Ralph of the Roundhouse: or, Bound to Become a Railroad Man. Chapman Allen
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his glance took in a startling sight just ahead of them.
On a lower level stood the car shops. He could see the site in the near distance like a person looking down from an observation tower.
The setting sun made the west a glow of red. Against it were set the shop yards in a yellow dazzle of flame.
A broad sheet of fire ran in and out from building to building, fanned by the fierce breeze. On twenty different tracks, winding about among the structures, were as many freight trains.
This was a general transfer point to a belt line tapping to the south. Two of the engines from Stanley Junction were now rushing towards the outer trains which the flames had not yet reached, to haul them out of the way of the fire. No. 99 whizzed towards this network of rails, hot on the heels of the third locomotive.
The general scene beggared description. Crowds were rushing from the residence settlement near by, an imperfect fire apparatus was at work, and railroad hands were loading trucks with platform freight and carting it to the nearest unexposed space.
Ralph was panting and in a reek from his unusual exertions, but not a bit tired. Griscom directed a critical glance at him, caught the excited and determined sparkle in his eye, and said in a tone of satisfaction:
"You'll do-if you can stand it out."
"Don't get anybody else, if I will do," said Ralph quickly. "I like it."
Griscom slowed up, shouted to a switchman ahead, using his hand for a speaking trumpet, to set the rails for action. He took advantage of the temporary stop to rake and sift the furnace, put things in trim in expert fireman-like order, and turned to Ralph.
"Now then," he said, "your work's plain-just keep her buzzing."
A yard hand jumped to the pilot with a wave of his arm. Down a long reach of tracks they ran, coupled to some twenty grain cars, backed, set the switch for a safe siding, and came steaming forward for new action.
Little old 99 seemed at times ready to drop to pieces, but she stood the test bravely, braced, tugged and scolded terribly in every loose point and knuckle, but within thirty minutes had conveyed over a hundred cars out of any possible range of the fire.
Ralph, at a momentary cessation of operations, wiped the grime and perspiration from his baked face, to take a scan of the fire-swept area.
A railroad official had come up to the engine, hailed Griscom, and pointed directly into the heart of the flames to where, hemmed in a narrow runway between the walls of two smoking buildings, were four freight cars.
"They'll be gone in five minutes," he observed.
"I can reach them in two," announced Griscom tersely, setting his hand to the lever. "Get a good man to couple-our share won't miss. Let her go!"
A brakeman, winding a coat around his head like a hood, and keeping one end open, sprang to the cowcatcher, link and bar ready.
Ralph shuddered as they ran into the mouth of the lane. It was choked with smoke, burning cinders fell in showers on and under the cab.
"Shove in the coal-shove in the coal!" roared Griscom, eyes ahead, lever under a tensioned control. "Good for you!" he shouted to the nervy brakeman as there was a bump and a snap. "Reverse. We've made it!"
A sweep of flame wreathed the pilot. The air was suffocating. Ralph staggered at his work. As the locomotive reversed and drew quickly out of that dangerous vortex of flame, the boy noticed that the last of the four cars was blazing at the roof.
"Just in time," he heard old Griscom chuckle. "Hot? Whew!"
He set the wheels whirling on the fast backward spin, and stuck his head out of the window to shout encouragingly to the huddled, smoking hero on the pilot.
They were passing a brick building, almost grazing its windows, just then. Of a sudden a curl of smoke from one of these was succeeded by a bursting roar, a leap of flame, and Ralph saw the old engineer enveloped in a blazing cloud.
An explosion had blown out the sash directly in his face. The glass, shivered to a million tiny pieces, came against him like a sheet of hail.
Ralph saw him waver and sprang to his side. The engineer's face was cut in a dozen places, and he had closed his eyes.
"Mr. Griscom," cried Ralph, "are you hurt much?"
"Keep her going," muttered the old hero hoarsely, straightening up, "only, only-tell me."
"You can't see?" breathed Ralph.
"Do as I tell you," came the grim order.
"Switch," said Ralph, in strained, subdued tones as they passed out of the fire belt, ran forward, uncoupled, and sent the four cars down a safe siding, the brakeman and a crowd running after it to extinguish the burning roof of one of the freights.
Ralph saw Griscom strain his sight and blink, and shift the locomotive down a V, then to the next rails leading in among the burning buildings.
He brought the panting little worker to a pause, asked Ralph to draw a cup of water, brushed his face with his hand, and breathed heavily.
"Mr. Griscom," said Ralph, "you are badly hurt! You can't do anything more, for there's only one car left on the last track, right in the nest of the fire. Let me get somebody to help you where you can be attended to."
He placed a hand pleadingly on the engineer's arm. Old Griscom shook it off in his gruff giant way.
"What's that?" he asked.
He turned his face towards the fire. Ralph looked too, in sudden askance. A crowd surged towards two buildings, nearly consumed, between which lay a single car. The firemen who had been playing a hose just there dropped it, running for their lives.
"Get back!" yelled one of them, as he passed the engine, "or you're gone up. That's a powder car! We just found it out, and it's all ablaze!"
CHAPTER VI-THE MASTER MECHANIC
A man appearing to be a railway official shouted up an order to the haggard engineer as he rushed by.
"Get out of this-there's twenty tons of powder in that car!"
Griscom dashed his hand across his eyes. He seemed to clear them partially, and strained his gaze ahead and took in the meaning of the scene, if not all its vivid outlines, and muttered:
"If that stuff goes off, the whole yards are doomed."
Ralph hung on the engineer's words and hovered at his elbow.
"We had better get out of this, Mr. Griscom," he suggested.
The engineer made a rough, impatient gesture with his arm, and then pulled his young helper to the window.
"Look sharp!" he ordered,
"Yes, Mr. Griscom."
"My-my eyes are pretty bad. When the smoke lifts-what's beyond the car yonder?"
"I can't make out exactly, but I think a clear track."
"How's the furnace?"
"Rushing."
"All right. Now then, you jump off. I'm going to let her go."
Ralph stared hard at the grim old veteran. He could see he was on the verge of physical collapse, and he wondered if his mind was not tottering too; his pertinacity had something weird and astonishing in it.
"Jump!" ordered Griscom, giving the lever a pull.
Ralph did not budge. As he clearly read his companion's purpose, he made up his mind to stick.
The prospect was something awful, and yet, after the previous experiences of that exciting half-hour, he had somehow become inured to danger, and reckless of its risks. The excitement and wild, hustling activity bore a certain stimulating fascination.
With a leap 99 bounded forward at the magic touch of the old king of the lever. It plunged headlong into a whirling vortex of smoke.
A groaning yell went up from the fugitive crowds in the distance, as the intrepid occupants, of the cab disappeared like lost spirits.
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