CHAPTER XX WHAT DELAYED EXTRA WEST

“Well, how’re ye goin’ t’ like it?” asked Jack Welsh at supper, that evening, noticing how thoughtfully the boy was eating.

“Oh, I shall like it,” answered Allan, confidently, looking up with a strange light in his eyes. “A position like that gives one such a sense of power and of responsibility. It’s worth doing.”

Jack nodded.

“That’s it!” he said. “That’s th’ spirit! Buck up to it, an’ it ain’t half so hard to do. That’s th’ way with everything in this world. Th’ feller who’s afeerd he’s goin’ t’ git licked, most ginerally does.”

“Well, I may get licked,” said Allan, “but if I do, it’ll be because I’m not strong enough, not because I’m afraid.”

“I’ve seen little men lick big ones by mere force o’ will,” said Jack. "Th’ big man was whipped afore he started in. I believe that most o’ th’ people who make a failure in this world, do it because they don’t keep on fightin’ as long as they’ve got any ? 222 ? wind left, but sort o’ give up an’ turn tail an’ try t’ run away—an’ th’ fust thing they know they git a clip on th’ jaw that puts ’em down an’ out."

In the days that followed, Allan certainly felt no inclination to run away. He applied his whole mind to acquiring a full knowledge of the dispatcher’s work. He studied diligently the various forms of train-order, and picked up such information as he could concerning the capacity of the various engines and the character of engineers and conductors. At the end of the week, he felt that he had the office work of the dispatcher pretty well learned. Another week was spent in “learning the road”—a week during which every daylight hour was spent in travelling over the road on freight and passenger, learning the location and length of sidings, the position of switches, water-tanks, and signals. Whenever he could he rode on the engine, for though that method of travel had long since lost its novelty, its fascination for the boy had increased rather than diminished. Besides, there was always a great deal of information to be picked up from the engineer, as well as no little entertainment. For the engineer, especially if he was an old one, was sure to possess a rich store of tales of the road—tales humourous or tragic, as the case might be—tales of practical jokes, of ghosts, of strange happenings, or of accidents and duty done at any cost, of fearless looking in the face of death.

He had taken a trip over the entire east end, on ? 223 ? the last day of the week, and decided to make the return trip on an extra freight, which was to leave Belpre, the eastern terminus of the freight business, about the middle of the afternoon. So he got a lunch at the depot restaurant at Parkersburg, and then walked across the big bridge which spans the Ohio there, reaching the yards at Belpre just as the freight was getting ready to pull out. He was pleased to find that the engineer was Bill Michaels, an old friend, who at once suggested that there was a place in the cab at Allan’s disposal, if he cared to occupy it.

Allan thanked him and clambered up right willingly, taking his place on the forward end of the long seat which ran along the left side of the cab—the fireman’s side. He watched the engineer “oil round”—that is, walk slowly around the engine, a long-spouted oil-can in his hand, and make sure that all the bearings were properly lubricated and all the oil-cups full. The fireman meanwhile devoted his energies to feeding his fire and getting up steam, and Allan perceived, from a certain awkwardness with which he handled the shovel and opened and shut the heavy door of the fire-box, that he was new to the business. But even a green fireman can get up steam when his engine is standing still, so the needle of the indicator climbed steadily round the dial, until at last, the pressure threw up the safety-valve and the engine “popped off.”

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The fireman leaned wearily upon his shovel and scraped the sweat from his forehead with bent forefinger.

“Hot work, isn’t it?” said Allan, smiling.

“’Tain’t near so bad as ’twill be,” returned the fireman, whose name was Pinckney Jones, and who was known by his intimates as Pink, or Pinkey, a nickname which he had tried in vain to live down. “It’ll be a reg’lar wrastle t’ keep ’er goin’. Something’s got int’ th’ cantankerous old beast, an’ she won’t steam t’ save ye.”

He bent again to his task, raking and shaking up the fire, and throwing two or three more shovelfuls of coal into the blazing fire-box. Then the engineer clambered up, followed by the front brakeman, and took his seat on the other side of the cab. He stuck his head out the window, to watch for the conductor’s signal. Presently it came, he opened the throttle gently, and the train, slowly gathering headway, rattled over the switches, out of the yards, and straightened out for the journey westward.

“You want to be mighty careful this trip, Bill,” remarked the brakeman. “We’ve got two car-loads of wild animals back there. If we have a smash-up, there’ll be lions and tigers and Lord knows what all runnin’ loose about the country.”

“That would create considerable disturbance,” agreed Bill. “Well, I’ll try to keep her on the track. Where’re they billed to?”

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“They’re goin’ to the Zoological Garden at Cincinnati. There’s a whackin’ big elephant in the first car and a miscellaneous lot of lions, tigers, snakes, and other vermin in the second. Yes, sir, there would be lively times if they got loose.”

