Part 2

"Yes, stop! Stop!" cried the foreman. "Stop. They've got us. No use being foolhardy."

Leaning over, he addressed the men below. "Look here," he said, persuasively, "can't you fellows see that Big Tony is only using you to make trouble for me, because I fired him for being drunk? As I told you at first, everything he has said is untrue. Why won't you believe it?"

The men were silent a moment, then one of them addressed Alex. "Boy, is dat true?"

"Every word of it," said Alex, earnestly. "And I would have heard all about it at the station if they had intended cutting your wages, or bringing others here to take your places."

"Den I believe it," said the Pole.

The man with the pistol returned it to his pocket. "I am sorry I shoot," he said.

"And now, what about the train?" inquired the foreman, quickly. "Did you touch the switch?"

In the look of guilt the foreigners turned on one another he saw the alarming answer. Whipping out his watch, he held it to the light.

"Alex," he said, sharply, "you have just ten minutes to catch that train at the Junction! If you don't get her she's gone! There's not time now to get down to the main line from here to flag her!"

Before he had ceased speaking Alex had his cap over the light and was once more flashing an urgent "BX! BX! BX!" while below the foreigners looked on, now with an anxiety equal to that of the two on the tower.

"BX! Qk! Qk!" flashed the lantern.

The station light disappeared. "Got 'em!" cried Alex.

"Just tell them first to stop Twenty at the Junction," said the foreman.

"Right," responded Alex, and while the rest watched in profound silence, he signaled:

"STOP NUMBER 20 AT JUNCTION. SPUR SWITCH IS THROWN. GOT IT?"

As Alex read off the promptly flashed "OK," the foreman sprang to his feet and gave vent to a joyful hurrah of relief that echoed again in the clearing and woods. Then, as Alex recovered the lantern, he caught him under one arm, carried him down the ladder, and there, despite his objections, hoisted him to the shoulders of two of the now enthusiastic Poles, and all set off jubilantly down the spur for the switch, and home.

And an hour later Alex's father and mother, anxiously awaiting him at the station, discovered his approach carried at the head of a sort of triumphal procession of the entire gang of trackmen.

When Alex's father the following morning reported the occurrence to the chief despatcher, that official called Alex to the wire to congratulate him personally.

"That was a fine bit of work, my boy," he clicked. "I see you are cut out for the right kind of railroader. If fourteen wasn't a bit too young I would give you a job on the spot. But we will give you a start just as soon as we can, you may be sure."

II

AN ORIGINAL EMERGENCY BATTERY

One afternoon two weeks later Alex returned from school to find his father and mother hurriedly packing his suit-case.

"Why, what's up, Dad?" he exclaimed.

"You are off for Watson Siding in twenty minutes, to take charge of the station there nights," said his father. "The regular man is ill, the despatcher had no one else to send, and asked for you, and of course I told him you'd be delighted."

"Delighted? Well, rather!" cried Alex, gleefully, and throwing his school-books into a corner, he dashed up-stairs to change his clothes, hastily ate a lunch his mother had prepared, and fifteen minutes later was hurrying for the depot.

Needless to say Alex was a proud boy when shortly after seven o'clock he reached Watson Siding, and at once took over the station for the night. For it is not often a lad of fourteen is given such responsibility, even though brought up on the railroad.

Alex was soon to learn that the responsibility was a very real one. The first night passed pleasantly enough, but early the succeeding night, following a day of rain, a heavy spring fog set in, and shortly before ten o'clock Alex found, to his alarm, that he could not make himself heard on the wire by the despatcher. Evidently there was a heavy escape of current between them, because of the dampness.

Again the despatcher called, again Alex sought to interrupt him, failed, and gave it up. "Now I am in for trouble," he said in dismay. "If anything should--"

From apparently just without came a low, ominous rumble, then a crash. Alex started to his feet and ran to the window. He could see nothing but fog, and hastily securing a lantern, went out onto the station platform.

As he closed the door there was a second terrific crash, from the darkness immediately opposite, and a rain of stones rattling against iron.

"The bank above the siding!" cried Alex, and springing to the tracks, he dashed across, and with an exclamation brought up before a mound of earth six feet high over the siding rails.

As he gazed Alex felt his heart tighten. The westbound Sunset Express was due to take the siding in less than half an hour, to await the Eastern Mail, and at once he saw that if the engineer misjudged the distance in the fog, and ran onto the siding at full speed, there would be a terrible calamity.

And suppose the cars were thrown onto the main line track, and the Mail crashed into them! And, apparently, he could not reach the despatcher, to give warning of her danger!

What could he do to stop them? Helplessly Alex looked at the lantern in his hand. Its light was smothered by the fog within ten feet of him.

