CHAPTER XIV
A TRAGEDY
There was a fight down by one of the stockade gates not long after Ralph telephoned to Mr. Hopkins to learn if the supervisor knew anything about Bob Adair. It might as well be said that the young train dispatcher got no satisfaction from Barton Hopkins.
“I am not giving information of railroad affairs to anybody, Fairbanks, and you should know that,” the supervisor had said shortly. “If the chief detective wishes to interview you, he doubtless will know how to find you.”
“But I’ve got some information for him!” ejaculated Ralph.
Mr. Hopkins hung up without further reply. He evidently considered it sheer impudence for the train dispatcher to have called him. It was within the next ten minutes that the row started at the yard gate.
Ralph grabbed his cap and ran down to see what it was all about. The time was verging toward midnight. Freight trains had been made up as usual and sent out. But outside the railroad property a crowd had been gathering, and the yard crews were hooted and threatened.
The train dispatcher was too late to take any part in the fight. But he learned that the attack had been made upon several of the members of the night train crews that were coming in by this gate because it was nearest to the roundhouse.
The police had charged and aided the railroad men in driving back the strike sympathizers. Missiles had been thrown and one of the men attacked had had his coat torn off. When Ralph got close to this man he saw that it was old Byron Marks, engineer of the fast express.
“For pity’s sake, By!” he demanded, as he aided the old engineer away from the center of the mêlée, “why didn’t you come around the other way?”
“I didn’t want to see that blamed supervisor again,” gasped the engineer, wiping the blood from his scratched face. Then he held a hand tightly upon his heart as though to still it. He was very pale, save for crimson spots beneath his cheekbones. “I’d rather fight these rats than talk to Hopkins.”