Ralph, The Train Dispatcher Part 16

"Oh, I'm posted and watching out for squalls. Think he's a new one from another road. Works like a ham factory hand. When he turned out his first message I asked which foot he did it with. The way he looked at the time cards where the calls are printed and kept the key open, I knew he was an innocent greenhorn. Didn't know what 30 meant when it came, got rattled when headquarters was on the quad, and stumbled over the pink almost scared to death."

A week previous all this would have been Greek to Ralph. At present he quickly understood that 30 was the end of a long message, the quad was where they sent four messages at a time, and a pink was a rush telegram.

"Then you think you're not being watched?" inquired Mason.

"Sure of it," responded Grizzly with confidence.

"What's the cross orders from our friends?"

"Nothing on the general mix up plan," reported the operator. "They struck the right man when they hit me to help them. I've got a big hunch for the far west, and wouldn't have cared if the Great Northern had let me out, since, with the chance to carry a big wad of money away with me, why of course I'm in trim for whatever blows along."

"What's special to-night?"

"A side trick, and that's why I sent for you. We made a bad mix up two nights ago with cross orders and tappings. I think it aroused the suspicions of the superintendent, so we're going slow on that tack for a few days. The gang working for the rival road, though, have let me in on some of their side games. One of them is due to-night."

"What is it?"

"You'll know when the time comes. Got your tools with you?"

Mason lazily touched a bag at his feet with his toe, and it jangled as he replied.

"All of them."

"Good, enjoy yourself till about eleven o'clock. If anyone comes duck behind the box yonder, though I don't think there's any chance of a visit a night like this. The bosses are paying too much attention to the stock end of traffic deals to take a flight at a little disruption of the service. There's a nine--Train orders, I've got to go at my routine."

Ralph settled down as comfortably as he could in his secure hiding place. What he had just heard confirmed forever suspicions that crooked work was being done by crooked operators, and that this fellow Grizzly was one of them.

He listened to the monotonous grind out of the operator: "O.S. O.S. X.N.

No. 21 a. 7:39, d. 7:41," and knew that the Limited Mail had reached Tipton, and had gone on. The night schedule for the Mountain Division west ran the wires, then miscellaneous messages. All this was like reading a book to Ralph, while his mind formed a mental map, a picture of conditions all along the line.

It grew dreadfully monotonous by nine o'clock, however. Grizzly grumbled while getting a heap of work out of the way, Mason went to sleep and snored in his chair by the stove. A sudden diversion, however, aroused him. There was the sound of the lower outside door slamming shut. Ralph could look down at the stairway. Someone had appeared ascending it.

Grizzly heard the footsteps, warning him of an intruder, and rushed at Mason shaking him vigorously with the sharp mandate:

"Bolt!"

A minute later, peering within the operating room, Ralph saw the intruder enter. Mason had got to cover and Grizzly back to his instrument. The intruder suggested some half tipsy ranchman, who staggered into the room shaking the snow from his garments.

"Hi, there, young man," he hailed familiarly to Grizzly. "I want to send a message to Wayne."

"Sorry, but it's too late."

"Too late for what?" growled the intruder, looking skeptical and ugly.

"All the instruments cut out that way and we won't have Wayne till six o'clock in the morning."

"Won't, eh? Well, you've got to, that's all," observed the man, coming nearer to the operating table.

"Come around in the morning and some of the day force will send the message for you."

"No. I've got twenty-six cars of cattle out here that are going there tomorrow, and I want to notify my agents."

Grizzly shook his head and turned to his table. The stranger bolted up against him with a savage face.

"Say," he said, "you send this message or there is going to be trouble."

"Not much, I won't send your confounded old message; get out of this office."

There was a swift movement on the part of the ranchman, then an ominous click, and Grizzly was looking down the barrel of a revolver.

"Give me your blamed old message and I'll send it for you," growled the scared operator, though there was not a wire anywhere near Wayne at the time, but Grizzly had a scheme to stave the fellow off. He took the paper from the man, went over to the switchboard, fumbled at a local instrument, and, as Ralph discerned, went through the form of sending a message.

The stranger watched him furtively, pistol in hand, swaying to and fro like a reed in the wind and grinning like a monkey.

"There, I hope you're satisfied now," muttered Grizzly.

"Of course I am," chuckled the ranchman; "only I rushed a dodge on you, for the pistol isn't loaded. You bit like a fish."

It was the turn of Grizzly to chuckle, however. As the fellow disappeared Mason came into sight again, and the twain chuckled over the deluded ranchman whose message would not go over the wires for many hours to come.

Towards ten o'clock things quieted down. Few messages went over the wires. It was only occasionally that the clicking told off some important train report from big centers. Grizzly looked and acted uneasy. He arose and strode about the room, looking out at the stormy night, stopping dead short in reflective halts, and glancing frequently at the clock, as though he was expecting somebody or something.

"You act as if you was watching for something to happen," suggested Mason, after a long spell of silence.

"I am," replied the operator. "See here, Mason; you know those wires overhead, I'm thinking?"

"Like a book."

"On the tap of eleven I send the man on the north branch home for a good stop."

"Officially, eh?" grinned Mason.

"He'll think so, and that answers."

"And then?"

"Get aloft and cut out."

Mason started and looked serious.

"See here, Grizzly," he objected.

"Did you think I sent for you at twenty dollars a night for fun?"

"No, but----"

"It's this serious: It's a wreck, and a bad one, but if it goes through it's a thousand dollars apiece for us."