# Boys' Life/Volume 1/Number 1/The Lost Express

BOYS’ LIFE
Vol. I, No. 1
MARCH 1, 1911
5¢ a Copy
THE LOST EXPRESS
By JOHN CARISFORD
JOHN FLETCHER, President of the Sunset line, which, until the mammoth railway syndicates absorbed it, had its headquarters in Chicago, and was of no small importance, was faced by a most unpleasant task.
He sat in his private office, a bare, business-like room. In a chair in front of him lounged his nephew, Jack Fletcher, his only brother's eldest son. The old man looked grave and worried, for he had come to the conclusion that this light-hearted, good-looking youngster was totally unfitted for railway work, and that, therefore, he must allow no sentiment to interfere with his resolution of turning him out of the office.
He had intended that Jack Fletcher should in time succeed him in the office of president of the line, and with that in view had made him his assistant, and looked to him to assiduously make himself acquainted with the methods of governing a couple of thousand miles of railway.
He had been disappointed in the lad, and was now telling him so, seizing as a favorable moment that at which his nephew had asked him for a holiday.
"A holiday!" the old man almost shouted. "How and when have you earned a holiday?"
"Well," said Jack, looking perplexed: "I've been at business—"
"Business!" roared the president. "Why, you don't know what business means! I tell you, young man, it doesn't mean sitting in front of that desk all day long scribbling doggerel on your blotting paper."
"Precious little else you give me to do," said Jack. "I can scarcely learn the business by watching you. You have not tried me properly; you haven't given me any responsibility."
For very good reasons," muttered the old man. "You are only just about equal to a responsibility of selecting the pattern of your waistcoats."
"Well, anyhow, uncle, I've tried my best; don't be too rough on me. Look here, I want this holiday; I've arranged to go hunting with Kenneth Webster. When I come back I promise you to make up for it."
"Take your holiday, then," exclaimed John Fletcher. "It'll be your last from this office, for I won't trouble you to come back here."
Jack rose to his feet, looking very white.
"Now look here, Jack," said the old man, in a more kindly voice. "Come and see me when you come back, perhaps I can help you in some other way."
Jack left his uncle's private room feeling very sore, a feeling which was not entirely soothed by the fact that as he was leaving the building a messenger from his uncle overtook him and handed him an envelope which he found contained a cheque for three hundred dollars.
Relying on obtaining his holiday Jack had arranged to meet Kenneth Webster at the terminus of the Sunset line, whence they intended to travel by the famous "Sunset Express" to Denver as the first stage of a hunting expedition in the Rockies.
Picking up his bag at his lodgings Jack got to the railway station just about fifteen minutes before the express started. He met Kenneth at the barrier, and together they proceeded to the Pullman, where a smiling porter received them and relieved them of their bags. Standing chatting with Webster at the entrance to the Pullman Jack watched the other passengers on the platform with a careless eye, until he suddenly became interested in two men who, deep in earnest conversation, were walking slowly in his direction. The taller of these he recognized as Colonel Carson, an imposing old man with a keen, clean-shaven face and flowing gray hair crowned by a sombrero. The other was a small, lean, shifty-eyed lawyer, who had once been connected with his uncle's company.
Jack was rather surprised to see these two men on the platform, especially at seeing them together. Colonel Carson held the controlling interest in the Kansas Central Company, a keen rival to the Sunset line. He did not know that the lawyer, Aylward, had recently been retained by the Kansas Central as its legal adviser.
Scarcely noticing what Kenneth Webster was talking about, Jack recalled that some few years before there had been very keen competition between the Kansas Central and Sunset lines for powers to open up a branch line which in itself was of little importance, but would eventually be of immense value to the railway company controlling it, as it tapped an entirely new territory of vast but undeveloped resources. In this contest the Sunset had been victorious. This line had secured the coveted powers, on condition that the branch line was built within three years and a passenger train run over it. The Sunset company fulfilled the law to the very letter, although they anticipated the time limit. They built the line in two years and ran a passenger train over it. One only. That was what they had agreed to do, and all they intended to do until the new territory developed suffi​ciently to make it worth while running a regular service of passenger and freight trains. The people of the County of Arundel, through which the line was built, had expected a regular daily passenger train at least when they consented to the law that gave the Sunset line its powers; but they had no legal right to grumble, the law had been strictly and literally adhered to.
