Ralph of the Roundhouse: or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man

CHAPTER XV-"VAN"

When the one o'clock whistle sounded, Ralph started over for the engine stalls.

"Hold on!" challenged the lame helper, suddenly appearing in his usual extraordinary way.

"What's the trouble?" asked Ralph.

"Boss says you're on the sick list."

"But I'm not!" declared Ralph with a smile and mock-valiantly waving his injured arm.

"Says you're to go home, and report in morning."

"But I can't do that," demurred Ralph.

"Must-orders."

"It would worry my mother, she would think something serious was wrong with me, while I feel as well as I ever did in my life-yes, better, even," insisted Ralph.

"Well, you're not to work, boss says-you can loaf, if you like."

"That's something I don't fancy."

"Then watch me, and I'll show you some things."

"Good!" assented Ralph. "If they are bound to have me invalided, at least let me learn something in the meantime."

Limpy did not talk much, but after an hour of his company Ralph voted him a wonder.

There must be some vivid history back of the man, Ralph theorized, for there were sparkles of real genius here and there in his movements and explanations of the next two hours.

He showed Ralph the true merits and economics of the wiper's avocation in a quick, practical way that proved Ike Slump was a novice and a bungler.

Then the helper took Ralph under his special tuition higher up in the scale.

Ralph was in a real transport of delighted interest as the lame helper taught him the first principles of preparing, running and controlling a locomotive.

He did something more than control a throttle or move a lever-he explained why this and that was done, and demonstrated cause and effect in a clear-cut way that gave Ralph more real, sound information in two hours than he could have gained from the study of books in as many months.

The foreman passed in and out of the place several times during the afternoon, but seemed almost studiously to avoid contact or conversation with Ralph.

About four o'clock the helper, busy wheeling away the broken bricks from the hole in the wall, nudged Ralph meaningly.

"Slump's old man," he said tersely.

Glancing towards the office, Ralph saw a coarse-featured, disorderly looking man conversing with the foreman.

The latter was cool, dignified and evidently laying down the law in an unmistakably clear manner to his visitor, who shrugged his shoulders, pounded his palms together, and seemed wroth and worked up over the situation they were discussing.

Ralph knew that Slump senior ran a saloon just beyond the freight sheds, and was glad to see him go off alone and evidently disgruntled and fancied he caught an expression on Forgan's face indicating that he had done his duty and was glad of it.

"Bad lot," commented Limpy, coming back for some more bricks.

"Foreman?"

"No, Slump. It was two of his poison drinks four years ago that sent me home one night on the wrong tracks, crippled me for life, lost me my run, and made a pensioned drudge of me for the rest of my years," declared the helper bitterly.

By five o'clock the débris had been cleared away from the break in the roundhouse wall, the derailed locomotive backed to place, and things ready for the masons to repair the damage in the morning.

Ralph was walking away from a cursory inspection of the spot, when a whistle sounded directly outside. Then a hissing voice echoed:

"Hey, Slump!"

Ralph turned. A man was moving around the edge of the break in the wall.

"I'm not Slump," announced Ralph. Then he recognized the stranger. It was the tramp-like individual who had come after Ike Slump's dinner pail two nights previous.

"Oh!" he now said, drawing back in a suspicious, embarrassed manner. "Where's Ike?"

"He has gone home, I suppose," answered Ralph.

"Didn't-that is, he hasn't left his dinner pail for me, has he?" floundered the tramp.

"No, he took it with him. At any rate, his locker is empty."

"All right," muttered the fellow, edging away.

Ralph remembered that heavily-weighted dinner pail of Ike Slump's with some suspicion. Still, Ike's explanation of furnishing the man with a daily lunch looked plausible.

"Hold on," called Ralph after the receding form.

"What is it?" inquired the tramp, wheeling about.

"I'll help you out-wait a minute."

Ralph hurried to his locker. Fully half of his noonday lunch had been left untasted. He bundled up the fragments and returned to the break in the wall.

"Here's a bite," said Ralph.

"Thank you," growled the tramp gruffly, taking the proffered lunch.

A minute later Ralph was summoned to a bench placed under the windows at the south curve of the building.

Limpy stood on the bench, looking out.

"Come here," he directed. "No use!"

