The switchman came up to the special as Ralph slowed down.
“It’s stalled, you are,” he observed.
“I see that,” said Ralph.
“A thrick.”
“You think that, do you?”
“I know it. ’Twas done a-purpose. We’ve had no kind of throuble here before. They just pulled those two old wrecks to the crossing and derailed them a-purpose.”
Ralph left his fireman in charge of the engine and ran up into the signal tower. He came down in a few minutes and consulted with the conductor. The fireman studied his set grave face intently as he resumed his place at the throttle. Ralph pulled the whistle as a back up signal. Then the train, composed of ten refrigerator fruit cars and the caboose, began retracing the course the special had just come.
Ten miles backing, and the special arrived at the station where Ralph had received the message from headquarters. He had a brisk brief talk with the operator there, calling the conductor into the consultation. There was some switching, and the locomotive, headed right, started from the main in a southerly direction.
“I say, Mr. Fairbanks,” the fireman expressed himself in some wonderment, “of course you know where you are going.”
“I hope I do.”