"Hello, Jack!" said Colonel Carson, recognizing Jack Fletcher as he came abreast of him "Going out on this train?"
"Yes, colonel," replied Jack. "I'm going through to Denver."
"Holiday, eh? Well, we'll see something of you on the train. Aylward and I are going down the line a bit."
Jack answered Aylward's effusive smile with a brief nod, saluted the colonel with a wave of his hand, and climbed aboard the Pullman. Leaving his friend Webster there he walked through the vestibuled cars, seeking the conductor, Winter, to tell him that he was going through to Denver with him.
As Jack was entering a smoking-car he caught sight of Winter on the platform. Believing that the conductor would swing on to the observation-car at the rear of the train he hurried through to meet him. The observation-car was empty when he reached it. He heard the cry "All aboard!" resound along the length of the train; the starting gong rang out its mellow signal, and the platform began to recede from him.
As the train's speed increased and Winter did not appear Jack concluded that he had climbed aboard higher up the train. Lingering for a few moments to get a last glimpse of the disappearing platform he heard the inner door of the car open and out of the corner of his eye he saw that the new-comers were Colonel Carson and the lawyer, Aylward. That they had not seen him in his corner was quite evident, for they sat down with their backs toward him and continued a conversation in which they had been engrossed.
"This is certainly a great train," said Colonel Carson; "much better than anything we have on the Kansas Central."
"That's so," said Alyward; "but that's no reason why your line should not have as good in time."
"I don't know," said the colonel; "things don't look over bright with us, and we have not much more money to sink in the line."
"I confess I don't see why you should spend much more," said the lawyer. "You know, colonel," he continued, with a chuckle, "my experience with both lines enables me to see things perhaps a little bit clearer than you can. As your lawyer, now, I might find you some excellent weapons to fight the Sunset with."
Up till this moment Jack had had no thought that he might be eavesdropping; but the lawyer's last sentence, which was uttered in an significant tone, caught his ear, and he felt that in the interests of the Sunset he was justified in not disclosing his presence, and putting an end to the conversation.
The colonel seemed to be reflecting, for it was a moment or two before he replied to Aylward. At last he said: "Yes, I suppose you could. Somehow, I have not much faith in our present scheme. I know, of course, that the Sunset people don't watch that branch line through Arundel County. They feel quite secure; but I don't like counting my chickens before they're hatched. Anything may happen to spoil our plans."
Aylward laughed quietly.
"I was not depending much on that," he said, "if the Kansas Central can get the track laid before the Sunset discovers the game I shall be glad, of course; but I've got something better up my sleeve."
"What better scheme can you have?" inquired the colonel, in an anxious voice.
"Why," said the lawyer, "as you have the controlling interest in the Kansas Central you surely ought to have known."
"Ought to have known what?" interrupted the colonel.
Do you mean to tell me," said Aylward, "that you have not examined the law under which the Sunset built its Arundel County branch line? It's a very interesting law, very interesting indeed to a rival line."
"What can you possibly mean?" the colonel's voice displayed a touch of excited interest.
"Well," answered Aylward inpressively, "the truth is that John Fletcher, the clever president of the Sunset line, was not quite clever enough in regard to that new branch line."
"What! Has he left us an opening—anything we can make use of?" asked Colonel Carson eagerly.
"Yes," answered the lawyer slowly; "I rather think he has, and a good big one, too. There's a very considerable flaw in the franchise he obtained from Arundel County, for building that branch line. A mere clerk's error, but a mighty bad one for the Sunset."
The colonel was listening to every word now with tremendous interest.
"You know," continued Aylward, "that the time limit mentioned in that franchise, or law, whichever you like to call it, expires today."
"Yes, of course it does," said the colonel rather testily; "but what has that to do with it? The road has been built two years."
"Quite so," was the composed answer, "but there were conditions; there was a clause to the effect that the Sunset should run a passenger train over the line."
"Well, that's done," interrupted the colonel. "The Sunset has scored there. They ran a passenger train over it. It was rather sharp practice, of course, running only one; but it fulfilled the letter of the law."
"That's just it," snapped the lawyer triumphantly; "they have not fulfilled the letter of the law, and after today citizens of Arundel County are at liberty to destroy the Sunset branch line, to tear up their tracks, and never allow the Sunset to run another train on any part of their territory."
"Aylward!" gasped the colonel, excitedly. "Surely you must be crazy."
"Nonsense!" exclaimed Aylward, "I know what I'm talking about."
