Part 3

One car was rolled safely out of the danger zone, and Jack's party hastened back for another. The innermost of the remaining cars, and on a separate siding, was but a short distance from the flaming shed, and already was blazing on the roof. Jack and several other adventurous spirits determined to tackle this one on their own account. After much straining they got it in motion.

Suddenly a wildly excited figure appeared rushing through the smoke, and shouted at the top of his voice, "Get back! Get back! There's blasting powder in that car!"

In a twinkle there was a wild stampede. And but just in time. With a blinding flash and a roar like a thunderbolt, the car shot into the air in a million pieces. Many persons in the vicinity were thrown violently to the ground, including Jack. As he scrambled, thoroughly frightened, to his feet, someone shouted, "Look out overhead!" and glancing up, Jack saw a shower of burning fragments high in the air.

Then rose the cry, "The wind is taking them right over the town!" In alarm many people began leaving the square for their homes.

Jack's own home and the drug-store block were well on the other side of the town, however, and with no thought of anxiety Jack remained to watch the burning station, now a solid mass of flame from ground to roof.

Presently, glancing toward the opposite corner of the square, Jack noted a general, hurried movement of the crowd there into the street. He set out to investigate. As he neared the fire-engine, still clanking vigorously, a bareheaded man rushed up and asked excitedly for the fire chief. "The telephone building and a house on Essex Street, and one on the next street back, are burning!" he cried. "Quick, and do something, or the whole town will be afire!"

Looking in the direction indicated, Jack saw a wavering glare, and with a new thrill of excitement was immediately off on the run. The telephone exchange was one of the largest buildings in town.

As he came within sight of the new conflagration the flames already were leaping from the roof and roaring from the upper windows. Despite the heat, the crowd before the building was clustered close about the door of the telephone office, and Jack hastened to join them, to learn the cause. Making his way through the throng, he reached the front as a blanketed figure staggered, smoking, from the doorway. Someone sprang forward and caught the blanket from the stumbling man, at the same time crying, "Did you get them?"

"No," gasped the telephone operator, for Jack saw it was he; "the whole office is in flames. I couldn't get inside the door."

Mayor Davis, the first speaker, turned quickly about. "Then we'll run down to Orr's and telegraph."

At once Jack understood. The mayor wished to send for help from other towns. He sprang forward. "I'm here, Mr. Davis--Jack Orr. I'll take a message!"

"Good!" said the mayor. "Run like the wind, my boy, and send a telegram to the mayors of Zeisler and Hammerton for help. As many steam engines as they can spare. And have the railroad people supply a special at once. Write the message yourself, and sign my name. Tell them four more fires have broken out, and that the whole town may be in danger."

Jack broke through the crowd, and was off like a deer.

Farther down the street he passed another building, a small dwelling, burning, with its frightened occupants and their neighbors hurrying furniture out, and fighting the flames with buckets.

Down the next cross-street he saw flames bursting from a second house.

Then it was that the real gravity of the situation began to come home to Jack. Till now it had all been only a thrilling drama--even the bearing of the mayor's urgent message had appeared rather a dramatically prominent stage-part he had had thrust upon him.

On he sped with redoubled speed, and turned into the main street. Then his alarm became genuine. Lurid flames were licking over the tree-tops directly ahead of him--in the direction of the store! A moment later a cry of horror broke from him. It was indeed the store block!

But his own personal alarm was quickly lost in a greater. Suppose the telegraph office also should be in flames, and he unable to reach it? He ran on madly.

He neared the store, and with hope saw that so far the flames were only in the second story. Men were hurrying in and out, and from the hardware-store adjoining. But as he rushed to the drug-store door a cloud of heavy smoke rolled forth, driving a group of men before it.

Among them he recognized his father.

"Dad," he cried, "can't I reach the instruments? I've a message for help to Hammerton and Zeisler from the mayor! The 'phone office and the station are burned. There is no other way of getting word out."

Mr. Orr had halted in consternation. "No; you couldn't get to them. The telegraph room is a furnace. The fire came in through the office windows from the outhouse, and I closed the door from the store."

Through the haze of smoke within burst a lurid fork of flame.

"There! The fire is out through the telegraph-room door," said the druggist. "You couldn't get near the table. And anyway, Jack, the instruments would be useless by this time."

It was this remark that aroused Jack. "If I could rip them from the table in any kind of shape, perhaps I could fix them up quickly so I could use them," he thought.

To his father he said with sudden determination, "Dad, I'm going to make a try for the key and relay."

"No. I won't permit it," declared Mr. Orr decisively.

"But father, if we don't get word out the whole town may be burned," cried Jack.

"I'll make a try myself," said Mr. Orr, and without further word lowered his head and dashed back into the smoke.

