# Ralph of the Roundhouse/Chapter 29

CHAPTER XXIX
A RIVAL RAILROAD
There was some mystery about Farwell Gibson, Ralph decided, and the more he scanned what he knew of his past, his peculiar method of sending the letter to his father, and Van's guarded manner, the more he was satisfied that there was a puzzle of some kind to solve.
The sun was going down and night was coming on apace. Ralph propounded a pertinent query.
"What is your next move, Van?"
"I don't mind telling you—to get after that one-horse gig."
"It's home by this time, probably."
"I intend to follow it."
"I think I had better go with you, Van," suggested Ralph.
"Why not? You don't think I am anxious to shake the best friend I ever had, do you? There's just this, though: Mr. Gibson is a kind of a hermit."
"And does not like strange society? I see. ​Well, I shall not intrude upon him until you have paved the way. Let me keep with you. When you get near his home go on ahead and report just how matters stand. If he cares to see me, I shall be glad. If he don't, there's an end to it."
"That's satisfactory," assented Van heartily. "I guess he will be willing to see you."
"I hope so, Van."
"And if he does, I know you will be glad he did," declared Van convincedly.
"Do you intend to start for his place to-night?" inquired Ralph.
"I think we might. I feel fresh as a lark, and it's a beautiful night. If we get tired we can stop for a rest, and cover the journey by daybreak."
"By daybreak?" repeated Ralph. "Why, it's an easy four hours' jaunt."
"Is it? " smiled Van. "I guess not."
"Only twenty miles?"
"Yes, but such twenty miles! Why, it's a jungle half the distance."
"Isn't there a road?"
"Not a sign of one. The gig will make it on the cut-around, and that means a good forty miles."
"I see. Very well, Van, I am at your orders," announced Ralph.
He thought it best to secure some more ​provisions. They went into the village this time, and at a little store secured what eatables they fancied they might need.
The first mile or two of their journey was very fine traveling, for they kept for that distance to the regularly-traversed road the gig had taken.
Then Van, who seemed to know his bearings, directed a course directly into the timber.
"I don't see any particular fault to be found with this," remarked Ralph, after they had gone a couple of miles.
"Oh, this is easy," rejoined Van. "You see, the Great Northern started in right here to make a survey years ago. That's why there's quite a road for a bit. Wait till you come to where they threw up the job. I say, Fairbanks, that's where they missed it."
"Who? what? where?"
"The Great Northern. If they had surveyed right through and made Dover the terminal, they could have still put through what is now the main line, and this route would have kept the Midland Central out of the field."
"You seem pretty well-posted on railroad tactics," said Ralph.
"I am—around these diggings. I've been in the railroad line for two years."
"You a railroader!"
​"I call myself one."
"You have worked on a railroad?"
"Sure—for two years."
"What railroad?"
Van regarded Ralph quizzically.
"Tell you, Fairbanks," he said, "that's straight, although the railroad hasn't a name yet, hasn't turned a wheel, is so far only two miles long, and that's all grading and no rails."
"Well, you present a truly remarkable proposition," observed Ralph.
"Isn't it? It's a reality, all the same. And it's the key to a situation worth hundreds of thousands."
"You mystify me," acknowledged Ralph,—"allowing you are in earnest."
"Absolutely in earnest. No joshing. I'm quite interested, too, for I'm one of the two men who have built the railroad so far."
"Who is the other?"
Van shook his head.
"That's a secret, for the present. I think you'll know soon, though—soon as you see Mr. Gibson."
Ralph had to be content with this. He comprehended that there was some basis to Van's railroad pretensions, and felt very curious concerning the same.
​At about eleven o'clock that night Van's predictions as to the difficulties in the way of progress were fully verified.
They were apparently in the midst of an untrodden forest. The brush was jungle-like, the ground one continuous sweep of hill and dale.
It took one breathless, arduous hour to cover a mile, and their clothes and hands were scratched and torn with thorns and brambles.
"It's a little better beyond the creek," said Van. "A man could hide in a wilderness like this a good many years in a safe way, eh, Fairbanks?"
"Yes, indeed," answered Ralph, and mentally wondered if his companion was alluding to the mysterious Farwell Gibson.
They were a wearied and travel-worn pair as they lay down to rest at the first token of day-break. It was at the edge of a level expansive sweep surmounted by a dense growth of trees.
"We're nearly there," proclaimed Van.
"How near?" interrogated Ralph.
"You see that hill?"
"Yes."
"That's our last climb."
"I'm thankful," said Ralph.
They tramped up the slope after a bit. Once over its edge Ralph, looking ahead, made out a low rambling log house. It was about half a ​mile away, and smoke was coming out of its chimney.
"Now then," said Van with a smile, "I reckon this is about as close as you need come, for the present—it's a great deal closer than many others have come."
"This is a very isolated spot," said Ralph.
"That's Mr. Gibson's house yonder," continued Van. "I'll go on alone, see him, report, and come back and advise you."
"That's business," said Ralph.
"Just wander around and amuse yourself," recommended Van. "You may find something to interest you."
Ralph grew tired of sitting alone and waiting for Van. As his recent companion had advised, he took a stroll. There seemed a break in the timber about one hundred feet to the left. Ralph proceeded in that direction. He paused at a ten foot avenue cut neat and clean through the woods, and stood lost in contemplation.
Far as he could see across the hill this break in the timber continued. The brush had been cleared away, the ground leveled here and there, some rudely cut ties were set in place, and the lay-out showed a presentable and scientifically laid put and graded roadbed.
"I wonder," said Ralph thoughtfully, "if this ​is a part of Van's boasted railroad? It looks all right as far as it's gone."
What Ralph scanned represented a great deal of labor, that could be discerned at a glance. He knew enough about survey work to judge that a master mind had directed this embryo railroad project.
Ralph was still inspecting the work when a shrill whistle signaled the return of Van.
"It's all right," he announced as he came up to Ralph. "I've told Mr. Gibson everything. He will see you."
"That's good," said Ralph.
He followed Van to the house in the distance. As he neared it he observed that a man stood in the doorway.
This individual was powerfully built, wore a full bushy beard, and had a keen, piercing eye.
He scanned Ralph closely as he approached, and then, standing partly aside, with a not ungraceful wave of his hand welcomed Ralph to the hospitality of his house.
"You are Mr. Gibson?" said Ralph, feeling impelled to say something.
"Yes, young man, I am that person, and this is the office of the Dover and Springfield Short Line. Come in."