A moment's pause, and then the shifty-eyed little lawyer disclosed in plain language a piece of villainous treachery to his one-time employers, the Sunset line.
"I know what I'm talking about," he ​continued; "for the very good reason that I wrote the law by which the Sunset company got powers to build that branch line. In regard to the clause referring to the passenger train, the original draft read that a first-class passenger train should be run over the branch on or before this very day. By a very small error on the part of my clerk, who copied this draft and perhaps found some difficulty in reading my handwriting—which at times is rather bad—the law, now, instead of 'on or before' reads 'on and before.' A very small clerical error, as I say, but one of very considerable importance to the Sunset people because the franchise expires today, and although it is absolutely necessary that to retain his privileges John Fletcher should run a passenger train through Arundel County today, I know for a positive fact that he will do nothing of the kind, for he has not the faintest suspicion of that small clerical error."
"Why," said the colonel, in a high, trembling voice, "if this is true the Sunset is at our mercy."
"Well, it's true," answered the lawyer with a chuckle as he rose to his feet. "It's true, and Arundel County, indignant with its treatment by the Sunset, is with us to a man. The moment twelve o'clock strikes tonight the Sunset franchise is so much waste-paper, and at the first stroke of the hour there will be a gang of men at work tearing up the Sunset tracks in Arundel County."
Jack Fletcher had found it hard to remain impassive while this conversation was in progress, and now could scarcely control his impulse to rush after the men as they left the car and denounce Aylward for his treachery and ingratitude to John Fletcher.
Although Jack had missed a good deal of the conversation on account of the train noises he had heard sufficient to enable him to understand very clearly the danger with which the Sunset line was threatened. His heart beat more rapidly as the danger to the line was impressed on his mind.
"If nothing is done about this," he thought, "and soon at that, it will be too late. If it has escaped the notice of the Sunset line that they should run a passenger train over the Arundel County line today there will be the dickens to pay."
To seek Winter, the conductor, was Jack's next thought. Perhaps he might have some helpful suggestion to offer. He found him punching tickets in the smoking-car, and took an early opportunity of having a quiet talk with him.
"You don't believe there's anything in this?" gasped Winter, when he heard the story.
"I think there's so much in it," said Jack earnestly, "that we must telegraph to my uncle the first station we come to."
"Bassett's Crossing, about an hour ahead, is the first telegraph station."
"The driver must pull up at Bassett's, then," said Jack, "and I'll send the message."
"But we can't stop there," cried Winter, apprehensively. "Remember this is the express. Sullivan will be screaming mad if I tell him to stop there."
"Who's Sullivan?" asked Jack sharply.
"The driver," replied Winter.
"Well, you tell the driver that he's got to stop at Bassett's."
"But," protested Winter, "the mails—our connections."
"Look here," said Jack, facing the conductor squarely; "just get it into your head that this message will be sent from Bassett's. The train need not be stoppecd, but Sullivan can just slack her so that you can drop off the front with the message and climb back on the rear car. We must get a passenger train over the Arundel County branch today. Perhaps you don't realize how important that is. Some day that branch will be the most important section of the line, and there will be plenty of passenger and freight trains over it."
Jack then wrote in a leaf of his pocket-book this message, and handed it to Winter:—
"John Fletcher, Sunset Line, Chicago—Will a passenger train be sent over the Arundel County branch today? Reply to Bywater station.—Jack Fletcher."
While the train was running to Bassett's Crossing Jack discussed with Winter as to what was likely to happen if John Fletcher did not know, and had not provided against the flaw in the franchise.
"It's impossible to get a special made up nearer than Chicago," said Winter, "and that's three hundred miles from Bywater; then the branch to the Arundel County boundary is one hundred and fifty miles."
"Four hundred and fifty miles," said Jack. "Why, good heavens, Winter, that's a nine-hour run, and it's only six hours to the time limit now."
"Yes," said Winter, "and according to the time-card there's not a passenger train nearer than Kendal, and that's going west as fast as it can travel."
It was a hopeless outlook then, unless John Fletcher, knowing of the necessity, had already arranged for a passenger train to Arundel.
Just outside Bassett's Crossing the great express slowed down, and Jack went to the observation car to meet Winter as he climbed back to the train after giving Jack's message to the telegraph operator. He craned his neck out of a window to see if Winter had got off the train safely. So engrossed was he that he did not see Aylward had entered the car after him.
