# Top-Notch Magazine/Volume 14/Number 3/Signals Against Him/Chapter 9

pp. 171–174.
CHAPTER IX.
DITCHING OF THE JINX.
WHEN Harding opened his eyes the gray dawn was just looking in at the windows of the Cardigan station. He was out in the waiting room, a blanket under him, and a rolled-up coat adjusted for a pillow. Gardner, the company doctor, sat on a bench near at hand, while no less a personage than Trawl, the division superintendent, was pacing the floor, puffing furiously at a big black cigar. Over near the bound man stood Fordney, the sheriff.
Higgins, bandaged and somewhat improved by the medical attention he had received, sat up on the floor with his back against the wall. He was talking, and Trawl, as he paced the room, and Fordney, as he watched the prisoner, and the doctor, as he kept a watchful eye on Harding, were all listening attentively to the night man.
“Hanged if I know how Harding got here,” Higgins was saying; “but he dropped in at just the right time. He had displayed the stop signal for Twenty-eight, but I had pulled it in, not knowing what the last orders were from the dispatcher, and thinking I was doing the right thing to keep the strong-arm fellows from interfering with the treasure Kent was hauling to-night. The two trains would surely have come together, head on, if Harding hadn't made a rush for the switch, thrown the wreckers on the gravel spur, and then swung back on the target as the fast train went through. It was as plucky and as fine a thing as you can imagine, Mr. Trawl!”
He paused, but none of his listeners had anything to say except the man in the leather cap. His feelings found vent in a snarling oath. Higgins went on:
“That fellow there”—and he indicated the prisoner—“jumped me at just about the time track was cleared for Twenty-eight. He'd have finished me off, I guess, if Harding hadn't come on the run. The fellow shot at Harding, and then Harding chased him, downed him, and the men from the wrecking outfit hurried up and gave him a hand. I managed to crawl into the station, and after that there's a blank.”
“How did Harding happen to be here?” demanded Trawl.
“Don't know,” returned Higgins wearily.
“The dispatcher says he told Harding to get Blake——”
“Then Harding must have been at the boarding house when I crawled out of the baggage room and took in the stop signal. But he couldn't get Blake. Blake went to a dance, last night, and didn't expect to get back till morning.“
Gardner stirred a little, and leaned forward. He had seen Harding's eyes flicker and open.
“Harding himself can tell you what else you want to know, Trawl,” said Gardner. “He's come around.”
The division superintendent and the sheriff stepped to Harding's side.
“How do you feel, Billy?” Trawl inquired.
“Nothing the matter with me,” was the answer. “Just fagged, that's all. I must have gone to sleep while I was pounding the key.”
He got up slowly and dropped down on the bench beside the doctor. Outside the station stood a light engine. Harding's eyes wandered toward it.
“As soon as I had a talk with Kent,” said Trawl, “and as soon as the dispatcher gave me the gist of what you sent in, I corralled Gardner and Fordney and we hustled for Cardigan on a switch bumper.” He flicked the ashes from the end of his cigar and looked thoughtfully at the glowing tip. “Luck seems to have turned for you, Harding,” he added
“It began turning on that dispatch you sent to Sweetbriar——”
“Never mind that,” the superintendent interrupted, a bit hastily. “You had trouble on the Extra West when I sent you up to Divide with Chris Davy. I heard about it through the rear-end brakeman, and when Davy got back from the west end I gave him a lay-off for thirty days. There wasn't much luck in that for you, was there?”
Trawl's eyes glimmered as they rested on Harding. The latter smiled feebly and took the yellow tobacco sack from his pocket.
“You got my telegram, Fordney?D” he inquired.
“Sure,” said the sheriff, “and answered it. How did you know who bowled Prebble over and touched him up? Where'd you get your information about the man in the leather cap and the reefer jacket, who was supposed to be on the eastbound freight with Davy—and who wasn't?”
Harding let in the light on that point, bringing the recital down to where he had seen the man on the waycar of Chris Davy's train as it pulled through Divide.
“And that,” finished Harding, “is why I sent the message to you, Fordney.”
The sheriff, in some excitement, had taken the roll from the tobacco sack, removed the rubber band, counted the bills, and examined the bullion certificate.
“By George!” he exclaimed, astounded. “This bundle of bills totals up the amount swiped from Prebble to a dollar! And the bullion certificate is evidence that can't be side-stepped. The two men, after knocking the miner down and robbing him, must have boarded that Extra West, getting out of town with Davy.” The sheriff turned on Trawl. “What sort of freight conductors have you got on your line, anyhow?” he demanded.
“Well,” grunted Trawl, “we'll have one less of the wrong sort before I get through with Davy—you can bank on that. Looks to me as though Davy was in bad, all around. He brought at least one of the hoodlums back with him from the west end—probably he brought the other one, too, and maybe more—and he dropped the crowd off at Cardigan, to play hob with Higgins and fix the signals to stop Twenty-eight, so they could hop aboard and go through the express car. That's the reason, Fordney, you couldn't find your man when you went up the Crook City yards to meet Davy's train.”
“That's it, sure,” agreed Fordney.
“I don't know yet, Billy,” continued Trawl, “how you happened to be at Cardigan at just the time a clear-headed, all-around railroad man was needed so badly. How was that?”
Harding explained about his desire to talk with the sheriff and place in legal hands the money belonging to Prebble and the proof regarding those who had robbed him. He went on to tell how he had planned to ride on the engine with Kent, but had changed his mind and used the speeder, thus getting away from Divide more than two hours ahead of the fast train.