“Ain’t there nobody with ’em?”

“Oh, yes; there’s a couple of fellers to feed ’em; but these ain’t the broken-to-harness, drawing-room kind of wild animals. They’re right from the jungle, and are totally unacquainted with the amenities of civilization.”

And then, well pleased with his own facility of diction, he got out a plug of tobacco, bit off a piece, and offered the plug to Bill. Bill accepted the offer, took a tremendous chew, and returned the remnant to its owner.

“And now, Pinkey,” he remarked, to the perspiring fireman, “if you’ll kindly git up a few more pounds of steam, we’ll be joggin’ along. Mebbe you don’t object to stayin’ here all night, but I’d like t’ git home t’ see my wife an’ children.”

“I’m a-doin’ my best,” responded Pinkey, desperately, “th’ ole brute jest won’t steam, an’ that’s all they is to it.”

“Yes,” said the engineer, with irony, but keeping one eye on the track ahead, “I’ve heerd firemen say th’ same thing lots o’ times. You’ve got to nuss her along, boy—don’t smother th’ fire that a-way. An’ keep th’ door shet.”

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“How’m I a-goin’ t’ git th’ coal int’ th’ fire-box if I don’t open th’ door?” demanded Pinkey.

“Jim, swing it fer him,” said the engineer to the brakeman, and the latter, who had assisted at the breaking-in of many a green fireman, demonstrated to Pinkey how the door of the fire-box must be swung open and shut between each shovelful of coal. To fire an engine properly is an art which requires more than one lesson to acquire, but Pinkey made a little progress, and after awhile had the satisfaction of seeing the indicator-needle swing slowly up toward the point desired.

Just then, Michaels, glancing at his water-gauge, saw that it was getting rather low, and opened the throttle of the injector in order to fill the boiler; but instead of the water flowing smoothly through from the tank, there was a spurt of steam which filled the cab. He tried again, and with the same result.

“You blame fool!” he snorted, turning an irate face upon the unfortunate fireman, “didn’t you know enough t’ see that th’ tank was full afore we left Belpre? What ’d you think we’d steam on—air?”

“It was full,” quavered Pinkey. “I helped th’ hostler fill it.”

“Oh, come!” protested the engineer. “Mebbe you’ll tell me it’s full now!”

Without replying, Pinkey stooped and opened a ? 227 ? little cock on the front of the tank, near the bottom. Not a drop of water came out of it.

“Dry as a bone!” cried the engineer, his face purple. “Mebbe you’ll say I used it—mebbe you’ll say th’ engine drunk up a whole tankful inside o’ ten mile. Th’ only question is,” he added, with another glance at his gauge, “kin we git to Little Hocking?”

Little Hocking, the nearest station, was about four miles away, and it looked for a time as though the water in the boiler would not be sufficient to carry the train so far, and the fireman would be compelled to draw his fire, while the brakeman tramped to the next station for help. Such an accident would have made both engineer and fireman the laughing-stock of the road, besides leading to an investigation by the trainmaster, and a session “on the carpet.” So Bill, although boiling mad, nursed the engine along as carefully as he could, making every pound of steam count, and finally drew up in triumph beside the water-tank at Little Hocking.

“There, you lobster,” he said to Pinkey, wiping off the perspiration, “now fill her up.”

Pinkey lowered the spout of the water-tank, opened the gate and let the water rush down into the tank of the engine. It would hold seven thousand gallons, and the fireman waited until the water brimmed over the top and splashed down along the sides before he turned it off.

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“Now,” he said, defiantly, to Michaels, “you see fer yourself she’s full. Th’ way she’s steamin’, I bet that won’t carry us to Stewart.”

The engineer grunted contemptuously.

“Remarkable, ain’t it, how much these green firemen know?” he remarked to the front brakeman, as he gently opened the throttle.

“You’ll see,” said Pinkey, doggedly, and fell to work “ladling in the lampblack.”

Michaels watched him for a few moments in silence.

“What’s the matter?” he inquired, at length. “Got a hole in the fire-box?”

“No; why?” asked Pinkey, pausing between two shovelfuls.

“Somebody buried back there, an’ you’re tryin’ to dig him out?” pursued the engineer, with a gesture toward the pile of coal in the tender.

“What you talkin’ about, anyway?” demanded Pinkey, staring at him in amazement.

“Say, Jim,” said the engineer to the brakeman, “take that scoop away from that idiot, will ye? Pinkey, git up there on your box an’ set down or I’ll report ye fer wastin’ th’ company’s fuel.”

“She won’t steam without coal,” protested Pinkey.

“No; nor she won’t steam with a bellyful like that, either,” retorted the engineer, throwing on the draft. “Now I’ve got t’ blow about half of it out the smoke-stack.”