Presently Jack saw Winter jump from the front of the train, dash into the waiting-room of the weather-beaten station, and then rush out again and signal to the engineer to put on speed.
The next moment the conductor had scrambled aboard the observation-car and was by Jack's side.
"Did you get the message off?" Jack asked.
"Yes, all right," replied Winter, breathlessly.
"Well, that'll perhaps stir up the president, and I don't think the Kansas Central will have it all their own way if he scents their game."
Suddenly Winter gripped his arm warningly, and Jack, turning, suddenly saw the astonished face of the treacherous lawyer, Aylward, peering over his shoulder.
But Jack calmly and without a word left the compartment.
Just before they got to Bywater Jack met ​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 ​to Coleman, the train despatcher, to tell him what I've done."
"Let her go now, Sullivan," he said on his return, "and remember, and you, too, Winter, if there are any inquiries from passengers you must say there is a wreck ahead of us so we must take the branch road."
He ran back, and jumping aboard the already backing train, entered the smoking-car with a calm and smiling face.
"What's the trouble?" asked Colonel Carson, as Jack approached him.
"They tell me there's a wreck ahead," answered Jack, easily.
Man and spike-puller were tossed unceremoniously into the ditch.
"Why, we've stopped again," exclaimed Aylward, peering out of the window anxiously, "Ah!" he exclaimed in sudden anger, jumping to his feet, "they're switching us on to the Arundel branch. What's the meaning of this, Mr. Fletcher?"
"Sit down, Mr. Aylward," said Jack, "you're too late. And you needn't worry about expecting any reply to your telegram, because I thought it had better not be sent."
"What do you mean—"
The lawyer's blustering voice was abruptly checked, and his words died in a gasp of dismay.
Something glittering had flashed in Jack's suddenly outstretched hand.
"Sit down, Mr. Aylward," he said in a quiet, compelling voice. "I don't want to shoot you, but I'll not allow you to interfere with my plans."
The little lawyer sank back in his seat speechless.
In the train despatcher's office, at the headquarters of the Sunset line in Chicago, the result of Jack Fletcher's commands to Sullivan, the engineer of the express, caused something like panic. Never in that or any other railway office had such an inscrutable mystery presented itself.
The train despatcher's office was a long room in which there were many telegraph operators, who, from morning to night, clicked off or received messages. Coleman, the chief train despatcher, a strict disciplinist, was the governing spirit of this room, and the fate of every train on the Sunset system was in his hands.
On a high desk in the centre of the room was spread a chart of the road, and of every station and telegraph office connected with the system. Along the red lines that represented the rails on this chart were numbers which told exactly where every train on the system had been last reported.
When the express, the crack train of the Sunset ​line, had rolled out from the Chicago terminus Coleman had been able to follow its course by this chart as if he had been actually watching the train itself. He knew that she was six minutes late at Bassett's Crossing. A few minutes after this news arrived he received Jack Fletcher's telegram to his uncle from the president's private secretary.
"Will a passenger train be sent over the Arundel County branch today?" he read. He dictated the disappointing answer Jack had received at Bywater, and then forgot all about the incident. It meant nothing to him, had no significance, except as an idle question from the president's nephew, who perhaps wished to travel over the practically unused branch.
Some time later an operator remarked: "Express twenty minutes late at Bywater, sir." The Bywater operator had signalled the appearance of the express before he ran out to deliver the two telegrams to Jack Fletcher.
"What! Twenty minutes late?" Coleman railed out. "That's too much. Wire Sullivan at Weston"—a station thirty miles farther on—"to get a move on. He'll miss the connection for the mails at the junction, and then there will be the dickens to pay."
The operator wired as instructed. A long silence followed. It was just after seven o'clock, and at that time of day there were few local trains moving.
Suddenly Coleman jumped up and strode to the big chart.
"Has the express been heard of since she left Bywater?" he asked, with a scowl. "She passed there at six thirty-eight; it's twenty past seven now. Confound Sullivan. He's losing time instead of making it up."
No one answered Coleman's question, and he moved restlessly about the room.
"That fellow at Weston must be asleep," he cried at last. "Wilson, wake up Weston and find out why he hasn't reported the passing of the express."
The reply from Weston came promptly:—
"Express not passed."
Coleman, who was in his chair, leaped to his feet.
"He's asleep—he's a fool!" he raved. "I'll send a man there who's got eyes. Of course she's passed."