Running back to the operating room he seized the key and once more sought to attract the attention of the despatcher. It was useless. The despatcher did not hear him. He sank back in his chair, sick with dread.

But he must attempt something! Determinedly he sprang to his feet. A lantern was useless. Then why not a fire? A big fire on the track? Hurrah! That was it! But--he gazed at the coal box, and thought of the rain soaked wood outside, and his heart sank. Then came remembrance of the big woodshed at the farm-house where he boarded, three hundred yards away, and in a moment he had recovered the lantern, and was out, and off through the darkness, running desperately.

On arriving at the house Alex found all in silence, and the family retired, but without a moment's hesitation he threw himself at the front door, pounding upon it with his fists.

It seemed an age before a window was raised. "Mr. Moore," he cried, "there has been a landslide in the cut at the station, and there is danger of the Sunset running into it. May I have wood from the shed to make a fire on the track to stop her?"

"Gracious! Certainly, certainly!" exclaimed the voice from the window. "And the boys and I will be down in a minute to help you. You run around and be pulling out some kindling."

[Illustration: THREW HIMSELF AT THE FRONT DOOR, POUNDING UPON IT WITH HIS FISTS.]

Alex darted about to the woodshed, there the farmer and his two sons soon joined him, and each catching up an armful of wood, they were quickly off for the railroad, Alex leading with the lantern.

Reaching the tracks, they hurried east, and a quarter mile distant halted, and began hastily building a huge bonfire between the rails.

"There," said Alex, as the flames leaped up, "that ought to stop her."

"And now, Mr. Moore, suppose we leave Dick here to tend the fire, and you and Billy and I hurry back to the station, and tackle the earth on the track. We may get enough off to let the train plow through."

"All right, certainly," agreed the farmer; and retracing their steps, the three secured shovels and more lanterns at the depot, and soon were hard at work on the obstructed siding.

They had been digging some ten minutes when suddenly Billy paused. "Listen," he said. "There's a horse coming, on the run." His father and Alex also ceased shoveling, and a moment later the quick pounding of horse's hoofs was plainly discernible.

"It must be something urgent to make a man drive like that in the dark," said Mr. Moore.

The racing hoofs drew nearer, and placing his hands to his mouth he cried: "Hello! What's up?"

There was a sound of scrambling and plunging, and out of the darkness came a man's excited voice: "How near am I to the station?"

"Right here below you!"

"Thank God! Run quick and tell the operator there has been a landslip in the big cutting just beyond the river! My son discovered it when coming home by the track from a party! I thought I could get here quicker than do anything else!"

For a moment Alex stood speechless at this further calamity, then once more dashed for the station. To reach Zeisler, two miles west of the cut, was the only hope for the Mail.

Rushing in to the instruments, he in feverish haste began calling "Z. Z, Z," he whirled. "Qk! Z, Z, WS!"

There was no answer. Z heard him no more than did the despatcher.

A feeling of despair settled upon the boy. But again returned the old spirit of determination and contriving, and spinning about in his chair, he cast his eyes around the room for some suggestion. They halted at the big stoneware water-cooler. With a cry he was on his feet, thinking rapidly.

Only a few hours before, during an idle moment, the similarity of the big jar to a gravity cell had occurred to him, and the speculation as to whether it could not be turned into a battery if need be.

Could he really make a battery of it? If he could, undoubtedly it would be strong enough to so increase the current in the wire that both Zeisler and the despatcher could hear him.

He ran to a little storage closet at the rear of the room. Yes; there was enough bluestone! But no copper, or zinc! What could he do for that?

As though directed by Providence, his gaze fell on the floor-board of the office stove. It was covered with a sheet of zinc! And even as he uttered a glad "Good!" there came the remembrance that at the house that afternoon he had seen a fine new wash-boiler--with a thick copper bottom.

"That's it," cried Alex, again catching up the lantern and darting for the door.

A short distance from the depot Alex was halted by a long, muffled whistle from the east. "The Express," he exclaimed, and in keen anxiety awaited the next whistle. Would it be for the crossing this side of the bonfire, or--

It came, a series of quick, sharp toots. Yes; they had seen the fire!

"Thank Heaven! She's safe at any rate," said Alex, at once running on.

A few minutes later he burst into Mrs. Moore's kitchen. The farmer's wife was at the stove, preparing coffee for them.

"Mrs. Moore, where is your new copper-bottomed boiler? I must have it, quick," said Alex.

"What! My new wash-boiler?"

"Yes; the copper-bottomed one. It's a matter of life and death!"

The astonished woman hesitated, then, wonderingly, pointed toward the outer kitchen. Alex ran thither, and quickly reappeared with the fine new boiler on his shoulder.

"And I must have that kettle of boiling water," he added, on a thought. "I'll explain later." And catching it from the stove, he rushed away.