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He watched grimly as the black smoke swirled upward from the stack and blew away to the left toward a little farmhouse.

“That feller’ll think he’s livin’ in Pittsburg,” remarked the brakeman, as the smoke closed down over the house and shut it from view for an instant.

Michaels snorted with laughter. Then he opened the injector again—and again the steam spurted out into the cab.

Without waiting for an order, Pinkey bent and opened the tank-cock. A thin little trickle told that the water in the tank was almost exhausted.

“Great Jehoshaphat!” cried Michaels, and stared in perplexity at the brakeman. “Th’ tank’s sprung a leak,” he said, at last, with conviction. “I ain’t pumped a hundred gallon into her since we left Little Hocking.”

“They ain’t no leak,” asserted Pinkey. “I went all around th’ tank, an’ it ain’t leakin’ a drop. I don’t believe it’ll carry us further ’n Coolville,” he added, triumphantly.

Michaels turned back to his engine without trusting himself to reply; but it was only by the most careful nursing that those six miles were covered and the water-plug at Coolville reached. There the engineer made a personal inspection of the tank while Pinkey filled it, and he found, as the fireman had said, that it was perfectly tight. Allan, who was as deeply puzzled as any one, also examined the tank, and with the same result.

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The conductor sauntered forward while the tank was being filled, and watched the operation with considerable curiosity.

“Say,” he asked, at last, “what ’re you fellers up to, anyway? Tryin’ t’ create a water famine?”

“Oh, go back to your dog-house an’ go to sleep,” retorted Michaels, whose temper was beginning to give way under the strain.

“I can’t sleep more’n eight hours at a stretch. Think we’ll be to Athens by then?”

The engineer picked up a lump of coal, and the conductor hastily retreated.

“Say,” he sung out over his shoulder, “don’t fergit there’s a pen-stock at Stewart. Don’t pass it—it might feel slighted,” and he dodged the lump of coal, as it whizzed past his head.

“Blamed fool!” muttered Michaels, and settled into his seat.

But the four men in the cab were strangely silent as the train started westward again. There was something mysterious and alarming about all this—something positively supernatural in the disappearance of fourteen thousand gallons of water within an hour. The engineer tried his injector nervously from time to time, but for half an hour or so it worked properly, and squirted the water into the boiler as required. Then, suddenly, came the spurt of steam which told that there was no more water to squirt.

“Well,” said the engineer, in an awed voice, ? 231 ? “that beats me. Even with th’ injector open all th’ time, no engine could drink water that way—why, it ’d flood her an’ flow out of her cupolo! Besides, her boiler ain’t more ’n half-full!”

Pinkey mechanically tried the cock again, and with the same result—the tank was nearly empty. Then, in a sort of trance, he turned to shovel in some more coal, but finding there was none lying loose within easy reach, took his rake, and climbed up the pile at the back of the tender, like a man walking in his sleep, and started to pull some coal down into the gangway.

An instant later, his companions heard a shriek of utter horror, audible even above the rattle of the engine, and the fireman rolled in a limp heap down the pile of coal, his face white as death, his eyes fairly starting from his head. If any man ever looked as though he had seen a ghost, Pinkey Jones was that man, and his terror was communicated in some degree to his companions.

“For God’s sake!” cried the brakeman, at last, seizing Pinkey by the collar and pulling him to an upright position. “What’s the matter?”

Instead of answering, Pinkey, his teeth chattering, tried to jump off the engine. The fireman grabbed him and pulled him back by main force.

“Come!” he said, shaking him fiercely. “Brace up! Be a man! What’s the matter?”

“Th—there’s a snake up there,” stuttered Pinkey. “Let me go!”

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“A snake!”

“Big as my leg,” added Pinkey. “Black, with a red mouth! Let me go!”

The brakeman slammed him down on the seat and picked up the rake, while Allan armed himself with the bar of iron used for stirring up the fire.

“What was he doing?” asked the brakeman, when these preparations had been made.

“He—he had his head in the tank,” said Pinkey. “When he heard me comin’, he lifted it up an’ squirted water all over me!”

“Squirted water!” repeated Michaels, incredulously. “A snake? Oh, come!”

“Well, look at me,” said Pinkey. And indeed, they saw now that he was completely soaked.

“Why, he must ’a’ sent a stream like a fire-hose!” said the brakeman.

“He did,” agreed Pinkey. “It hit me so hard it knocked me backward down that pile o’ coal,” and he rubbed his head ruefully.

The three men in the cab stared at each other in amazement. A snake that could knock a man down with a stream of water!

“Well,” said Bill Michaels, grimly, at last, “all I kin say is that if they ever puts that snake on exhibition th’ biggest circus tent on earth won’t hold th’ crowds.”