"There must have been an accident," suggested Wilson.
"Find out what train last passed Weston," roared Coleman.
In a moment the operator replied: "No. 75, bound east."
"Why, the express should have met her way beyond Weston. This is awful. Thirty minutes late!"
"Call Bywater," was Coleman's next order.
Bywater was called, but though the key rattled out the call again and again, there was no response.
"By thunder!" burst out Coleman. "I'll have a change right along this line. Now what's happened at Bywater?"
"No. 75 has not been reported from Bywater either," said Wilson. "She left Weston fifty minutes ago."
Another sounder clicked off a message.
"What's that?" asked Coleman.
"Carbridge—ten miles this side of Bywater—No. 75 just passed going east, on time to the minute."
"And Bywater didn't see her pass. That young man there can take a long holiday. But that does not explain the mystery. Where's the express?"
Wilson could not reply, and Coleman paced the long room like a caged lion.
"Here!" he cried suddenly; "ring up Woodford—seven miles east of Carbridge. Ask conductor of No. 75—it ought to be there shortly—'Where did you pass the express, and at what time?' "
Silence again; and then Wilson, as a sounder rattled, cried: "Here's Woodford."
The message from the conductor of No. 75 was: "Have not seen the express."
"What!" yelled Coleman.
He dashed for the key himself and clicked off to the waiting train at Woodford:—
"Any signs of wash-out or accident between Bywater and Weston?—Coleman, Train Despatcher."
The reply was prompt: "No; track clear."
Completely mystified, and frantic with anxiety Coleman's mind was scarcely fit to deal with the situation. The evidence he had collected meant either that several people had gone stark mad, or that he was face to face with a situation too preposterous for belief.
It was impossible, he argued, that a first-class train, consisting of two day coaches, a Pullman sleeper, a smoking-car, and observation-car, a baggage and a mail car drawn by the finest engine on the system, should melt into thin air. Too preposterous, indeed!
The situation was a terrible strain on Coleman. He was responsible for the movements of every train on the system. Had he made some little error that was responsible for a terrible disaster? This question, which worried him insistently, he was compelled to answer in the negative. He fell back, then, on the only possible explanation, and that was, he decided, that after leaving Bywater the express had left the rails; and with the entire train tumbled over a high embankment. The Bywater operator must be at the scene of the accident, and train No. 75 had steamed by rapidly without its conductor having an inkling of what had occurred. He pictured an appalling disaster, with a terrible roll of dead and wounded.
"There's a hand-truck at Weston Station, is there not?" he exclaimed suddenly.
"Yes, sir," replied Wilson.
"Wire the operator to run the truck to Bywater, and report if there has been an accident on the line."
"Yes, sir."
When the answer came it threw the distracted Coleman into a condition of hopeless despair.
​On the express, as it bumped over the uneven roadway of the Arundel County branch, the conductor was going through the cars explaining that a wreck ahead had caused them to leave the main line. There was much grumbling, especially among passengers who wished to change at the N.P. junction for the north and among the mail clerks. Even by getting instant connection at Arundel for the N.P. junction they would be four hours late.
The discomfitted plotters, Colonel Carson and Aylward, were still in the smoking-car. Aylward was raging at his discovery that the supposed weapon which in Jack's hand flashed a menace at him was nothing more dangerous than a nickel-plated case of some kind. But it had held the scheming lawyer at bay until the train was moving too quickly for him to leave it and interfere with Jack's plans.
Meanwhile Jack was passing through the train. Over the badly ballasted road-bed the express was travelling so badly that although it was close on eight o'clock Bywater was only forty miles behind, and there were one hundred and ten miles to cover before twelve o'clock.
"Can't you get any more speed out of her, Sullivan?" he asked the driver. He had climbed over the back of the tender from the baggage-car.
"It's a rough road," said Sullivan. "There's only one part where the going is good, and I'll let her out there, even if we have to chance jumping the rails."
"We've got one hundred and ten miles to do in four hours," remarked Jack. "Can we do it?"
"Looks like a walk over," chuckled Sullivan.
They were running now at about thirty miles an hour, and Sullivan, peering ahead of him, was just on the point of letting her out another notch, when he suddenly yelled:—
"Fire and brimstone! What's that on the track?"
With all the strength of his left hand he jammed over the lever, while with his right he set the brakes. The stoker was so pale that his face looked ghastly through its smoke grime. The engine staggered on the rails, so quickly had her momentum been cut off.