"What do you mean?" inquired Ralph.

"Look."

Ralph, clambering up to the bench, had the retiring tramp in full view.

The latter was piece by piece firing the lunch he had given him at switches and signal posts, as if he had a special spite against it.

"Didn't come for food, you see?" observed the helper.

"What did he come for, then?" demanded Ralph, indignant and wrought up.

Limpy simply shrugged his shoulders, and went off about his duties.

Ralph was not sorry when the six o'clock whistle sounded. He had gone through an uncommon strain, both mental and physical, during the day, and was tired and glad to get home.

Limpy, in his smooth, quiet way, arranged it so that he left the roundhouse when Ralph did, and as the latter noticed that his companion kept watching out in all directions, he traced a certain voluntary guardianship in the man's intentions.

But if Limpy feared that Ike Slump or his satellites were lying in wait, it was not along the special route Ralph took in proceeding homewards.

He reached the little cottage with no unpleasant interruptions. His mother welcomed him at the gate with a bright smile. Their boy guest was weeding out a vegetable bed. He immediately came up to Ralph, extending a beautifully clean full-grown carrot he had selected from its bed.

Ralph took it, patting the giver encouragingly on the shoulder, who looked satisfied, and Ralph was pleased at this indication that the boy knew him.

"How has he been all day?" Ralph inquired of his mother.

"Just as you see him now," answered the widow. "He has been busy all day, willing, happy as a lark. The doctor dropped in this afternoon."

"What did he say?" asked Ralph.

"He says there is nothing the matter with the boy excepting the shock. He fears no violent outbreak, or anything of that kind, and only hopes that gradually the cloud will leave his mind."

"If kindness can help any, he will get sound and well," declared Ralph chivalrously. "He doesn't talk much?"

"Hardly a word, but he watches, and seems to understand everything."

"What is that?" asked Ralph, pausing as they passed together through the side door.

The wood shed door was scrawled over with chalk marks Ralph had not seen there before.

"Oh," explained Mrs. Fairbanks, "he found a piece of chalk, and seemed to take pleasure in writing every once in a while."

"And just one word?"

"Yes, Ralph-those three letters."

"V-A-N," spelled out Ralph. "Mother, that must be his name-Van."

CHAPTER XVI-FACE TO FACE

Ralph Fairbanks' second day of service at the roundhouse passed pleasantly, and without any incident out of the common.

With the disappearance of Ike Slump a new system of order and harmony seemed to prevail about the place. The foreman's rugged brow was less frequently furrowed with care or anger over little mishaps, and Ralph could not help but notice a more subdued tone in his dealings with the men.

When Ralph came home that evening, his mother told him of a visit from the foreman's daughter-in-law and little Nora. They had brought Mrs. Fairbanks a beautiful bouquet of flowers, and their praises of Ralph had made the widow prouder of her son than ever.

That morning, Van, as they now called their guest, had insisted on going with Ralph to his work as far as the next corner, and it was with difficulty that the young railroader had induced him to return to the cottage.

That evening, Van met him nearly two squares away, and when he reached the house Ralph expressed some anxiety to his mother over their guest's wandering proclivities.

"I don't think he would go far away of his own will," said Mrs. Fairbanks. "You see, Ralph, he counts on your going and coming. This morning, after you sent him home, I found him on the roof of the house. He had got up there from the ladder, and was watching you till you were finally lost to view among the car tracks."

Ike Slump did not show up the third day. A fireman told Ralph that he had run away from home, and that his father had been looking for him. Ike had been seen in the town by several persons, but always at a distance, and evidently keeping in hiding with some chosen cronies most of the time.

"He's no good, and you'll hear from him in a bad way yet," was the railroader's prediction.

When No. 6 came into the roundhouse next morning, the extra who had taken engineer Griscom's place for two days told Ralph that the old veteran would be on hand to take out the afternoon west train himself.

Ralph got Limpy to help him put some fancy touches on the heaviest runner of the road. At noon he hurried home and back, and brought with him a bright little bouquet of flowers.

No. 6, standing facing the turntable at two o'clock that afternoon, was about as handsome a piece of metal as ever crossed the rails.

