# Ralph on the Overland Express/26

CHAPTER XXVI
MYSTERY
Ralph Fairbanks saw Zeph Dallas distinctly and recognized him. The latter looked up as the young engineer uttered an irrepressible shout. He started to wave his hand. Then he shrank down on the car step as if seeking to hide himself.
Ralph stood gazing after the coach until it had disappeared from view. From the look of things he decided that Zeph was not casually stealing a ride. Something about him suggested a sense of proprietorship—a certain official aspect as if he had a right to be where Ralph had seen him, was, in fact, in charge of the car.
"A queer car—the queerest old relic I ever saw," mused Ralph. "I'm going to look into this affair."
"Say, Mr. Fairbanks," spoke little Torchy as the young engineer entered the roundhouse; "just saw an old friend of ours."
"Did you?" spoke Ralph. "You don't mean Zeph Dallas, do you?"
​"That's who," nodded Torchy. "Big as life on a single car run—and, say, such a car!"
"Do you know where it came from, or where it was bound for?" inquired Ralph.
"No, but I heard one of the fellows here say it must have come over the north branch."
"I thought so, too," said Ralph, and after a stroll about the place he went down to the dispatcher's office. Ralph knew the railroad routine well, and he soon had a good friend working in his interest. He was one of the assistants in the office of the chief dispatcher. Ralph had loaned him a little sum of money once when he was off on the sick list. It had been paid back promptly, but the man was a grateful fellow, and, under the influence of a sense of obligation, was glad to return the favor in any way he could.
"I'll fix you out, Fairbanks," he promised, and he kept his word, for as Ralph sat in the doghouse two mornings later the man came to its doorway, peered in, and beckoned to his friend to come outside.
"All right, Fairbanks," he reported, holding a card in his hand bearing some memoranda; "I've got the tracer."
"Good!" applauded Ralph.
"Here's the dope—that engine and old tourist car was a kind of a special—the craziest ​special, though, that either you or I ever heard of."
"Is that so?" inquired Ralph.
"Listen, and see. She started on extra orders from Brampton, the yards up on the north division. Was chartered for a run via the Junction to Fordham spur."
"Indeed?" murmured Ralph thoughtfully.
"It was a plain twenty-four hours' charter, same as a picnic or an excursion special, but there was only one passenger, conductor, or whatever you might call him—a kid."
"Yes," nodded Ralph, "Zeph Dallas."
"You could have knocked me down with a feather when I found that out," went on the man from the dispatcher's office, "although I didn't find it out until later. Yes, the train had been rented and paid for by our old extra wiper here, that dreamer, kicker and would-be detective, Dallas. A pretty penny it must have cost. Where did he get the money? Skylarking around the country like a millionaire, and what did he pick out that antiquated curiosity of a relic car for? Well, it was the 'Dallas Special,' sure enough, and it made its run just the same as if he was a railroad president inspecting the lines."
"I'm interested," explained Ralph.
"I'm jiggergasted," added the dispatcher; "I got the line on their route by wire to Brampton. I ​found that the contract was to run to Fordham spur and back to Brampton."
"But what for?" inquired Ralph.
"To deliver some special freight presumably," said the dispatcher. "At first I wondered if things mightn't be stirring up in a new business way at the old factory. Thought maybe they were going to do some blasting, and Dallas had been hired to run through a load of giant powder. Well, I was off in my guess."
"How did you find that out?" asked Ralph.
"I caught the Brampton outfit on the return trip. She had to switch here for an hour to get the right of way north. I went over to the siding and happened to know the engineer."
"And where was Zeph?"
"They left him up at the spur."
"H'm," commented Ralph, feeling that Zeph was indeed enveloping himself in a dense mist of mystery.
"The engineer just grinned and haw-hawed when I asked him about his run. He said that Dallas had acted like a fellow on the most serious business, the whole run through. When they got to the spur he had them run in about two hundred feet. Then he sat down by the side of the track, watch in hand, solemnly waited for an hour to ​pass by, and then told the engineer the trip was ended and he was satisfied."
"He didn't explain——" began Ralph in wonderment.
"Not a word. He just waved his hand grandly good-by to the engineer, and passed out of sight. It was a queer go—wasn't it, now? The engineer and fireman were dumfounded. They looked into the car out of sheer curiosity."
"And found?" pressed Ralph.
"Nothing."
"What!"
"No—empty."
Ralph was bewildered, and said so. The dispatcher acknowledged the same sentiment, so had the engineer and the fireman, he said.
"There you have it," he remarked. "Queer go, eh?"
"The strangest I ever heard of," confessed Ralph.
"You see, there's no motive to trace," observed the dispatcher in a puzzled, baffled way. "Think of the cost of it! Think of the mystery about the whole affair! What is Dallas up to, and why the spur?"
"I don't know," admitted the young engineer, equally perplexed, "but I'm going to find out, make sure of that."
​Things were certainly focussing around Fordham spur, there was no doubt of it. That point of the road was a decided point of interest to Ralph every time the Overland Express neared the spur on succeeding trips. He could only conjecture that Zeph and the Canaries and others in whom Zeph was interested, were located somewhere in the vicinity. However, he caught no sight of any person in the neighborhood of the spur as he passed it. The thing was getting to be a worry to the young engineer, but although he daily promised himself he would manage some way to visit the place, no favorable opportunity presented.
The run to Rockton and back had become harder as cold weather came on. There was a call for extra vigilance and close attention to routine. A snowstorm caught them one night on the out run, and Ralph found out that it was no trifle running with blurred signals among the deep mountain cuts. A great rain followed, then a freeze up, then another heavy fall of snow, and the crew of the Overland Express had a rigorous week of it.
They had made the run to Rockton four hours late on account of a broken bridge, and the next evening when they reported at the roundhouse, engineer and fireman found a cancelled trip instead of readiness for their regular return run ​to Stanley Junction. The foreman was busy in his office at the telephone, receiving continual instructions from the dispatcher. He was sending men and messengers in every direction. The exigencies of the hour required blockade and wrecking crews. The foreman looked bothered and worried, and nodded to Ralph and Fogg in a serious way as there was a lull at the 'phone.
"No run to-night, boys," he announced. "You'd better get back to your warm beds."
"Blockade on the Mountain Division?" inquired the fireman.
"Worse than that. The whole division is annulled this side of Fordham, and that's over half the run. Two bridges down, a freight wreck at Wayne, and the mountain cuts are choked with drifts. I doubt if you will break through for a couple of nights."
"H'm," observed Fogg. "I fancied to-day's storm would shut up things."
"It has. We're half clear south, but west and north there isn't a wheel moving within fifty miles."
"We may as well make the best of it then, Fairbanks," said the fireman, "and get back to our boarding house."
The speaker started for the door and Ralph followed him. Just then with a sudden roar of ​the tempest outside the door was swept open. Two snow-covered forms came in.
They were men closely muffled up, and they paused for a moment to shake the snow from their heavy enveloping overcoats. The foreman stared curiously at the intruders. One of them threw his overcoat open. Fogg grasped Ralph's arm with a start as he seemed to recognize the man.
"Hello!" he ejaculated in a sharp half whisper. "What does this mean, Fairbanks? It's the president of the Great Northern."