Jack peered through the gloom ahead of them. There was a long stretch of straight track ahead of them, but right across the train's course was something which looked like a dwelling house built on the line.
There was a light or two shining from it. It was a house, set directly across the track. There were probably people in it, and the engine with its heavy train behind was bearing down upon it like a monstrous battering-ram.
The wheels of the engine shrieked as they ground along the tracks. Jack did not know the damage this sudden stop was causing, but Sullivan knew, and even amidst the danger he thought of his interview with the chief engineer when the flat surfaces of the driving-wheels were seen at the end of his run.
It seemed as if only a miracle could save the house, but the train at last stopped, only about six feet away from it.
It was a dwelling house. But how came it on the tracks? Passengers and train hands poured out of the train in search of a solution of the mystery.
Suddenly a lantern appeared in a field beside the track, and presently it could be seen that it was carried by a farmer who was calmly chewing a straw.
"Wal, I swan!" he ejaculated. "How come this train here? Why, ye came near bumpin' inter Mr. Jenkins' house. Dretful keerless of ye!"
"What's the house doing here?" thundered Sullivan.
"Why, we're movin' it."
"Why do you leave it on the track?" asked Jack.
"One hoss went lame, and t'other couldn't turn the machine alone. The farmer pointed to where a sort of capstan with a beam attached stood, a few yards in front of the house. The house was on rollers.
"Did you get permission to move it across the Sunset tracks?" demanded Jack.
"Dunno about that. Have to see Jenkins. It's his business."
At this instant Winter ran up to Jack.
"It's a trick, Mr. Fletcher," he interrupted. "The house was put there to stop any train that came from Bywater. I've been inside it. There's no furniture, and there are candles alight in the windows to warn a train before she struck the obstacle. It's to delay us while the Kansas Central are laying their rails across our branch."
Jack swung round to the farmer.
"Get your horses and drag this thing off the track!" he commanded.
"Can't do it, mister. My hoss is lame, I told you. I'll get a team in the mornin', and after the capstan's fixed—"
"What's the matter with that? If you can't get horses we'll pull the house over ourselves."
"Sorry; but it's busted," declared the farmer. "I've sent the shoe to the smithy, eight miles away. Had to have it repaired."
"Well, you'll have trouble over this," cried Jack.
"No," said the man stolidly. "It's Mister Jenkins' house. He'll have to stand the damage."
"Jenkins!" exclaimed Jack. "Why, that's the man Aylward addressed his telegram to. The chief engineer of the Kansas Central. They've balked us."
Sullivan, who had been examining the house, tugged Jack's sleeve. His eyes blazed under his shaggy brows.
"What is it, Sullivan?" asked Jack miserably; "do you see a way out?"
"I see a way through, sir; and by Heaven! we'll take it," said Sullivan grimly, through his clenched teeth. "Get aboard now, all of ye!" he shouted.
The passengers were all hustled aboard the train, and when it began to back they thought that the wreck, the mythical wreck, would now be cleared.
Jack was beginning to feel nervous. It was past eight o'clock. He wanted to remain in the cab with Sullivan.
"No, sir," said the driver. "You must get back out of the way. I'm goin' to charge that house, and there's danger of gettin' hurt. Besides, there's too many here."
​"Losin' your nerve?" queried the engineer.
"I guess so. If I was only in front with you to see what was doing—"
"It's no use. I won't have you. It'll be no fun here when she bumps."
"Do you think she'll really get through? Won't it derail the train?" asked Jack nervously.
"Not likely. The house is a flimsily built shack."
"Perhaps we'd better uncouple the cars."
"No," said Sullivan firmly. "We want their weight behind."
During this conversation the train had backed nearly a mile. Suddenly it slowed down and stopped. Jack climbed down from the cab at Sullivan's request, and retired to the smoking-car.
Then Sullivan opened the throttle and the express shot forward. He let her out the last notch of speed. As she sped her wheels scarcely seemed to touch, and the only bump and jar of the flattened drivers could be felt throbbing throughout the train.
In the cars the sudden change of direction, and the terrific speed at which the train was now shooting forward had thrown the passengers into a species of panic. But before they quite realized what was happening the thing was over. With scarcely more than a jar the carriages were flying through the debris of the ill-fated house. The engine had crashed through the flimsy obstruction, and the train was still on the rails.