Old Griscom came into the roundhouse a few minutes later, his running traps slung over his arm, reported, and was surrounded by the dog house crowd.

This was his first public appearance since the fire at the yards. He still looked singed and shaken from his rough experience, but as he saw Ralph he extended his hand, and gave his young favorite a twist that almost made Ralph wince.

"On deck, eh?" he called cheerily. "Well, I call first choice when you get ready to fire coal."

"That's a long ways ahead, Mr. Griscom!" laughed Ralph.

"Forgan don't say so. Hi! what you giving me? A brand-new runner?"

The veteran engineer gave a start of prodigious animation and real pleased surprise as his glance fell on No. 6.

The headlight shone like a great dazzling brilliant, the brass work looked like gold. In the engineer's window stood the little bouquet, and the cab was as neat and clean as a housewife's kitchen.

Griscom swung onto his cushion with a kind of jolly cheer, and the foreman, catching the echo, waved his welcome and approbation in an unusually pleasant way from the door of his little office.

Big Denny had been a periodical visitor to the roundhouse since the rescue of little Nora Forgan.

He had taken a strong fancy to Ralph, it seemed, and whenever he had a few minutes to spare would seek out the young wiper, and seemed to take a rare pleasure in posting him on many a bit of technical experience in the railroading line.

He chatted with Ralph on this last occasion while the latter sat filling the firemen's cans with oil, and drew him out as to his home life, his mother and his reason for going to work.

"So Farrington holds a mortgage on your home?" said Denny. "I didn't know that. He's pretty rich, I hear. I remember the time, though, when people thought your father was his partner in some of his bond deals."

"Yes, mother supposed so, too," said Ralph.

"Your father put him onto the good thing the railroad was, first of all. I know that much," declared Denny.

"It looks as if my father lost all his holdings just before he died," said Ralph.

"Then Farrington got them, I'll wager that-the sly old fox!" commented Denny, who was generally strong in his personal convictions.

"Well, some day, when I am in a position to do so, I'm going to have Mr. Gasper Farrington hauled into court about the matter," observed Ralph. "If he has anything belonging to my mother and me, we want it."

"It seems to me you ought to find something among your father's papers shedding light on the subject?" suggested Denny.

"It looks as if my father had had blind confidence in Mr. Farrington," said Ralph.

"Yes, the old fox has a way of winding himself around his victims," declared the outspoken watchman. "I remember a fellow he wound up good and proper, about three years ago."

"Who was that?" asked Ralph.

"His name was Farwell Gibson. He got the railroad fever, sold his farm, came to the Junction, and he and Farrington had some deals. They had a big row one night, too, and Farrington threw Gibson out of his house, and some windows were broken. The neighbors heard Gibson accuse Farrington of robbing him. Next day, though, Farrington swore out a warrant against Gibson for forgery, and Gibson has never been seen since. Maybe," concluded Big Denny, "he killed him."

"Oh, he wouldn't do that!"

"Gasper Farrington has a heart as hard as flint," said Denny, "and would do anything for money."

"Farwell Gibson," murmured Ralph, memorizing the name.

When quitting-time came that evening, Ralph left the roundhouse alone, Limpy having been sent with a message to the depot.

As usual, he saved distance by following the tracks where they curved, then at a certain point cut through the unfenced back yards of some small stores fronting the depot street.

Beyond this was a prairie. Turning a heap of ties to take a last straight shoot for home, Ralph found his progress abruptly blocked.

"Thought we'd get you!" announced a familiar voice, and Ike Slump stepped into view.

CHAPTER XVII-THE BATTLE BY THE TRACKS

"What do you want?" demanded Ralph.

He did not at all look as if his hour had come, but he backed to a commanding position against the pile of ties, as half a dozen hoodlum companions of Ike Slump followed their leader into sight.

"Peel!" said Ike importantly, and he began to roll up his sleeves.

"I'm comfortable," suggested Ralph easily. "By the way, Ike, your father is looking for you."

"Never you mind about my affairs," retorted Ike. "It's you I've been waiting for, it's you I've got, and it's you I'm going to lick."

"What for?" asked Ralph.

"What for?" echoed Ike derisively-"hear him, fellows!"

"Ho! hear him!" echoed the motley crew at Ike's heels.

