Chapter XXV: A Wild Night

"Tic-tac!"--"annul train 22--blockade at Fox Center"--"25-25-25-45 stalled at Morey Gap." "Fast freight derailed--switch 19 outside of Abingdon."

"Whew!" exploded the first trick man at dispatcher's headquarters. "Did you get all that, Fairbanks?"

Ralph nodded, but did not speak. He was too busy for that. His hand was constantly on the key of his instrument, and his ear was bent with almost painful tension to catch every faint vibration of the wires. His eyes jumped with magic swiftness from chart to note sheet and train schedule. Ralph just now was a typical dispatcher in the midst of muddles, calls, cross-calls and piling up business enough to distract the average man. The young railroader confessed to himself that this was the busiest hour of his life.

It was a wild, stormy night outside, cozy enough in the warm, well-lighted dispatcher's room. The wind without went howling by shrilly. Great sweeps of snow deluged the window panes. Whistles from the yards sounded hoarse and muffled. Inside that room skilled intelligence and vigilance controlled the midnight workings of the important Great Northern. In a picture view Ralph could see some belated locomotive breasting the drifts of lonely gully and curve. He could imagine a cumbersome freight feeling its way slowly past snow-clouded signals, marooned station men with their instruments knocked dead through fallen wires, and the venturesome repair crew wading through deep drifts to locate the break.

And a finger on the key controlled all this mix-up, and intent eye and brain tried to keep the various trains moving. As early as eight o'clock messages had begun to come in fast and thick telling of the great storm of wind and snow, the third of the season, that was sweeping over the Mountain Division of the Great Northern road.

At ten o'clock the commercial wires went out from Rockton, and a special operator now sat over in a corner of the dispatcher's room at an extra instrument taking press news over a roundabout circuit. Everything went by jerks and starts. The insulation was bad and sometimes the sounders moved without giving out any intelligible vibration.

Towards eleven o'clock the rush was over on regular business, but the delayed train list began to pile up alarmingly. Everything was late. Within the next half hour two blockades, four stalled freights and two telegraph lines down were reported. It was now that Ralph was put distinctly on his mettle. Glidden watched him anxiously but admiringly from under his deep set eyebrows, and so far did not have to check up an error in orders or a mistake in judgment.

On either side of Ralph was a card. That on the right hand side had the names of all the stations from Stanley Junction to Rockton. The one on the left side had all the stations from Rockton to Stanley Junction. On both cards some of the stations had been crossed off, particularly on the right hand card. In fact only one station this side of terminus remained.

Glidden went quickly over to Ralph's table as a message ticked out that both had been waiting for. With a somewhat triumphant smile Ralph checked off the last station with a dash of his pencil.

"Gone through, eh?" spoke Glidden with a grin.

"Safe and snug," answered Ralph. "You heard--one hour late on account of the snow, but no attack."

"Good thing for the conspirators," observed Glidden. "Either they found out it was a trap or saw the half dozen armed guards inside."

"Perhaps they fancied we knew too much and gave up the experiment of robbing the pay car."

"Well, she's through--now for the other one. How is it?"

"Heavy snow, but she's making time," reported Ralph, glancing at the remaining card. "83 is a hundred miles out of Rockton. Just passed Shoreham on the Mountain Division."

"Say, those fellows will never guess what they've missed till it's too late, hey?"

"It seems so," nodded Ralph.

There was a lapse of messages now. Only the ceaseless grind of press dispatches clicked from the instrument over in the corner. Ralph sat back and took a breathing spell.

The pay car had gone through--the dummy pay car rather--which had left the Junction at eight o'clock that morning. It had been loaded up pretentiously with the apparent usual bags of coin and little safes that were used on regular trips. These, however, contained no money. The paymaster went aboard ostentatiously. The doors and windows were securely locked as usual. Inside, however, were half a dozen men armed to the teeth. The dummy pay car was a bait for the robbers. They had not appeared. The cypher message to Ralph just received told him that the train had reached terminus without hindrance or damage.

"Now for the other one," Glidden had said. This meant a good deal. The "other one" was the real pay car, loaded with real treasure. To checkmate any possible attack, the railroad officials with great secrecy had loaded up an ordinary baggage car with the pay safes and bullion in transit for banks. It was proposed to distribute this in parcels at section centers out of the usual routine.

So far it looked as if it would be smooth sailing except for the snow storm. No. 83 was reported as having passed over one hundred miles on the route. There was a train hand on guard on the front platform of the car and two guards inside, according to the advices Ralph had received.

The impromptu pay car had been hitched to the rear of a long train of milk cars. This had been done because she was to be switched at four different points before she reached Stanley Junction. The pay safes had been boxed up and burlapped, giving the appearance of ordinary freight.

There was some inconsequential messages during the ensuing half hour. Then a chance to tally on the route card on Ralph's table as No. 83 was reported to have passed Fletcher, one hundred and twenty-five miles out of Rockton.

Then the commercial wire slowed down for a spell. The operator got up, stretching his cramped fingers.

"Snow two feet on the level at Rockton," he reported, "and coming down like an avalanche. Why don't they send me 30? I've got the grist up to 29. Hello, here she comes. No, she don't. Another item."

The operator jumped to his instrument and began to flimsy the message. Ralph arose sharply from his chair. He had lost most of the message, but one part of it had caught his hearing.

It startled him, for a name had tapped out clear and distinct, a familiar name--Glen Palmer.