“The villain!” commented the fireman.
“Now all we’ve got to do is to beat that game,” resumed Ralph, “and I’ll guarantee you honorable mention and a raise if you help me.”
“Anybody would help you,” declared the fireman enthusiastically, gratified at the confidence reposed on him--“they don’t raise such engineers as you every day.”
“I am a dispatcher at present,” said Ralph, “and a trifle rusty at the old trade, I find.”
Rusty or not, Ralph now entered heartily into the zest of pushing the special through. Twenty miles on the main, to shorten the route a run was started over the Itica branch, forty miles in length. The special had full swing for the east, as headquarters was keeping tab of the train every minute.
There was a stop at Laketon, thirty miles farther on. It came on signal, and Ralph expected something had happened. He read twice the flimsy handed to him by the operator.
It was from the dispatcher at Portland, but via Glidden at headquarters. It advised Ralph that the treacherous engineer, Bartley, had sent a cypher dispatch to some one at Itica.
Itica was ten miles ahead. Here the Great Northern branch tracks crossed those of the rival road on the signal interlocking system.
“I will be glad when we get past Itica,” decided Ralph mentally, after a sharp twenty minutes’ run, as he came in sight of the crossing tower and got the stop signal; a glance ahead told him that it was doubtful if he got past Itica at all.
There was a single track at this point, and it crossed here the double track of the rival line. Blocking the Great Northern completely, a double-header stood slantwise, sagging where it had torn up the ground ripping out a cross-section of the interlocking rails.