"I told you at the roundhouse that I'd pay you off, didn't I?" demanded Ike.

"I think I remember."

"Well, I'm going to do it."

"Here? And now?"

"Precisely."

"You insist that I've done something to be paid off for?"

"Yes. You insulted me."

"How?"

This was a poser. Ike was silent.

"Tell you, Slump," said Ralph, setting down his dinner pail. "You're just spoiling to do something mean. I never did you an injury, and I would like to do you some good, if I could. You're in bad company. You had better leave it and go home to your father. If you won't take advice, and are bound to force me to the wall-why, I'll do my share."

At Ralph's allusion to the company Ike kept, two of the biggest of his cohorts sprang forward.

"Your turn later," said Ike. "This is my personal affair just now."

"You will force things?" questioned Ralph calmly.

"What! Do you mean will I let you off? Nixy! No baby act, Fairbanks! Peel, and put up your fists."

"Very well," said Ralph. "I think I can manage you with my coat on."

Ralph was not a particle in doubt as to the ultimate result of the "scrap." He had gone through a half-vacation course of splendid athletic training, and his muscles were as hard as iron. Not so cigarette-smoking, loose-jointed Ike Slump.

"That for that sand trick!" announced Ike. "And that's for dodging that waste ball."

So sure was Ike of landing on Ralph's nose with one fist, that he supplemented his first announcement with the second one as his other fist circled to take Ralph on the side of the head.

Ralph did not dodge. He inwardly laughed at Ike's clumsy tactics. With one hand he warded off both blows, drew back his free fist, and let it drive.

"Ugh!" said Ike Slump.

As Ralph's knotty knuckles took him under the chin, there was a snap, a whirl, and Ike Slump keeled clear off his balance and sat down on the ground.

It was done so quickly and so neatly that Ike's cohorts were too astonished to move.

"Get up-go for him!" directed the biggest boy in the gang.

"I can't!" bellowed Ike, spitting out a tooth-"he's cracked my jaw. He had a spike in his hand!"

"Foul, eh!" scowled the big fellow, hunching towards Ralph.

The young railroader with a contemptuous smile extended both free palms. He shut them quickly together again, however, for he saw that Slump's crowd did not know the meaning of either honor or fairness.

So determined and ready did he look that the big fellow hesitated. Ralph heard him give some directions to his companions, and the crowd moved forward in unison.

"A rush, eh?" he said. "You're a fine bunch! but-come on."

Ralph's spirit was now fully aroused. He had no ambition to shine as a pugilist, but he would always fight for his rights.

The big fellow dashed at him, calling to his companions. Ralph shot out his right fist as quick as lightning. The blow went home, and the big bully blinked, spluttered, and reeled aside with his nose flattened.

Two of his companions sprang at Ralph, one on each side. Ralph caught one by the throat, the other by the waistband. They were hitting away at him, but he knew how to dodge. To and fro they wrestled, Ralph knocking them together whenever he could, never letting go, and using them as a shield against the big fellow, who, as mad as a hornet and with a reckless look in his eye, had resumed the attack.

Suddenly the latter managed to dodge behind Ralph, put out his foot, tripped him, and the trio fell to the ground.

Ralph held on to his first assailants, struggling to a sitting position.

At that moment the big bully ran upon him. The cowardly brute raised his foot to kick Ralph. The latter saw he was at the rascal's mercy. He let go the two squirming at his side, shot out a hand, and catching the uplifted foot brought its owner pell-mell down upon him.

The bully struck his head in falling, and was momentarily dizzied. Ralph flopped clear over, sat upon him, and was kept busy warding off the blows of the two fellows he had released.

There were six others in the gang. These now made an onrush. Ralph tried to calculate his chances and map out the best course to pursue.

Just then a new element was injected into the scene.

Around the corner of the pile of ties came a new figure with cyclonic precipitancy.

It was Van, the guest of the cottage. He must have witnessed the scene from a distance. He swung to a halt, his face imperturbable as ever, but his eyes covering every object in the ensemble.

"Fight," he said simply, and swinging both arms like battering arms sailed into the nearest adversary.

"Don't strike him!" called out Ralph instantly-"he's wrong in his head!"

"We'll right it for him!" announced one of the crowd.