As he ran Alex further thought out his plans, and once more at the station, he placed the kettle on the office stove, emptied the bluestone into it, and poked up the fire.

Then, with a hammer and chisel, he attacked the copper bottom of the boiler.

He was still pounding and cutting when presently there was the sound of hurried footsteps without, the door flew open, and a voice exclaimed: "In Heaven's name, young man, what are you doing? Why are you not at your wire, trying to stop the other train?"

It was none other than the division superintendent of the road, who had been aboard the Sunset.

Only pausing a moment in his work, Alex replied: "I can't reach anybody, sir, the wire is so weak. I am making a battery of that water-cooler, to strengthen it. It's the only hope, sir."

The superintendent uttered a horrified exclamation, then quickly added: "Here, can't I help you?"

"Yes, sir," replied Alex, promptly. "Lift up the stove and slide out the floor-board. I must have the sheet of zinc off it."

And a few minutes later a group of passengers from the stalled train, seeking the cause of delay, paused in the doorway to gaze in blank astonishment at the spectacle of the division superintendent of the Middle Western, his coat off, energetically working under the direction of his youngest operator.

[Illustration: IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FLOOR, THE CENTER OF ALL EYES, HURRIEDLY WORKING WITH CHISEL AND HAMMER.]

"There you are, my lad," said the superintendent. "What next?"

"Get a stick, sir, and stir the bluestone in the kettle. We must have it dissolved if the battery is to work the moment we connect it to the wire."

The copper bottom of the boiler was at last cut through, and hastily doubling it over several times, in order that it would lie flat in the crock, Alex turned his attention to the zinc on the stove-board.

The scene in the little station had now become dramatic--the crowd of passengers, increased until it half filled the room, looking on in strained silence, or talking in whispers; the tall figure of the superintendent at the stove, busily stirring the kettle, and in the middle of the floor, the center of all eyes, the fourteen-year-old boy hurriedly working with chisel and hammer, seemingly only conscious of the task before him and the necessity of making the most of every minute.

The zinc was cut, and hurriedly folding it as he had the copper, Alex sprang to his feet, and running to the cupboard, dragged out a bundle of wire, and began sorting out a number of short ends.

"How much longer?" said the superintendent in a tense voice. "The train should be at Zeisler now."

"Just a minute. But she's sure to be a little late, from the fog," said Alex, hopefully, never pausing. "Has the bluestone dissolved, sir?"

"All but a few lumps."

"Then that'll do. Now please lift down the water-cooler, sir, and place it by the table."

As the superintendent complied all conversation ceased, and the crowd, moving hurriedly out of the way, looked on breathlessly, then turned to Alex, on his knees, fastening two pieces of wire to the squares of copper and zinc.

This done, Alex dropped the square of copper to the bottom of the big jar, hung the zinc from the top, connected one wire end to the ground connection at the switchboard, and the other to the side of the key. And the task was complete.

"Now the kettle, sir," he said, dropping into his chair. The superintendent seized the kettle, and emptied its blue-green liquid into the cooler. The moment the water had covered the zinc Alex opened his key.

It worked strongly and sharply.

"Thank God! Thank God!" said the superintendent, fervently. "Now, hurry, boy!"

Already Alex was whirring off a string of letters. "Z, Z, Z, WS!" he called. "Qk! Qk! Z, Z--"

The line opened, and at the quick sharp dots that came Alex could not restrain a cry of triumph. "It works! I've got him," he exclaimed. Then rapidly he sent:

"Has Number 12 passed?"

The line again opened, and over the boy leaned a circle of white, anxious faces. Had the train passed? Had it gone on to destruction? Or--

The instruments clicked. "No! No! He says, no!" cried Alex.

And then, while the crowd about him relieved its pent-up feelings in wild shouts and hurrahs, Alex quickly sent the order to stop the train.

"And now three good cheers for the little operator," said one of the passengers as Alex closed his key. In confusion Alex drew back in his chair, then suddenly recollecting the others who had taken part in the night's work, he told the superintendent of the part played by Mr. Moore and his sons, and of the sacrifice of Mrs. Moore's new wash-boiler.

"And then there was the man on the horse, who told us of the slide in the cut across the river. He was the real one to save the Mail," said Alex, modestly.

"I see you are as fair as you are ingenious," said the superintendent, smiling. "We'll look after them all, you may be sure. By the first express Mrs. Moore shall have two, instead of one, of the finest boilers money can buy. And as for you, my boy, I'll see that you are given a permanent station within a year, if you wish to take it. We need resourceful operators like you."

