# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 22/Number 2/The Fluctuating Package/Chapter 5

CHAPTER V.
OVERHAULING SEVENTEEN.
THE baffling nature of the mystery caused a sudden silence to fall over the three in the express office. The moment was a breathless one for Al Reeves, and seemingly painful as well. He pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his mop of fiery hair.
"Somebody wake me up," he murmured, "or I'm goin' to scream. Joe smoked a double-X brand of dope in this bloomin' roost, and I been ketchin' the fumes. Johnnie Hocus-pocus is givin' us a run for our auburn chip, and that's what. When I weighed that bunch o' trouble at the baggage room and found it had put on four pounds between here and the depot, everythin' got black. I felt like I wanted to run around in circles and gibber. Then—then——" He broke off abruptly.
"Say," he went on, veering to another tack, "Lois McKenzie got in on Seventeen. Her father was at the station to meet her, and he gave a grip to somebody on the train. You'd have thought the girl had been gone a year from the fuss McKenzie made over her. She——"
Tingle-ingle-ingle! The telephone bell rattled. Summerfield's hand, on the way to the receiver, poised uncertainly in the air.
"I'm getting so I hate to answer the phone," said he. "Never know whether I'm due for a josh or a jolt. What do you think it is this time?" The bell snapped another warning, wild and impatient. "Here goes!" muttered Summerfield, and took down the receiver. "Hello!"
A rush of words came along the wire. "On the jump, sir!" said the agent, and hung up.
"It's Harrington," he announced, hustling into his cage and throwing books and papers into the safe. "He's at the division superintendent's office." The agent talked as he worked. "Wants me to come down to the station and wait on the platform. Says if Ruthven's here he's to come, too, if he will. There's a ruction of some kind afoot. Al, you're to take charge of the office till I get back."
Slam went the safe door, and the ​knob of the combination rattled as it whirled. Then bang went the door of the cage. "Come on, Ruthven!" By then Summerfield was out from behind the counter and on his way to the sidewalk.
"How long will you be gone, Joe?" inquired Reeves.
"Don't know—don't know anything! You just sit on the lid." The agent ran into the street with Ruthven close behind him.
The two laid a bee line for the railroad station. "Haven't you any idea what we're wanted for, Summerfield?" queried Ruthven.
"What is an idea?" returned the other, as he hurried along. "I couldn't apprehend one with a search warrant. My mind is a blank. Harrington has cracked the whip, and that's my signal to jump. I suppose we'll know something about this some time, but just now we've got to surge ahead in the dark. Harrington, I take it, went straight to the division superintendent of the railroad. Between them they've cooked up some scheme or other in mighty short order. What it is is a conundrum, and we haven't any time for a guessing contest."
Burt City was the headquarters of the railroad division. The station was a big building, with ticket office and waiting rooms below, and all upstairs given over to Durfee, the division boss, dispatchers, and rooms for other officials on Durfee's staff. When Ruthven and Summerfield reached the station platform, they encountered a headquarters "slave" coming from the direction of the roundhouse. The man's name was Perkins. He was in his shirt sleeves and wore an eye shade.
"Hello, Summerfield!" said Perkins. "You're in on this hurry-up business, too, eh? I heard Harrington telephoning you as I left the office."
"What's up, Perk?" queried the agent.
"A small-sized tornado just blew out of the old man's private sanctum. The dispatcher was ordered to hold Seventeen at Bluffton, first station west. I was told to go over to the yards and pick up the first engine I could find. Near as I can make out, the super, Harrington, and the rest of you are going after Seventeen. The regular west-bound has been Laid out, and particular Cain raised with the dispatcher's train sheet. The light engine is to have the right of way, and—— Ah, here's Long! Guess he must be in the party, too."
The senior member of the firm of Long & McKenzie came puffing down the platform at that moment. He was red and perspiring and tremendously excited. "Where's Durfee?" he asked. "What am I here for? Mac hadn't got back to the store, so I couldn't bring him along. What in thunder has the division superintendent been stirring up?"
"We're in the dark, Long, same as you," returned Summerfield.
"Was you told to come here?"
"Yes."
"Ruthven the same?"
"Yes. From what I can learn, we're all to ride with Durfee and Harrington on a light engine to Bluffton Seventeen is to be held there until we can overhaul her."
Long mopped his dripping, astounded face with a red bandanna handkerchief. "Well, I'll be ding-busted!" he exclaimed. "This comes mighty near bein' the limit. Huh!" he added, "here's a locomotive backin' up with a caboose. Wonder if that's our special?"
"Must be," said Perkins. "It's the old switch bumper, Sixty-seven. The way car will help to balance her, and keep her from running her nose into the roadbed."
Perkins said no more, but plowed along dutifully toward the stairs that led to the second-story offices. Durfee and Harrington had just appeared, red​faced and excited, and were running toward the way car. Harrington had found a linen duster somewhere, and a hat. The linen duster was too big for him, and he had rolled back the sleeves. The hat was a soft felt, and he had pulled it down over his skullcap.
