Page:Boys' Life Mar 1, 1911.djvu/6

6 Winter again. The conductor had an envelope in his hand.

"What's that?" he asked.

"It's a message Mr. Aylward, the lawyer, wants to have sent from Bywater," replied Winter with a sly smile.

"Let me look at it," said Jack shortly.

With an air of quick decision he tore the envelope before the astonished conductor's eyes.

"Well," he exclaimed on reading Aylward's message. "I'd give a hundred dollars to know the key to this; anyhow, it won't get any further than my pocket. Listen: 'Jenkins, Engineer, Goldstone—Iron girders delayed. May be in time. Rush order No. 27.'

"What do you suppose that means, Winter?"

"Can't tell, except that Goldstone is the little town at the end of the lines that the Kansas Central branch drove up to the country that the Arundel County branch covers. They'd got that far toward reaching the N.P. junction when the Sunset got the Arundel County franchise. They've never built beyond Goldstone."

Jack said no more on the subject then, but went into the smoking-car, where he found Colonel Carson and the little lawyer with their heads close together talking excitedly. He watched them thoughtfully until the train pulled up at Bywater.

Just before they reached the station Jack noticed a parallel line of rusted rails that branched off to the south through the woods. This was the beginning of the Arundel County branch.

As the express came to a halt the telegraph operator hailed the conductor.

"Anyone aboard named Jack Fletcher?" he cried.

"Yes," answered Winter, "the president's nephew. He's expecting a message.

"Shall we start right ahead, sir?" asked Winter as he handed Jack the message the operator delivered.

"Wait!" was the brief reply.

Jack tore open the envelope and read with terrible dismay:—

"Mr. Fletcher out of town for day."

This was signed by the president's private secretary. A second message in the same envelope completed his confusion. It ran:—

"No train of any kind over the Arundel County branch today.—Coleman, Train Despatcher."

This message placed beyond doubt the fact that the officials of the Sunset line knew of no reason why they should run a train to Arundel that day.

It was a facer. The president was out of reach, and nothing was done toward saving the Arundel branch from destruction.

Winder still stood by expectantly.

"What's to be done, Mr Fletcher?" he asked. "We're losing time."

"For heaven's sake, shut up, Winter," Jack cried irritably. "Do you think there's nothing in the world that's important except to get your blamed train on time? I'm going to talk to Sullivan."

The big driving wheels of the locomotive were beginning to revolve when Jack reached the engineer's cab. Sullivan had become impatient of the delay.

"Stop this train!" commanded Jack sharply. "And come down here, Sullivan; I want to speak to you."

The wheels ceased to revolve, and in a moment a bushy-haired man came down the steps, wiping his hands on a bit of waste.

"Do you know, mister," he said aggressively, "that I've got to make up thirty minutes on my schedule?"

"Who do you take your orders from?" asked Jack, without appearing to notice this very pertinent remark.

"From headquarters," replied Sullivan.

"Well, just now—I'm headquarters! I'm John Fletcher's nephew, representing the president. Hold this train till I give you the word to start. Do you understand?"

Sullivan looked blank, and Winter, who had just come up behind Jack, seemed suddenly to wilt. He expected from the engineer a burst of profanity hot enough to set the woods on fire.

"Let me tell you how things stand," said Jack, addressing the confused Sullivan.

"We've only a few minutes to settle something that is of immense importance to the Sunset line, and we have to decide it alone—we three."

Briefly he then gave the astonished engineer an outline of the plot against Sunset.

"Moses!" ejaculated Sullivan; "the thunderin' villains. And you can't reach the president?"

"No," said Jack.

"And this train has got to get to Arundel by twelve o'clock tonight or the tracks will be torn up?

"Yes," replied Jack. "I heard Aylward, the scoundrelly lawyer, say so himself."

Sullivan looked at Jack with a gleam of admiring wonder in his eyes. The lad, he was only a lad in spite of his twenty-two years, was pale, but his face wore a look of tense determination.

"By the holy St. Patrick!" exclaimed Sullivan, suddenly grasping Jack's hand in his greasy fist; "you're the real stuff, and I'm with you to the last breath. It's the only thing to do."

"What is?" interjected the worried conductor.

"Why," shouted Sullivan impatiently, "back the train and take the branch road like a streak of greased lightning."

Jack breathed a sigh of infinite relief. With the engineer on his side the game was half won.

"We'll both be carpeted for this, Sullivan, and perhaps lose our jobs," groaned Winter, wringing his hands. "We can't do it," he continued; "think of it, taking the express with passengers and mails one hundred and fifty miles out of her way. It'll ruin the road."

"Oh, bust!" said Sullivan; "you make me tired. What have you got to do with it? You're only the conductor; you're not responsible."

There was keen jealousy between the two men as to who was really responsible for the express.

"Come on," interrupted Jack, "we've no time to waste. I'll hold you both free of responsibility."

"Get aboard then," sang out Sullivan, jumping on his footboard.

"Just a moment," said Jack, "until I wire