While Jack stood anxiously awaiting his father's reappearance the owner of the adjacent hardware-store stumbled from his doorway under a bundle of horse-blankets. With an immediate idea Jack ran toward him. "Mr. Wells, let me have some of those blankets," he said hurriedly. "We want to try and reach the telegraph instruments. They are the only hope for getting word out of town for help. Father is in after them, but I don't think he can reach them with nothing over him."

The merchant promptly threw the whole bundle to the ground. "Help yourself," he directed.

At the door again, he called back. "Can you use anything else?"

"No--Say, yes! A pair of leather gauntlets." The merchant disappeared, reappeared, and threw toward Jack a bundle of leather gloves. "Many as you want," he shouted.

Catching them up and two of the blankets, Jack sprang back for their own store as his father reappeared.

"They can't be reached," coughed Mr. Orr. "Couldn't even get to the door."

"I'll try with these blankets, then," said Jack decisively. "Throw them over my head, please."

His father hesitated. "But my boy--"

"There's little danger, Dad. The blankets are thick. And I know just where the instruments are. And see, I'll wear these gauntlets," he added, pulling a pair over his hands.

Somewhat reluctantly Mr. Orr took the blankets and threw them over Jack's head, and on the run Jack plunged into the wall of smoke.

With one gloved hand outstretched he found the telegraph-room door, and the knob. He pressed against it, and with a crash and then a roar the door collapsed before him. But without a moment's hesitation he darted on within, groped his way to the table, found the relay, and with a desperate wrench tore it from its place. The next moment he dashed blindly into his father's arms at the outer door, and threw the smoking blankets and sizzling, burning relay to the sidewalk.

"Water on it quick," gasped Jack, pointing to the instrument. Catching it up in a corner of one of the blankets Mr. Orr ran with it to a horse-trough in front, and plunged it into the water.

As he returned Jack was drawing on a second pair of gauntlets.

"Jack, you're not going back!" said his father sharply.

"I want the key, Dad."

"Look there." Glancing within Jack saw that the whole rear of the store was now enveloped in flames.

"And it would be of no use in any case. Look at this," said Mr. Orr, holding up the smoking relay.

The instrument did indeed look a hopeless wreck as Jack took it. The base was cracked and charred, the rubber jacket about the magnet-coils was frizzled and warped, the fine wire connections beneath were gone, and the armature spring was missing.

But Jack was not one to give up while a single hope remained. "I could improvise a key," he said, and with decision hastily sought the hardware merchant.

"Mr. Wells, did you save any screw-drivers?" he asked.

"In a box down there. Help yourself."

Running thither Jack found the tool, and immediately began taking the relay apart.

An exclamation of disappointment greeted the discovery that the fine copper wire within one of the coil-jackets had been melted into a solid mass. On ripping open the sizzled jacket of the other, however, Jack found the silk covering the wire to be only scorched, and determined to do the best he could with the one magnet.

Removing the relay entirely from the burned base, he secured a thin piece of board from one of the boxes near him, from the miscellaneous tools in another box found a gimlet, and made the necessary perforations. And soon he had the brass coil-frame mounted.

Meantime Mr. Orr, not for a moment thinking Jack could do anything with the charred instrument, had joined the crowd of men and women watching the burning building from across the street.

"Father! Here, please!" called Jack.

In some wonder Mr. Orr responded, and with him the hardware merchant.

"Have you a rubber band in your pocket?" asked Jack. "I want it for the armature spring."

"Why you are really not doing anything with it, Jack!" exclaimed his father.

"Yes, sir. I think I can make it go," responded Jack with a little touch of elation. "And with only one magnet. But have you the rubber?"

"Here," said Mr. Wells, snapping a rubber band from his pocketbook. "This do?"

"Just the thing. Thanks." And while the two men looked on, Jack secured one end of the elastic to the little hook on the armature, and knotted the other about the tension thumb-screw.

That done, Jack caught up a hammer and smashed the useless coil to pieces, from the wreck, secured several intact ends of the fine wire, and with them quickly restored the burnt connections between the magnet and the binding-posts. And with a cry, half of jubilation and half of nervous excitement, he caught up the now roughly-restored instrument and ran toward an iron gas street-lamp. In the roadway a short distance from the lamp-post lay the burned-off end of the telegraph wire. Placing the instrument on the sidewalk, Jack ran for the wire, and dragged it also to the post.

Then, as the crowd, following his father and the hardware merchant, gathered about him, they saw him secure a piece of wire about the iron lamp-post, then to the instrument; and, dropping to a sitting position, place the instrument on his knees, catch up the telegraph line, and hold it to the other side of the relay.

Jack's low cry of disappointment was echoed by his father. "No use. I was afraid of it, my boy," said Mr. Orr resignedly.

There was a disturbance on the outskirts of the crowd, and the mayor appeared pushing his way through. "Didn't you get that message off, Jack?" he cried excitedly.