III

A TINKER WHO MADE GOOD

Most telegraph operators, young operators especially, have a number of over-the-wire friends. Alex Ward's particular telegraph chum was Jack Orr, or "OR," as he knew him on the wire, a lad of just his own age, son of the proprietor of the drug-store in which the town, or commercial, office was located at Haddowville, a small place at the end of the line. The two boys had become warm friends through "sending" for one another's improvement in "reading," in the evenings when the wire was idle; but also because of the similarities of taste they had discovered. Both were fond of experimenting, and learning the "why and wherefore" of things electrical.

And not infrequently they got themselves into trouble, as young investigators will.

One evening that summer, the instruments being silent, Jack, at Haddowville, bethought himself of taking the relay, the main receiving instrument, to pieces, to discover exactly how the wire connections in the base were arranged. To think with Jack was to act. Half an hour later his father, entering with an important message, found Jack with the instrument in a dozen pieces.

Mr. Orr viewed the muss with consternation. Then he spoke sharply. "Jack, if that relay is not together again, and working, in five minutes, I'll take you out to the woodshed!" Needless to say, Jack threw himself into the restoring of the instrument with ardor, while his father stood grimly by. And fortunately the relay was in its place again, and clicking, within the prescribed time.

"But don't let me ever catch you tinkering with the instruments again," said Jack's father warningly, as he gave Jack the message to send. "Another time it'll be the woodshed whether you get them together or no. Remember!"

Shortly after midnight the night following Jack suddenly found himself sitting up in bed, wondering what had awakened him. From the street below came the sound of running feet, simultaneously the window lighted with a yellow glare, and with a bound and an exclamation of "Fire!" Jack was across the room and peering out.

"Jones' coal sheds! Or the station!" he ejaculated, and in a moment was back at the bedside, dressing as only a boy can dress for a fire. Running to his parents' bedroom he told them of his going, and was down the stairs and out into the street in a trice.

Dim figures of men and other boys were hurrying by in the direction of the town fire-hall, a block distant, and on the run Jack also headed thither. For to help pull the fire-engine or hose-cart to a fire was the ardent hobby of every lad in town.

A half dozen members of the volunteer fire company and as many boys were at the doors when Jack arrived, and the fire chief, already equipped with helmet and speaking-trumpet, was fumbling at the lock.

"Where is it, Billy?" inquired Jack of a boy acquaintance.

"They say it's the station and freight shed, and Johnson's lumber yard, and the coal sheds--the whole shooting match," said Billy, hopefully.

"Bully!" responded Jack; who, never having seen his own home in flames, likewise regarded fires as the most thrilling sort of entertainment.

"Out of the way!" cried the chief. The big doors swung open, and with a rush the little crowd divided and went at the old-fashioned hand-engine and the hose-cart. Billy and Jack secured the particular prize, the head of the engine drag-rope, and like a pair of young colts pranced out with it to its full length. Others seized it, and with the cry of "Let 'er go!" they went rumbling forth, and swung up the street.

The hose-cart, with its automatic gong, clanged out immediately after, and the race that always occurred was on. The engine of course had the start, but the hose-cart, a huge two-wheeled reel, about which the hose was wound, was much lighter, and speedily was clanging abreast of them. Here, however, Big Ed. Hicks, the blacksmith, and Nick White, a colored giant, rushed up, dodged beneath the rope, and took their accustomed places at the tongue, and with a burst of speed the engine began to draw ahead. Other firemen appeared from side streets and banging doorways, and took their places on the rope, and a shout from the juvenile contingent presently announced that the reel was falling to the rear.

Meanwhile the glare in the sky had brightened and spread; and when at last the rumbling engine swung into the station road the whole sky was ablaze. Overhead, before a stiff wind, large embers and sparks were beginning to fly.

With a dash the panting company swept into the station square. Before them the station and adjoining freight-shed were enveloped in flames from end to end. It was apparent at once that there was no possibility of saving either. But with a final rush the engine-squad made for the fire-well at the corner of the square, brought up all-standing, and in a jiffy the intake pipe was unstrapped and dropped into the water. The reel clanged up, two of its crew sprang for the engine with the hose-end and couplers, and the cart sped on, peeling the hose out behind it.

The speed with which they could get into action was a matter of pride with the Haddowville firemen. Almost before the coupling had been made at the engine the men and boys at the long pumping-bars were working them gently; within the minute a shout from the cart announced that the hose was being broken, the pumpers threw themselves into the work with zest, and the next moment from the distant nozzle shot a sputtering stream.

With the other boys, Jack, though now considerably winded, was throwing himself energetically up and down against one of the long handles. Before many minutes, however, the remainder of the regular enginemen appeared, and took their places, and presently Jack also was ousted.

At once he set off for a closer view of the fire. Half way he was halted by a call.

"Hi, Jack! Come and help push the freight cars!"

The shout came from a group of boys running for the rear of the burning freight-shed, and responding with alacrity, Jack joined them, and soon, just beyond the burning building, was pushing against the corner of a slowly moving box-car with all his might.