CHAPTER IX AN UNWELCOME GUEST

“Dan Nolan’s loose,” repeated Jack, as though his companion had not heard, and then walked on in silence.

Allan’s heart gave a sickening leap—not in the least of fear, for he had never been afraid of Nolan, but of anxiety for the property of the company. He knew Nolan’s revengeful and vindictive nature; he knew that he would never rest content until he had avenged himself upon the company for sending him to the penitentiary. For himself he did not fear; Nolan, who was a coward at heart, a lazy, overgrown bully, had never dared attack him openly. He recalled how the thought of Nolan had oppressed him that morning. There was something prophetic in it!

“But I don’t understand,” he said, at last. “I thought Nolan had been sent to the penitentiary for three years.”

“So he was,” growled Jack, "an’ he’d got a stiffer dose than that if he hadn’t been the coward an’ traitor he was. You know he turned State’s ? 99 ? evidence an’ testified agin his pals, an’ so managed t’ git hisself off with three year, while all th’ others got ten. I’d hate t’ be in Nolan’s shoes when they do git out. They’ll certainly never rest till they git even with him."

“But how did he get out?” asked Allan, again. “He hasn’t been in the penitentiary more than six months.”

“Only five months,” corrected Jack, grimly. “Purty justice I call that! It’s enough t’ disgust an honest man! What’s th’ use o’ being honest, anyway, if that’s all they do to a dirty scoundrel like Dan Nolan? No wonder they’s lynchin’ parties every now an’ then!”

“Jack,” laughed Allan, “you don’t believe a word you’re saying, and you know it!”

“Well, anyway,” said Jack, “it makes me fair sick at heart t’ think of it! Here’s this cowardly blackguard loose agin, an’ y’ know he’s got it in fer ye!”

“Oh, I can take care of myself,” said Allan, easily.

“In a fair fight ye could,” agreed Jack. “But ye know as well as I do that he won’t fight fair. He’ll be tryin’ some of his cowardly tricks on ye, jest like he did afore. I won’t be able t’ sleep fer worritin’ about it!”

“Oh, nonsense, Jack! You don’t need to worry, at all. I’ll keep my eyes open. But you haven’t told me yet how he got out. Was he pardoned?”

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“Oh, wuss’n that!” answered Jack, disgustedly. “They went an’ put him on th’ pay-roll!”

“On the pay-roll!” repeated Allan. “Oh, you mean he’s been parolled?”

“Yes; what’s that mean?”

“It means that he’s released during good behaviour. As soon as he does anything wrong he’ll be whisked back into the penitentiary, and won’t get out again till his term’s out.”

“Much good that’ll do,” commented Jack, “arter th’ mischief’s done! That’s like lockin’ th’ stable door arter th’ hoss is stole!”

“He’s probably promised to be good.”

“He’d promise anything,” said Jack; “why, he’d sell his soul t’ th’ devil, t’ git another chance at ye. Ye must look out fer yourself, me boy.”

“I will,” promised Allan, with a laugh, as he swung himself aboard the train. “Don’t worry.”

But when the train had started and he was alone with his thoughts, without the fear of Jack’s sharp eyes seeing what was passing in his mind, the smile faded from his lips. After all, seek to evade it as he might, there was some danger. Nolan was vindictive—he would seek revenge first of all, unless his nature had been completely changed, which was scarcely to be expected. If he would fight fairly, there was very little to apprehend from him; but Allan knew perfectly well that he would not do this. He would work in the dark, undoubtedly; he would ? 101 ? watch for a chance to injure his enemy without running any risk himself.

So it was in a decidedly serious frame of mind that Allan left the train at Byers Junction and entered the little frame building which was his office. Nevins, the day man, grunted the gruffest kind of a greeting, caught up his coat and lunch-basket, and hastened away, while Allan sat down, looked over the orders, and familiarized himself with the condition of things. There was an order or two to acknowledge, and a report to make, and half an hour passed almost before he knew it.

As he leaned back in his chair to rest a moment, he happened to glance through the window, and was surprised to see Nevins walking up and down the track, at a little distance, as though waiting for some one. He still had his lunch-basket in his hand, and evidently had not yet gone home to supper. Allan watched him, with a feeling of uneasiness which he could not explain. At last, he saw Nevins make an impatient gesture, and after looking up and down the track again, walk rapidly away in the direction of the little village where he boarded.

First Ninety-eight pulled in at that moment and stopped for orders; orders for an extra west had to be received, and a train on the connecting road had to be passed on its way, and by the time he was at leisure again he had forgotten all about Nevins. He got out his copy of the book of rules, ? 102 ? and looked through it to be sure that he was familiar with the rules which governed each emergency.