The speaker swung a bag as he spoke. It seemed to contain something bulky, for as it just missed Van's head and bounded on the shoulders of one of the user's own friends, the latter went down like a lump of lead.

Van never stopped. In a kind of windmill progress he struck out, sideways, in all directions. In two minutes' time he had cleared the field, every combatant was in flight, and leaning over and seizing the big bully squirming under Ralph, he weighted him on a dead balance for a second, and then sent him sliding ten feet along the ground after his beaten fellows.

Ralph released the other two and let them run for safety, actually afraid that his friend Van would do them some serious injury with that phenomenal ox-like strength stored up in his sturdy arms.

But Van was as cool as an iceberg. He was not even out of breath.

"More," he said

"No, no, Van!" demurred Ralph. "You've done nobly, old fellow. Let them go, they've had their medicine. Carry this for me," and Ralph thrust his dinner pail into Van's hand, more to divert his attention than anything else. "They've left something behind, it seems."

Ralph picked up the bag he had seen used as a missile. Its weight aroused his curiosity, he peered into the bag.

"I see!" he murmured gravely to himself.

In the bottom of the bag was about thirty pounds of brass fittings. Ralph had seen bin after bin of their counterparts in the supply sheds near the roundhouse, and never in any quantity anywhere else.

These, like those, were stamped, and bore the impress that they were railroad property.

"You can come with me, Van," said Ralph, and turned back in the direction of the roundhouse.

The foreman was just leaving the office, Ralph dropped the bag inside the room.

"What's that, Fairbanks?" inquired Forgan, as he heard the stuff jangle.

"It's some brass fittings," explained Ralph. "I am sure they belong to the company. I found them in the hands of a gang of hoodlums, and of course they were stolen."

"Eh? hold on-this interests me!" and Forgan proceeded to inspect the contents of the bag "That's bad!" he commented with knit brows. "A leak like that shows something rotten on the inside! Tell me more about this affair, Fairbanks."

Ralph fancied he now understood the mission of the tramp who was in such close touch with Ike Slump, and also the reason why Slump's dinner pail was so heavy.

He did not, however, impart his suspicions to the foreman. The latter muttered something about the thing being important, and that he must look into it deeper, as Ralph stated that he had been assaulted by a gang of hoodlums who had left the bag of fittings behind them.

"Who are they?" questioned the foreman.

"I don't know their names."

"Was Ike Slump among them?" shrewdly interrogated Forgan.

"I don't care to say," answered Ralph.

"You needn't, I can guess the rest. Only don't forget what you do know if somebody higher up asks about this matter. I'm responsible here, and a leak in the supply department has dished more than one foreman. Thank you, Fairbanks-thank you again," added the foreman with real sentiment in glance and accents.

About ten o'clock the next morning Ralph was called to the foreman's office.

He expected some further developments in the matter of the brass fittings, but, upon entering the room, found himself face to face with Ike Slump's father.

The foreman was, or pretended to be, busy at his desk. Slump senior looked very much troubled. Ralph shrank from his repulsive face and a memory of his nefarious calling, but he nodded politely as Slump asked:

"This is young Fairbanks?"

The saloon keeper fidgeted for a minute or two. Then he said:

"I don't suppose you bear any particular good will towards me or mine, Fairbanks, but I've had to come to you. My boy assaulted you last night, I understand."

"Why, no," answered Ralph, with a slight smile-"he only tried to."

"Well, it's just this: He's in trouble, and he's likely to go deeper unless he's stopped. He keeps out of my way. His mother is heart-broken and sick abed over his doings."

"I am very sorry," said Ralph. "Can I do anything to help you, Mr. Slump?"

"I think you can," answered Slump. "You know Ike and his associates, and maybe you can get track of their hang-out. I can't. Fairbanks," and the man's voice broke, "it's killing my wife! It's a lot to ask of you, under the circumstances, but Forgan says you seem to have a knack of doing everything right. I want you to find my boy-I want you to try to prevail on him to come home. Will you?"

Ralph was a good deal moved as he thought of the stricken mother. He had small hopes of Ike Slump-smaller than ever, as he considered the manner of man his father was, but he answered promptly:

"I'll try, Mr. Slump."