Ralph on the Engine/Chapter 29
CHAPTER XXIX
A PRISONER
The three men almost instantly confronted Ralph, and one of them seized him, holding him firmly.
Ralph quickly decided on his course of action. He yawned in the face of the speaker and drawled sleepily:
"What are you waking a fellow up for?"
One held Ralph, another lit a match. They were rough, but shrewd fellows. Instantly one of them said:
"Disguised!" and he pulled off Ralph's false moustache. "That means a spy. Fellows, how can we tell Woods?"
"S—sh!" warned a companion—"no names. Now, young fellow, who are you?"
But "young fellow" was gone! In a flash Ralph comprehended that he was in a bad fix, his usefulness on the scene gone. In a twinkling he had jerked free from the grasp of the man who held him, had sprung to the platform of the oil car and thence to the roof of the next box car.
Almost immediately his recent captor was after him. It was now for Ralph a race to the engine and his friend Barton.
The running boards were covered with sleet and as slippery as glass, yet Ralph forged ahead. He could hear the short gasps for breath of a determined pursuer directly behind him.
"Got you!" said a quick voice. Its owner stumbled, his head struck the young fireman and Ralph was driven from the running board.
He was going at such a momentum that in no way could he check himself, but slid diagonally across the roof of the car. There destruction seemed to face him.
His pursuer had fallen flat on the running board. Ralph dropped flat also, clutching vainly at space. His fingers tore along the thin sheeting of ice. He reached the edge of the car roof.
For one moment the young fireman clung there. Then quick as a flash he slipped one hand down. It was to hook his fingers into the top slide bar of the car's side door. The action drew back the door about an inch. It was unlocked. Ralph dropped his other hold lightning-quick, thrust his hand into the interstice, pushed the door still further back, and precipitated himself forward across the floor of an empty box car.
There he lay, done up, almost terrified at the crowding perils of the instant, marveling at his wonderful escape from death.
"They must think I went clear to the ground," theorized Ralph. "I am safe for the present, at least. What an adventure! And Woods is in league with the freight thieves! That solves the problem for the railroad company.
"An empty car," he said, as he finally struggled to his feet. "I'll wait till the train stops again and then run ahead to Barton. Hello!" he exclaimed sharply, as moving about the car, his foot came in contact with some object.
Ralph stood perfectly still. He could hear deep, regular breathing, as of some one asleep. His curiosity impelled him to investigate farther. He took a match from his pocket, flared it, and peered down.
Directly in one corner of the car lay a big, powerful man. He was dressed in rags. His coat was open, and under it showed a striped shirt.
"Why!" exclaimed Ralph, "a convict—an escaped convict!"
The man grasped in one hand, as if on guard with a weapon of defense, a pair of handcuffs connected with a long, heavy steel chain. Apparently he had in some way freed himself from these.
Ralph flared a second match to make a still closer inspection of the man. This aroused the sleeper. He moved, opened his eyes suddenly, saw Ralph, and with a frightful yell sprang up.
"I've got you!" he said, seizing Ralph. "After me, are you? Hold still, or I'll throttle you. How near are the people who sent you on my trail?"
"I won't risk that," shouted the man wildly.
In a twinkling he had slipped the handcuffs over Ralph's wrists. The latter was a prisoner so strangely that he was more curious than alarmed.
"Going to stop, are they?" pursued the man, as there was some whistling ahead. "Mind you, now, get off when I do. Don't try to call, and don't try to run away, or I'll kill you."
The train stopped and Ralph's companion pulled back the door. He got out, forcing Ralph with him, and proceeded directly into the timber lining the railroad, never pausing till he had reached a desolate spot near a shallow creek. Then the man ordered a halt. He sat down on the ground and forced his captive to follow his example.
"Who are you?" he demanded roughly.
"I am Ralph Fairbanks, a fireman on the Great Northern Railroad," promptly explained the young fireman.
"Do you know me?"
"I infer from these handcuffs and your under uniform that you are an escaped convict," answered Ralph.
"Know a good many people, do you?"
"Why, yes, I do," answered Ralph.
"Where is Stanley Junction?"
"About forty miles north of here. I live there."
"You do? you do?" cried the convict, springing up in a state of intense excitement. "Here, lad, don't think me harsh or mean, or cruel, but you have got to stay with me. You would betray me to the police."