But on the engine Sullivan was now dismally contemplating a fresh and perhaps more serious disaster. As the engine met the house there was a crash like the overturning of a load of timber, and the huge machine shivered. Then Sullivan sprang up with a wild Irish yell. But the sound died in his throat when he glanced out along the top of his boiler. He seized the throttle and cut off steam. The headlight was out, and there was no sign of the smokestack, and in addition, about half the iron jacket was stripped off the boiler.
"Great Jehosophat!" exclaimed the fireman. "We'll get a good way with this mess of scrap-iron, I don't think!"
"Shut up!" growled Sullivan. The train came to a halt, and he ran round to the front of the engine to survey the damage it had sustained.
The smokestack was torn off at its base, leaving only the broken ring to which it had been bolted. Through the gaping hole the smoke was pouring in a black cloud.
"You'll never get to Arundel under your own steam, Sullivan," declared the stoker.
"Won't I?" growled the driver, surlily. "Watch me! I've never been towed yet. When we do get in, young man, I'll give you a proper licking for suggesting it."
The passengers had all swarmed out again now. Close by Jack, watching the wreck with a satisfied smile, stood the little lawyer, Aylward.
"She'll stay here all right for the rest of the night, I guess," he remarked to Colonel Carson.
Sullivan overheard the remark, and, looking viciously at Aylward, cried: "You can bet your swate life she won't." Then to Jack he threw an encouraging statement. "We ain't dead yet, sir. Kape a stiff upper lip."
In half an hour, by the help of his tools and a saw from the baggage-car, Sullivan had built a wooden smokestack by sticking the ends of planks down into the smoke arch. Then they were ready to go on.
It was nine-thirty with still a hundred miles to go. For all they knew there might be other obstructions ahead of them. From Aylward Jack presently learned for certain that he was not at the end of his troubles. He had heard the lawyer remark to Colonel Carson: "It's too early to give up the game."
Jack turned and looked at Aylward. "So you don't consider yourself beaten yet, Mr Aylward?" he remarked coolly.
"I don't consider that you have won, young man. In fact, you are too late—too late, do you hear?" Aylward snapped open his watch and glanced at it. "For your information I'll tell you that a gang of Italians under Jenkins are at this moment laying Kansas Central rails across this line. This express will be held up there, and Jenkins will see that she doesn't get by that point. So, Master Fletcher, you will fail in both your hopes tonight. You can't stop our rails being laid, and your train will not get to Arundel in time to prevent your rails being torn up."
Jack, although hope was now almost dead in him, managed to smile sarcastically. He could not trust himself to utter a word. After a few minutes he made his way to Sullivan again through the baggage-car.
To the driver he repeated Aylward's words.
"We're beat, then," said the driver dismally.
"It looks as if we've no hope," replied Jack. "They may be laying the cross rails this very moment."
Involuntarily Sullivan let out the lever another notch, and the wounded engine leaped forward as if under the spur.
"She's making about all I dare let her," said the Irishman sadly. "If it was any other line on earth but this rotten one—"
He checked himself suddenly.
"What was that?" he asked eagerly. "That flash ahead of us. It must be a locomotive and the stoker just opened the fire-box to shovel in coal."
"A locomotive on our road? Impossible," said Jack. "There's nothing ahead of us."
"Not on our road," said Sullivan gravely. "But you know the Kansas Central were building up their track from Goldstone. They have a construction train with them, of course. That was where the flash of light came from."
Jack, breathless, laid a hand on Sullivan's arm.
"Let her out to the last notch," he cried.
"The job may be done now," sighed Sullivan as he did so.
The locomotive rocked like a wobbly cradle. The pace, for a half-wrecked engine, was terrific.
Jack again clutched Sullivan's arm as he caught sight of a red light flashed out between the rails ahead.
Someone had turned a curve with a danger signal and was waving it vigorously across the track.
"Stop! stop!" cried Jack. "They've got the rails up. We'll be wrecked, and it's my fault."
Sullivan reduced the speed, but the grim look ​on his face showed he had no intention of bringing the train to a standstill till he had rounded the curve and saw the situation for himself.
"Don't lose your pluck, sir," he said to Jack. "They've sent that spalpeen a long way ahead to flag us; but nothing but a torn-up rail will stop us now."
A moment later they turned the curve, and a scene of activity burst into view that brought a cry of despair to Jack's lips.