The book opened with a “General Notice,” to the effect that “to enter or remain in the service is an assurance of willingness to obey the rules; obedience to the rules is essential to the safety of passengers and employees; the service demands the faithful, intelligent, and courteous discharge of duty; to obtain promotion, capacity must be shown for greater responsibility; and employees, in accepting employment, assume its risks.”

The general rules which followed were easily remembered. Among other things they prohibited the use of intoxicants by employees, while on duty, and the warning was given that “the habitual use of intoxicants, or the frequenting of places where they are sold, is sufficient cause for dismissal.” The officials of the railroads all over the country have come to realize the need for a cool head, steady nerves, and unimpaired judgment in every man who holds a railroad position, from the lowest to the highest, and conditions which were only too common a generation ago would not now be tolerated for a moment. The standard of character, of intelligence, and of conduct required from their employees by railroads, and by almost every other industrial enterprise, has been steadily growing higher, and while skill and experience, of course, still count for much, character and habits also weigh heavily in the scale.

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A whistle down the line told him that the extra west, for which he had an order, was approaching. He went to the door and assured himself that the signal was properly set, then, as the train pounded up, called up the dispatchers’ office and reported its arrival. A moment later, a heavy step sounded on the platform and Bill Higgins entered. Allan handed him the order silently, and stood waiting for him to read it, wondering if there would be another quarrel like that of the night before. But Higgins read the order aloud, without protest, then folded it up, put it in his pocket, and turned to go. Allan sat down again at his key; but after a moment he realized that Higgins was still standing beside his chair. He glanced up in surprise, and saw that the big conductor was fiddling nervously with his lantern.

“Fact is,” he burst out, catching Allan’s eye, “I made a fool o’ myself last night. I want you to fergit it, m’ boy.”

“I will,” said Allan, heartily, and held out his hand.

Bill grasped it in his mammoth palm and gave it a mighty squeeze.

“’Tain’t fer my own sake,” he added, and his voice was a little husky.

“I know,” said Allan, quickly. “It’s all right. I’ve forgotten it.”

“Thank’ee,” said Bill, awkwardly, and turned away.

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Allan watched his burly figure until it disappeared through the door. He was glad that he had taken the engineer’s advice and not reported him. After all, the man was good, at heart; and besides, there were the wife and children.

He waited until he heard the train puff away, reported its departure, and then picked up the book of rules again. He ran over the definitions—definition of “train,” “section,” “extra,” and so on, which there is no need to repeat here—with which, indeed, the readers of this series ought already to be familiar.

Following the definitions came the train-rules, with instructions as to the time-card, and the signal rules. The latter are especially interesting, for every one who has travelled on a railway has noticed the signals made by hand, flag, or lantern, and has no doubt wondered what they meant. A hand, flag, or lantern swung across the track means stop; raised and lowered vertically, proceed; swung vertically in a circle across the track, when the train is standing, back; and there are other signals to indicate when the train has broken in two, and to order the release or application of the air-brakes. Rule No. 13 is that “any object waved violently by any one on or near the track is a signal to stop,” and a stop signal must always be obeyed, no matter at what cost—to run by such a signal means instant dismissal.

There are other signals, too, which are of interest ? 105 ? to passengers, particularly the whistle signals. There are sixteen of these, but the more important ones are: one short blast, stop; one long blast on approaching stations, junctions, or railroad-crossings at grade; two long blasts followed by two short ones on approaching public crossings at grade, which is the signal most frequently heard by the travelling public. A succession of short blasts means danger ahead—and is used, too, to scare cows and horses off the track.

There is yet another class of signals, which are given with the signal-cord which runs overhead through every passenger-coach. Every one, of course, has seen this cord, and has also seen the conductor use it to signal to the engineer. It is connected with a little valve over the door of the car, and every time the conductor pulls it, there is a little hiss from the valve as of escaping steam. This is the compressed air escaping. The valve is connected with a compressed-air line which runs through the entire train, and every pull on the cord blows a little whistle in the cab of the engine. Two pulls at this cord, when the train is moving, means stop at once; when the train is standing, two pulls is the signal to start. Four pulls means reduce speed, and five, increase speed. Three pulls is the signal usually heard, and indicates that the train is to stop at the next station. It is always answered by two toots from the whistle to show that the engineer understands. This compressed-air line ? 106 ? long ago replaced the old signal-cord which rang a bell in the cab.

A call sounded on his instrument, and Allan laid down the book again to answer it. There was a short order to be taken, and just as he repeated it and snapped his key shut, he heard a step at the door behind him. He glanced around carelessly, then started suddenly upright, for on the threshold peering in at him stood Dan Nolan.