Ralph on the Engine Part 25

"I see you are," responded the man inside the room, "primed for work, too, it seems to me."

Ralph could not repress some excitement. The man Bartlett he instantly recognized as the person who had delivered to him in the city the papers from Gasper Farrington. His visitor he knew to be a discharged telegraph operator of the Great Northern.

"Yes," said the latter, as the door closed on him, "I'm ready for work, so bring on your wire-tapping scheme soon as you like."

CHAPTER XIX

THE WIRE TAPPERS

When the door of the office that Ralph was watching closed again and was locked, the young fireman approached the room. He was very sure that some important move against the railroad was meditated by the two men he had just seen, and he was anxious to overhear their conversation if possible.

To his intense satisfaction Ralph found that a coal box rested under the clouded-gla.s.s window of the office looking into the hallway. This window was down from the top some inches. Ralph clambered up on the coal box, got to the side of the window, fixed his eye at a small s.p.a.ce where the gla.s.s was broken, and prepared to listen to the words of the two men he had in view.

Both sat in chairs now. Bartlett looked brisk and pleased; the ex-telegraph operator was unkempt, rather sullen, and acted like a man under orders on some unpleasant duty.

"Well, Morris," said the former, "all ready, are you? Tools and wire in that bag?"

"Batteries and all, complete outfit," responded the other. "What's the programme?"

"You haven't mentioned about my employing you to any one?"

"Certainly not."

"And have arranged to stay away from town for several days?"

"A week, if you like, at ten dollars a day you promised me," answered Morris.

"Very good. Let me see. There's a train about 10 o'clock."

"There is, if the strikers will let it run out," said Morris.

"Oh, they will. I have arranged all that," chuckled Bartlett. "They'll even help it on, knowing I'm aboard."

"That so?" muttered Morris. "You must have a pull somewhere."

"I have, or at least money has, and I control the money," grinned Bartlett. "You are to come with me down the line about twenty miles.

You'll be told then about this special job."

Bartlett got up and bustled about. He packed a great many papers in a satchel, and finally announced that they had better be starting for the depot.

"Any little by-play you see on the train," said Bartlett, "help along, mind you."

"Why, what do you mean?" inquired Morris.

"You'll see when we get there," replied Bartlett enigmatically.

When they reached the depot the two men got aboard the one pa.s.senger coach of the night accommodation. There was a combination express car ahead. Ralph went to the messenger in charge and arranged to have free access to do as he desired.

When the train started up, he opened the rear door of the car and commanded a clear view into the pa.s.senger coach. The men he was watching sat side by side, engaged in conversation. There were only a few pa.s.sengers aboard.

Ralph kept his eye on the two men. He noticed that Bartlett consulted his watch frequently and glanced as often from the car window.

Finally, when the brakeman was out on the rear platform and the conductor at the front of the coach, the young fireman saw Bartlett quickly draw a small screwdriver from his pocket. Hiding its handle in his palm and letting the blade run along one finger, he dropped his arm down the seat rail into the middle of the aisle.

Morris watched towards the rear platform, Bartlett kept his eye on the conductor. His hand worked against the floor of the car. Finally he drew up his arm, put the screwdriver in his pocket and once more resumed his watch on the outside landscape.

There was a sharp signal, and the train gave a jerk. Bartlett arose to his feet. The next instant he fell flat headlong, and lay apparently insensible on the floor of the coach.

The conductor ran outside. The train started up again. Ralph, from the open doorway, heard the engineer shout back something about a false signal, presumably the work of the strikers. The train proceeded on its way.

It was not until then, as he re-entered the coach, that the conductor became aware of the prostrate man on the floor and Morris and other pa.s.sengers gathering around him in excitement and solicitude. Ralph ventured across the platform near to the door of the pa.s.senger coach.

Bartlett, seemingly unconscious, was lifted to a seat. He soon opened his eyes, but feigned intense pain in his side, and acted the injured man to perfection. He began to explain, pointing to the floor. The conductor investigated. Ralph saw him draw a long bra.s.s screw into sight.

"A clever game," murmured the young fireman. "What a rascal the fellow is! He is laying the foundation for a damage suit."

Morris made himself busy, taking the names of witnesses. When the train stopped, Bartlett had to be almost lifted from the coach. Ralph alighted, too, and kept in the shadow. As soon as the train left, Bartlett was able to walk about una.s.sisted.

The little town they had arrived at was dark and silent, and the two men met no one as they proceeded down its princ.i.p.al street. Then they turned to the south and walked a distance of about a mile. There was a kind of a grove lining the railroad. At its center they reached a lonely hut.

"Open up, there!" shouted Bartlett, pounding on its door with a stick he had picked up.

A light soon showed through the cracks of the board shutters.

"Who is there?" demanded a voice from the inside.

"Bartlett."

"All right--come in."

"Gasper Farrington," murmured Ralph, as he recognized the occupant of the hut.

It was the magnate of Stanley Junction, still disguised, just as he had been the last night Ralph had seen him at the home of Jim Evans.

The three men disappeared within the house. Ralph approached and went cautiously about the place. He could not find a single point where he could look into the hut.

The young fireman felt that it was very important that he should learn what was going on within the house. He at length discovered a way of gaining access to at least one part of it. This was at the rear where a high stack of old hay stood. It almost touched the hut, and its top was very near to a sashless aperture in the attic.

Ralph scaled the stack with some difficulty and reached its top. In another moment he was inside the attic. It was low, the rafters were few and far between, and, as he crept over these, they began to sway and creak in an alarming way.

"This won't do at all," murmured the youth in some dismay, for it seemed that one more movement would carry down the entire ceiling below. He tried to retreat. There was a great cracking sound, and before he could help himself the young fireman went sprawling into the room below in the midst of a shower of plaster and laths.

"h.e.l.lo!" shouted Bartlett, jumping up from a chair in consternation.

"I should say so," exclaimed Morris, dodging about out of the way of falling bits of plaster from the ceiling.

"A spy!" cried Farrington, "a spy! Why, it's Ralph Fairbanks!"