Gasoline torches burned beside the track. There was a crowd of hurrying workmen in the path of the express. At one side stood a locomotive on the newly laid track to Goldstone.
"They've done it!" gasped Jack.
"We'll make sure of that," cried Sullivan, and his whistle screeched.
The laborers scattered. All but one man cleared off the track. He was a grizzled hair, broad-backed fellow, and was working with all his might pulling a spike from one of the branch rails.
"That's Jenkins himself!" yelled Sullivan. The man's face was plainly visible in the light of the torches.
All three occupants of the cab shouted to the determined man, but he only bent more forcefully to the task which his Italian laborers had skulked from at the first scent of danger.
In an instant the engine was fairly upon him. The pilot struck the instrument he was using, and man and spike-puller were tossed unceremoniously into the ditch.
The express came to a halt with a jar. The loose rail moved under the drivers, but she kept the track, and the place where the rail spread was between the engine and the tender.
It was a narrow escape, but the express had arrived in the nick of time.
One part of Jack's self-imposed task was done, but the minutes were flying past with unfeeling swiftness. Arundel had to be reached by twelve o'clock.
"Can we spike that rail down again, Sullivan—can we do it?" Jack cried to Sullivan.
Sullivan shouted to his stoker to hand him out a sledge. He already had a spike. They sprung the rail back as far as possible into place, and Sullivan drove the spike home.
"I can haul her over that with care," he said.
"Well, then, start her up. We haven't a moment to spare, and we can't waste any on these blackguards here. Stop the train when the observation-car is exactly over the crossing. We'll uncouple it and let it stand there."
"But it won't hold that gang ten minutes after we're gone."
"It will," said Jack with conviction. "We've got two Winchesters and a revolver on the train on the train and I'll leave Winter and two of the brakemen to hold them off with them."
It was eleven-fifteen when the express, leaving the observation-car behind and garrisoned, pulled out again for Arundel.
"Glory be!" ejaculated Sullivan, as Jack climbed into the cab. "Three-quarters of an hour to midnight and fifty miles to go."
"Make her go, Sullivan! Make her go!" shouted Jack. "We simply must do it."
The engine bounded over the rails like a rubber ball, while Jack hung on for sheer life. He would not leave the locomotive. "If there's an accident now I don't want to come out alive," he told Sullivan.
Mile after mile spun out behind them as they shrieked round curves, thundered over trestles, and darted with a roar through the deep cuts in the hills. Luckily the road was now almost level.
"What are we doing, Sullivan?" Jacked yelled presently.
"Over ninety miles an hour this bit," screamed Sullivan.
On and on they flew. Ten minutes to twelve it was now by Jack's watch. Suddenly they rounded a curve and a light burst into view.
"What is it?" Jack gasped.
Before Sullivan could answer they were passing the light. It was a bonfire of ties beside the track, and a crowd of astonished men were standing by it.
"Arundel!" yelled the fireman.
They were over the County line. Once again the express was in the nick of time. The men beside the track were the laborers who had been hired by the Kansas Central to pull up the Sunset tracks on the stroke of twelve. But the franchise was saved with over five minutes to spare.
The train slowed down and came to a halt. Sullivan leaped down from the cab, dragging his stoker with him.
"Did I get it under my own steam, you spalpeen?" he roared.
The stoker had to admit it.
"Then put up yer fists. I'm goin' to give you that lickin' I promised you."
Jack reached the platform just in time to spoil a good fight.
Three hours later John Fletcher reached Arundel in a special. Coleman had found him and explained all he knew of the mysterious disappearance of the express. When the president reached headquarters a message from the injured operator at Bywater had at last arrived telling of the switching of the express on to the Arundel line.
Wild with rage against his nephew, the president had made a record run in a hastily prepared special. At Arundel he found that Jack had been in bed for two and a half hours, but Sullivan, who was gloriously celebrating the affair, explained vaguely, but sufficiently.
The president declined to have Jack disturbed then; but in the morning, after breakfasting comfortably together, he carried Jack and his friend Kenneth Webster back to Bywater in his special, and from there took them right on to Denver.
"Take all the holiday you want, my boy," were his parting words. "When you come back I'll have something important to talk to you about."
It does not always do to agree with one's friends. The other day a youth was telling a friend of some silly thing he had done, and said:
"You know what a silly idiot I am?"
All innocently the other answered, "Yes," and his friend refused to continue his story any further.