walk of the Italian, Big Tony. His suspicions at once awakened, Alex was but a moment in deciding to follow the foreigner, and returning to the eastern bank, he scrambled down to the gully bottom, and hastily followed, keeping well in the shadows on the eastern side of the ravine.