"Get on, you fellows!" Harrington yelled, looking toward Ruthven, Long, and Summerfield. "We can't let any grass grow under us—we've got to hustle."
Durfee had run forward for a word with the engineer. Instructions took no more than a minute, and the extra west got under way, the superintendent swinging nimbly up on the steps as the way car came along. The others were all inside the car, and three of them were palpitating with excitement and curiosity. Ruthven had never met Durfee, and in that crisis no one thought of giving him an introduction. In the circumstances it was hardly necessary.
"What's the row, Durfee?" demanded Long. "I ought to know why you're taking me away from the store like this."
"We'll not keep you from your business very long," answered the superintendent. "Ten minutes at Bluffton will be enough, and then we'll all come back. Maybe we'll be gone an hour, all told."
"Providing," qualified Harrington wildly, "nothing happens!"
Durfee nodded grimly. "That's right, Harrington," he agreed; "and we'll hope for the best."
"What the devil can happen?" inquired Long, in a puzzled voice, as he peered through a window. "About the only thing I'm afeared of is that this bobtailed train will turn a somersault into the right of way. What's the use of goin' so fast?"
The engineer was certainly "hitting it up." The landscape was reeling past the windows, and the way car lurched and jumped like an untamed broncho.
"We're not telling you fellows everything," said the superintendent, "because Harrington and I do not think it wise; but we need you with us, and the business is important. If it wasn't, do you think I'd lay out the schedule of Seventeen like I'm doing? By thunder, I've never had anything throw such a scare into me!"
Durfee had his sea legs on, and could walk up and down the car with remarkable stability. This he proceeded to do, from time to time consulting his watch. The wheel flanges screeched on the curves, the way car shivered and rattled and seemed every moment on the point of going to pieces, while black soft-coal smoke floated back from the switch bumper and buried the car ab intervals.
Long left the bench at the side of the caboose and made his way to a chair that was riveted to the floor. There he sat, in front of a small desk, hanging onto the chair arms for dear life and watching pictures of prize fighters and actresses dance around the little bulkhead to which the desk was secured. He was consumed with curiosity regarding the object of that wild ride, and yet he was so afraid the caboose would leave the rails that he had no heart for asking questions.
And, anyhow, Durfee and Harrington were saying nothing about their reasons for overhauling Seventeen. As the superintendent had said, they were keeping that to themselves. There was a tenseness in the air, however, that hinted of great and awful possibilities. Durfee continued to walk back and forth, and Harrington evinced his disordered state of mind by pulling at his side whiskers.
Ruthven and Summerfield braced themselves side by side on a bench. The former reflected, in a milder degree, the vague fears of trouble playing in the express agent's face.
"The super and the traveling agent have got us all guessing," Ruthven said ​into Summerfield's ear. "But why the deuce they want me along is the hardest thing to understand."
"We'll see later on," the other returned. "We're close to Bluffton now, and when we're there the secret will come out."
A half dozen houses, a station about the size of a bandbox, and a water tank comprised the settlement of Bluffton. Ruthven, peering from the car as they slowed to a halt, could also see a number of stock pens. The place was a cattle-shipping point, it seemed. Barely had the extra stopped when Durfee made for the door. "All out!" he called.
The five in the way car tumbled from the forward platform. Seventeen was waiting just ahead. Some of the passengers were stretching their legs in the vicinity of the station and good-naturedly putting up with the delay. Others, who had close connections to make at a point farther on, were not so good-natured. The fireman of Seventeen's engine was on the ground and calmly using an oil cam The engineer leaned against one of the big drivers and watched curiously while the conductor hurried to meet the division superintendent.
"What's all the trouble, Mr. Durfee?" asked the conductor.
"Nothing that concerns you, Leason," Durfee answered, making his way toward the express car. The side door of this car was open, and the messenger stood within it. "Our business is here," added Durfee, and climbed up with a helping hand from the messenger.
Harrington followed, and he turned to beckon imperatively to Long, Ruthven, and Summerfield.
"You've got a prepaid parcel for Thomas Barton, consignees Long & McKenzie, Burt City," said the traveling agent. "Let's see it, Billings. Careful with it!" he cautioned.
Billings was careful with the package and careful to conceal his surprise. "Here it is," said he, and offered the Barton shipment.
With evident apprehension, Harrington took the package in his hands. Almost instantly his face cleared of worry. "I guess this is a case of all cry and no wool, Durfee," said he, in evident relief. "We're hornswoggled. If this weighs more than six pounds, I'll eat it."
"Pshaw!" grunted Durfee, as he took the package. "No ten pounds there." He drew a hand across his forehead. "I reckon we're safe," he added.
A howl of wrath came from Long. "Is this what you snatched me away from The Emporium for? That golbinged package again! Say, this joke has gone far enough."