“I’m goin’ up t’ take a look at him,” announced the brakeman, grasping the rake.

“I’ll go with you,” said Allan, reflecting that, ? 233 ? after all, a snake which did nothing more than deluge its assailants with water was not so very dangerous, and he followed the brakeman up the pile of coal.

The latter reached the top and peered cautiously over. The next instant, his cap flew from his head, carried away by a stream of water which whistled past him and fell upon Allan. The brakeman ducked, and the two crouched for a moment staring into each other’s eyes.

“Well, I’ll be blamed!” said the brakeman, hoarsely.

“Did you see anything?” asked Allan.

“Nothin’ but a thing that looked like a nozzle squirtin’ water at me!” and he wiped the water from his eyes. “Well, I’m as wet now as I kin git. I’m a-goin’ to see what it is,” and again he elevated his head cautiously over the top of the pile of coal.

Allan saw a stream of water strike him violently in the face; but he held his place and shook it off, and the next instant, roaring with laughter, fairly rolled down the coal into the cab, carrying the boy with him.

“What is it?” asked Pinkey with bated breath.

Allan shook his head and pointed to the brakeman, who sat on the floor of the cab, rocking to and fro, holding his sides, with tears and water running down his cheeks.

“He’s gone crazy!” cried Pinkey. “He’s seen it an’ ’s gone crazy!”

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“Ho! ho!” roared the brakeman. “If you’d ’a’ seen his eye! If you’d only seen his eye!”

Michaels, who had managed to keep his lookout ahead only in the most intermittent fashion, closed the throttle and applied the brakes.

“I’m a-goin’ t’ see what this is,” he said, savagely, “if we never move another foot! What was it you seen, Jim? Whose eye?”

“If you’d ’a’ seen his little wicked eye!” yelled the brakeman. “Oh! I must go up an’ look at it agin!”

But the train creaked to a stop, and the engineer jumped down from his seat and seized Jim fiercely.

“Here, you,” he cried. “What is it? Speak out, or by George—”

“It’s th’ elephant!” gasped Jim. “Oh, if you’d ’a’ seen his eye a-twinklin’!”

Michaels dropped the brakeman and jumped to the ground, the others following. And there, sure enough, with his trunk sticking out of a little window in the front end of the car just back of the tender was the elephant. Even as they looked, the trunk stretched forward, and the end of it disappeared through the manhole in the top of the tank.

“What’s up?” inquired the conductor, running up from the rear of the train. “What you stoppin’ out here for, Bill? They’s no plug here!”

A stream of water caught him squarely on the side of the face, and left him dazed and speechless. ? 235 ? The engineer, fireman, and brakeman danced around, yelling and slapping their knees.

The conductor jumped out of range, wiped away the water, and regarded them disgustedly.

“Well, of all the blame fools!” he said. “It don’t take much to amuse some people.”

“What’s the joke?” asked the rear brakeman, coming up at that moment.

The elephant saw him, took deadly aim, and fired. The brakeman, with a yell of dismay, clapped his hands to his face. When he had cleared the water from his eyes, he saw four men dancing spasmodically up and down, fairly howling with mirth.

The brakeman gazed at them for a moment without comment, then turned on his heel and walked back to the caboose, waving his arms in the air in a very ecstasy of rage.

“Look at his eye,” gasped the front brakeman, when he could get his breath, and indeed the elephant’s right optic, which was the only one visible through the little window, was shining with unholy glee. He was having the time of his life.

The trainmen finally calmed down sufficiently to call one of the animal attendants, and an investigation followed. It was found that the elephant had managed to open the shutter which closed the little window by pulling out the catch. He had put his trunk through the window, and after some exploration, had found the opening through which the tank was filled. The cool water within had attracted ? 236 ? him, he had drank his fill, had given himself and the other occupants of the car a shower-bath and had then devoted himself to sprinkling the right of way until the water in the tank got too low for him to reach. Then he had retired within his car to meditate; but afterwards, finding the tank full again, had repeated the performance, and doubtless would have kept on doing so all the way to Cincinnati if he had not been discovered.

The shutter was closed and nailed shut, and the train finally proceeded on its way. At the next station, the conductor filed a message for headquarters, which the operator dutifully sent in.

“Extra west, Engine 1438, delayed twenty minutes by elephant. Stewart.”

The dispatcher who received the message requested that the word before the signature be repeated.

“E-l-e-p-h-a-n-t,” repeated the operator.

“What do you mean by elephant?” queried the dispatcher.

The operator happened to have a little pocket dictionary at hand, for he was not always sure of his spelling. He referred to it now.

“Elephant,” he answered, “a five-toed proboscian mammal.”

And what the dispatcher said in reply cannot be repeated here.