The Young Section-Hand

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

But it seemed in no haste about coming. December opened bright and warm, and two weeks slipped by. Although it was evident that the tramps were becoming less numerous, and the management of the road began to breathe more freely, still the head of the police department did not relax his caution. He had his ear to the ground, and, from that hidden, subterranean region of trampdom, he still heard vague and uncertain, but no less threatening, rumblings.

It was clear that the battle was not yet won, for the petty annoyances continued, though in an ever lessening degree, and even in the yards the tramps or their sympathizers managed to do much harm. A freight-train would be standing in the yards, ready for its trip east or west; the conductor would give the signal to start, the engineer would open his throttle, and instantly it would be discovered that some one had drawn all the coupling-pins; but, before the engineer could stop his engine, he had torn out all the air-hose on the train. Or, perhaps, the train would start all right, but, in the course of half an hour, the fireman would discover he could not keep the steam up, no matter how hot his fire was; the pressure would fall and fall until the train would be stalled out on the road, and an investigation would disclose the fact that some one had thrown a lot of soap into the tank. Then the whole system would be tied up until another engine could be sent to the rescue to push the train into the nearest siding. Or, perhaps, the train would be bowling along merrily until, of a sudden, the well-trained noses of conductor and brakemen would detect the odour of a hot box. The train would be stopped, and it would soon be found that some one had removed the packing from the boxes.

All of these things were provoking enough, especially since it was evident that in almost every case the mischief had been done in the yards under the very noses of the trainmen, although no tramps had been seen there. Indeed, the trainmen, after wrestling with such annoyances for a time, came to be of a temper that made it exceedingly dangerous for a tramp to be found anywhere near railroad property. Yet the annoyances went on, and became gradually of a more serious nature. One night a brakeman found the main switch at the east end of the yards spiked, and it was only by a hair’s breadth that a serious collision was avoided. But the climax came one morning when Bill Morrison, on the crack engine of the road, found that some one had put sand in his boxes, and that the journals were ground off and ruined.

A rigid investigation was ordered at once, but no clue to the perpetrator of the mischief was discovered. Yet it seemed certain that it could not have been done by a tramp. No tramp had been in the yards—the yard-men were sure of that—and the officials were forced to the unwelcome conclusion that some one whom they did not suspect—some one who was permitted to enter the yards—some one connected with the road, perhaps—was guilty. It was a disquieting thought, for there was no telling what might happen next.

And then, one morning, Allan solved the mystery. It was a little after four o’clock and still quite dark as he passed through the yards to start on his morning walk. A freight-train stood ready to start east, with its great mogul of an engine puffing and blowing with impatience. Just as Allan passed it, he saw a figure emerge from underneath it. He thought at first it was the engineer, but, instead of mounting to the cab, the figure slunk away into the darkness, carefully avoiding the glare of the headlight. Then the boy saw the conductor and engineer standing, with heads together, a little distance away, reading their orders by the light of the conductor’s lantern. He ran toward them.

“Mr. Spurling,” he said to the engineer, “I just saw a man come out from under your engine.”

“You did!” and engineer and conductor, with compressed lips, hurried back to where the engine stood. The former flashed his torch underneath, and then straightened up with a very grim face.

“Look at that link-motion,” he said, and the conductor stooped and looked. Then he, too, straightened up.

“It’s a good thing we didn’t get started,” he said. “I’ll go and report it. It’s lucky for us you saw that scoundrel, my boy,” he added, as he hurried away, and the engineer clapped Allan on the shoulder.

“Mighty lucky,” he said. “It’s a good thing there’s one man around here who keeps his eyes open.”