"No, I would not," declared Ralph.
"You would, I know—it's human nature. There is a big reward out for me. Then, too, you know people. Yes, you must stay with me."
"I can't help you any—why should you detain me?" insisted Ralph.
"I must find a man," cried the convict, more wildly than ever—"or you must find him for me."
"What man, is that?" spoke Ralph.
"Do you know a Mr. Gasper Farrington?"
"Quite well," answered Ralph, rather startled at the question.
"That is the man!" shouted the convict.
"And that is singular, for I am very anxious myself to find that same individual," said the young fireman.
Ralph felt that he was in the midst of a series of strange adventures and discoveries that might lead to important results, not only for the person he had so strangely met, but for himself, as well.
This impression was enforced as he watched his captor pace up and down the ground, muttering wildly. He seemed to have some deep-rooted hatred for Gasper Farrington. "Revenge," "Punishment," "Justice," were the words that he constantly uttered. Ralph wondered what course he could pursue to get the man down to a level of coherency and reason. Finally the man said:
"Come, get up, we must find some shelter."
After an hour of arduous tramping they came to an old barn that had been partly burned down. There was some hay in it. The convict lay down on this, unloosed one handcuff from the wrist of his prisoner, and attached the other to his own arm and lay as if in a daze until daybreak. Now he could inspect his prisoner clearly, and Ralph could study the worn, frenzied face of his captor. The latter had calmed down somewhat.
"Boy," he said, finally, "I don't dare to let you go, and I don't know what to do."
"See here," spoke Ralph, "you are in deep trouble. I don't want to make you any more trouble. Suppose you tell me all about yourself and see if I can't help you out."
"Oh, I don't dare to trust any one," groaned the man.
"You spoke of Gasper Farrington," suggested Ralph. "Is he an enemy of yours?"
"He has ruined my life," declared the convict.
"And why do you seek him?"
"To demand reparation, to drag him to the same fate he drove me to. Just let me find him—that is all I wish—to meet him face to face."
Ralph began to quietly tell the story of his own dealings with the village magnate of Stanley Junction. It had a great effect upon his auditor. From dark distrust and suspicion his emotions gradually subsided to interest, and finally to confidence.
It was only by gradations that Ralph led the man to believe that he was his friend and could help him in his difficulties.
The convict told a pitiful story. Ralph believed it to be a true one. To further his own avaricious ends. Farrington had devised a villainous plot to send the man to the penitentiary. He had escaped. He had documents that would cause Farrington not only to disgorge his ill-gotten gains, but would send him to jail.
"I want to get to where those documents are hidden," said the convict. "Then to find Farrington, and I shall right your wrongs as well as my own."
Ralph reflected deeply over the matter in hand. He resolved on a course of proceedings and submitted it to his companion.
He offered to take the convict to the isolated home of Amos Greenleaf, where he could remain safely in retirement. Ralph promised to get him comfortable garments and provide for his board and lodging. In a few days he would see him again and help him to find Farrington.
The young fireman was now released from the handcuffs. He calculated the location of the place where Greenleaf lived.
"It is about fifteen miles to the spot I told you of," he explained to the convict.
"Can we reach it without being seen by any one?" anxiously inquired his companion.
"Yes, I can take a route where we need not pass a single habitation."
It was afternoon when they reached the home of old Amos Greenleaf.
Ralph experienced no difficulty in arranging that the convict remain there for a few days. He gave Greenleaf some money, and, promising to see the convict very soon, proceeded to Wilmer.
The young fireman took the first train for Afton, and reported what had occurred to the assistant superintendent.
Two days later Woods and his companions were in jail, and a great part of the stolen freight plunder was recovered.
Woods confessed that he had duplicated keys and seals for the doors and ventilators of the freight cars, and the bold thieveries along the Great Northern now ceased.
Ralph obtained leave of absence for a week. He decided that it was worth while to try and find Gasper Farrington. He went to the city, got certain papers belonging to the magnate from Mr. Grant, and went to Wilmer.
He was soon at the junction of the Springfield & Dover Short Cut Railroad and the Great Northern. That terminus was completed. A neat depot had been erected, and on the tracks of the new railroad there stood a handsome locomotive.
"Oh, Ralph!" cried Zeph Dallas, rushing forward to greet his friend, as the young fireman appeared. "Great news!"