"The fire was too quick for us," said Mr. Orr. "Jack risked his life getting out one of the instruments. But it has proved useless."

"Oh say! Now I know what's the matter!" With the cry Jack sprang to his feet, broke through the circle about him, and sped back toward the store. The flames were now bursting from the front, but with head down he ran to the iron door covering the street entrance to the cellar, and lifted it. A thin stream of smoke arose, then disappeared as a draft toward the rear set in. With a thankful "Good!" Jack leaped into the opening.

His father, the mayor, and several others who had rushed after in consternation reached the sidewalk as Jack's head reappeared, followed by a green battery jar. Placing the jar on the ledge, he stooped, and raised another.

"What do you think you are doing?" cried his father.

"I'll explain in a minute. Take them over to the post, please." And Jack had again disappeared.

The mayor promptly caught up the two cells, but Mr. Orr as promptly dropped through the opening and followed Jack.

"What are you trying to do?" he demanded as he groped his way to the battery-shelf. "You can't do anything with the battery if you have no instrument."

"The instrument is all right, Father. The line has been 'grounded' south, that's all. If we put battery on here, we can reach some office between here and wherever the 'ground' is on."

"May it be so," said Mr. Orr fervently, but not hopefully, as they hurried with four more jars to the entrance.

When they had carried out a dozen jars Jack declared the number to be sufficient, and scrambling forth, they hastened back to the lamp-post.

Without delay Jack connected the cells in proper series, and removing the wire between the instrument and the iron post, substituted the battery--zinc to the post, and copper to the instrument.

Then once more he caught up the severed end of the main-line wire, and touched the opposite side of the instrument.

A cry of triumph, then a mighty shout, greeted the responding click.

"But what about a key, son?" said Mr. Orr.

"This, for the moment," replied Jack, and simply resting his elbow on his knee, and tapping with the end of the wire against the brass binding-post, he began urgently calling.

"HN, HN, HN!" he clicked. "HN, HN, HV! Rush! Qk! HN, HN!"

"Perhaps the wire is grounded between here and Hammerton," suggested his father breathlessly.

"Anybody answer! Qk!" sent Jack. "Does anybody hear this?"

"What's the matter? This is Z."

"Got Zeisler!" shouted Jack.

The mayor stepped forward. "Send them the message," he directed, "and have them 'phone it to Hammerton."

Jack did so. And fifteen minutes later the cheering news ran quickly about the threatened town that two steam fire-engines were starting by special train from Hammerton immediately, would pick up another at Zeisler, and would be on the scene within half an hour. All of which report proved true, the engines arriving on the dot--and by daylight the last of the several different fires were under control, and the safety of the town was assured.

Needless to say, Jack's name played an important part in the dramatic newspaper accounts of the conflagration--nor to add that he was the envied hero of every other lad in town for weeks to come.

The final and particular result of the affair, however, was the offer to Jack of a good position in the large commercial telegraph office at Hammerton, which he at last induced his parents to permit him to accept.

IV

THE OTHER TINKER ALSO MAKES GOOD

One evening shortly after the beginning of the summer holidays Alex was chatting over the wire with Jack, who was now a full-fledged operator at Hammerton, when the despatching office abruptly broke in and called Bixton.

"I, I, BX," answered Alex.

"Is young Ward there?" clicked the instruments.

"This is 'young Ward.'"

"Say, youngster, would you care to do a couple of weeks' vacation relief at Hadley Corners, beginning next Monday? The man there wants to get off badly, and we have no one here we can send."

"Most certainly I would," replied Alex, promptly.

"OK then. We'll count on you. I'll send a pass down to-night," said the despatcher.

Thus it came about that the following Monday morning Alex alighted at the little crossing depot known as Hadley Corners, and for the second time found himself, if but temporarily, in full charge of a station.

Entering the little telegraph room, he announced his arrival to the despatcher at "X."

"Good," clicked the sounder. "And now, look here, Ward. Don't do any tinkering with the instruments while you are there. We don't want a repetition of the mix-up you got the wire into at BX through your joking a month or so ago."

The joke referred to was a hoax Alex had played on his father the previous First of April. Through an arrangement of wires beneath the office table, by which with his foot, unseen, he could make the instruments above click as though worked from another office, he had called his father to the wire, and posing as the despatcher, had severely reprimanded him for some imaginary mistake in a train order. It had been "all kinds of a lark," until, unfortunately, the connections became disarranged, tying up the entire eastern end of the line for half an hour.

At the recollection of the escapade Alex laughed heartily. Nevertheless he promptly replied, "OK, sir. I won't touch a thing." And the despatcher saying nothing more, he began calling Bixton.

"I'm here, Dad," he announced when his father answered; "and it's a fine little place. The woods come almost up to the back of the station, and the nearest house is a mile away. That's where I am to board. The other operator arranged it. It's going to be a regular little picnic."