“Look here,” growled Trawl, “do you mean to say that you came down the mountain in all that wind and rain, with the night as-black as a pocket, and on a speeder?”
“Yes.”
Trawl whistled, “And you did it without dropping into a cañon,” he exclaimed, “or breaking your neck among the rocks! I guess that's proof enough that Fortune has come around to your side. Why did you do it? Why didn't you wait for Kent?”
“Something seemed telling me I had to use the speeder,” answered Harding. “I just had the feeling, Mr. Trawl, that I had to get down the mountain in a rush.”
“Humph! Well, it's a good thing for this company that you made that reckless move. When you got to Cardigan you found the operator's room deserted?”
“Yes.”
“And the stop signal against Twenty-eight?”
“Yes. And the dispatcher calling the office. He had been calling it for fifteen minutes, ever since he had tried to catch Kent's train at Divide, and had failed.”
“At that time,” mused the superintendent, “Higgins had been shot up and dragged into the baggage room, and the scoundrels who had done it were in hiding and waiting for Twenty-eight to happen along and stop for orders. Great guns, what a layout! The dispatcher had to stop the fast train here in order not to lay out the wreckers—and so he was playing directly into the hands of the holdup fellows. What a situation! You left the stop signal displayed and went over to the boarding house after the day man. When you came back, the stop signal had disappeared, for Higgins had crawled out of the baggage room and pulled it in to foil the robbers, not knowing about the washout at Hesperous or the new orders for Twenty-eight. There's a game of cross-purposes in all this that makes a man's head swim! And out of it all came the two trains against each other, and your quick and brilliant work at the switch! Well, well!”.
Trawl's cigar had gone out. He took a match from his pocket and slowly relighted the weed.
“You fellows have got this dead wrong,” said the man in the leather cap, twisting about on the floor. “I'm Chris Davy's brother, Dan. That cock-and-bull story of Harding's about the yellow tobacco bag is humorous. Harding must have held up Davy himself, and now he's putting it onto me! Chris'll tell you I'm all right.”
“I'll gamble a blue stack,” snapped Trawl, “that Chris Davy will never turn up to tell me anything. I've got the testimony of the rear-end brakeman to bear out Harding's story; even at that, Harding's bare word is enough for me. Glad to know, though, that you are Chris Davy's brother. That explains why he was so free with rides on his train, Just helping the family, eh?”
“Why did you, and those with you, drop off Davy's train at Cardigan, during the night?” queried Fordney.
“I wonder if the fool thinks I can't identify him as one of the two who made the attack on me?” put in Higgins.
Dan Davy realized that he was so deeply entangled he could not extricate himself. He dropped into a sullen silence and refused to answer any further questions.
“We've got it on him,” said Fordney decisively, “and he can't dodge. Looks bad for Chris Davy, too. I'll see what I can do toward rounding up the rest of the gang. Harding, will you send a message for me?”
“I'll do it,” put in Trawl. “Harding has earned a rest, I think.”
Trawl and Fordney went into the operator's room and the key began to click, calling on deputies to mount and ride to Cardigan, and hunt for another man in a leather cap and reefer jacket and any who might be with him. Just as the superintendent and the sheriff emerged from the operator's room, a young fellow dashed into the station.
“What in Sam Hill has been going on here?” he asked, his troubled eyes ranging from Dan Davy to Higgins.
“Hello, Blake,” called the superintendent, “did you enjoy yourself at the dance?”
“I got back, just a little while ago, and they told me at the boarding house that I was wanted during the night, and——”
“Oh, no,” proceeded Trawl, “you weren't wanted, and it's a lucky thing, all around, that you weren't here. There was a better man to drop in and fill your place.”
“But—what——”
“Never mind what it all means. Youth will have its fling, and I don't begrudge you the dance. Get on the job here, for I'm taking Higgins to the company's hospital to be patched up. Gardner says he ought to be in bed for at least two weeks, and there'll be another night man down this afternoon. Help us get Higgins on the engine.”
After the night man had been deposited in the cab, the prisoner was also carried out and loaded aboard.
“You'll go back with us, Billy,” said Trawl to Harding.
“If I'm not needed,” demurred Harding, “I guess I'll go back to Divide and get a little sleep.”
“I'll see that you get to Divide, all right, and I'll see that you get an engine on this division, too. After the men up and down the line hear what happened at Cardigan, they'll be glad enough to work with you. You've pulled the fangs of the jinx, my lad, and I don't see how this road can get along without you. Harding”—and Trawl stretched out his hand with a smile as he spoke—“it will be a pleasure to have you on the pay rolls once more.”
Harding, after a year of blighting discouragement, had come into his own. His hand trembled as he reached it toward the superintendent.
“A little energy and determination is all that's needed, Mr. Trawl,” he murmured, “to ditch the demons of adversity.”
“More than that is needed, Billy,” replied Trawl. “Energy and determination are all right, but what would they amount to without a clear head and plenty of grit?"
As Harding, half dazed by his good fortune, followed the superintendent toward the waiting engine, he pulled out his watch—the watch that had been his father's—to note the exact time Trawl had come across with the recognition that was due him.
He gasped when he looked at the timepiece. The lid was gouged and smashed, and bits of brass wheels and fragments of the crystal fell into his palm.
The watch was a wreck, but it had caught and deflected the bullet fired by Dan Davy and, in so doing, had saved Harding's life. In all that series of incidents demonstrating that luck had changed for Harding, this final blunder of chance was not the least.