"That's nice," ticked the sounder. "I thought you would like it." And then Alex again laughed as his father added, "And now, no tinkering with things, my boy! Remember!"

"OK, Dad. I won't touch a thing. Good-by."

It was the following Monday that the "all agents" message was sent over the wire announcing an unusually heavy shipment of gold from the Black Hill Mines, and warning station agents and operators to look out for and report any suspicious persons about their stations. But these messages, usually following hold-ups on other roads, had been intermittently sent for years, and nothing had happened on the Middle Western; and in his turn Alex gave his "OK," and thought nothing more about it.

A half hour later he sat at the open window of the telegraph room, deeply interested in the July St. Nicholas--so interested, indeed, that he did not hear soft footfalls on the station platform without. The man came quietly nearer--reached the window. Then suddenly Alex glanced up, the magazine fell to the floor, and with a loud cry he sprang to his feet.

He was gazing into the barrel of a revolver, and behind it was a black-masked face!

Hold-up men! The gold train!

Wildly Alex turned toward the telegraph-key. But the man leaned quickly forward, seized him by the shoulder, and threw him heavily back into the chair. "You move again and I'll shoot!" he said sharply, and Alex sank back helpless.

Yes; hold-up men. And he had betrayed his trust. Betrayed his trust! That thought stood out even above his terror. Oh, if he had only kept a lookout!

[Illustration: HE WAS GAZING INTO THE BARREL OF A REVOLVER.]

The man, who had said nothing further, presently withdrew the revolver and took a comfortable seat on the window-ledge. As the silence continued, Alex began somewhat to recover himself, and fell to wondering what the other bandits were doing while this man was watching him.

A few moments later the answer came in a single upward click from the instruments.

"There--wires cut, ain't they?" said his captor.

"Yes, I suppose," said Alex, bitterly.

"They sure are," said the voice from behind the mask. "And when we get through, them wires'll be cut so you won't be able to fix 'em up in a hurry."

Fifteen minutes later a second masked and heavily armed figure appeared. "Every wire cut five poles back on either side of the station," he announced briefly. "It'll take a lineman half a day to fix 'em up again, and we'll be twenty miles away by that time. Now we'll put the hobbles on the youngster, and git."

Often Alex had longed for just such an adventure as this. The final disenchantment was anything but glorious. Roughly seizing him, the two men forced him stiffly upright in the chair, drew his arms about the back of it, and there secured them, wrist to wrist, drawing the knot until Alex almost cried out in pain. Then, as tightly, they bound his ankles to the lower rungs, one on either side.

"Now one of us is going to watch from the woods for a spell--we'll leave the back door open, so we can see right in--and if you make a move, you get this quick! See?" said one of the desperadoes, tapping his pistol significantly.

Therewith they passed out, leaving the rear door wide open, and in utter misery of mind Alex watched them stride toward the trees.

Before the two bandits had crossed the open space, however, Alex's mind had cleared. For plainly they were hurrying! Then their promise to watch him must have been only a threat, to keep him quiet! Good! At once he began straining at his wrists, paused as the two men reached the edge of the clearing and momentarily turned, and as they disappeared amid the trees, began struggling with grim determination.

It seemed a hopeless task at first, and the rawhide thongs cut cruelly into Alex's wrists and ankles. But bravely he struggled on, wriggled and twisted, paused for breath, and struggled again. And finally one hand came suddenly free.

It required but a few seconds to get into his pocket, reach his knife, and open it with his teeth. A moment later Alex was on his feet, and staggered out onto the platform.

Yes, the wires were cut, five poles in either direction! Alex clenched his hands. After all, what could he do? To restore the line was entirely out of the question. Had there been but one break he could not have climbed the pole and carried aloft that heavy stretch of wire.

And there was less than twenty minutes in which to work, to catch the Overland at Broken Gap. For undoubtedly it was beyond that point that the bandits planned holding her up--probably on one of the steep grades of the Little Timber hills.

Suddenly Alex uttered a gasp of hope. A moment he debated, with nervously clasped hands, then, exhaustion forgotten, dashed back into the little telegraph room, found a screw-driver, and in a few minutes had loosened from the table the telegraph-key and the receiving instrument. Catching them up, with some short ends of wire, he darted out and up the track to the west.

Two hundred yards distant the intact end of the telegraph line drooped into the drainage ditch. Alex caught it up and dragged it to the rails. Placing the key and relay on the end of a tie, he connected them on one side to the rail, and on the other side to the end of the line wire.

But the responding click did not come. Alex groaned in disappointment. He had counted on the rails giving a "ground" connection. Then the line would have closed, and he could have worked it to the west. But apparently the hot weather had entirely dried out the sand beneath the rails, and thus insulated them.