A DRAMATIC FLAGGING

Since shortly following Jack Orr’s appointment to Midway Junction Alex had been “agitating,” as he called it, for his friend’s transfer to the telegraph force at the division terminal. At length, early in the fall, Alex’s efforts bore fruit, and Jack was offered, and accepted, the “night trick” at one of the big yard towers at Exeter.

Of course the two chums were now always together. And the day of the big flood that October was no exception to the rule. All afternoon the two boys had wandered up and down the swollen river, watching the brown whirling waters, almost bank high, and the trees, fences, even occasional farm buildings, which swept by from above. When six o’clock came they reluctantly left it for supper, and the night’s duties.

“Well, what do you think of the river, Ward?” inquired the chief night despatcher as Alex entered the despatching-room.

“It looks rather bad, sir, doesn’t it. Do you think the bridge is quite safe?”

“Quite. It has been through several worse floods than this. It’s as strong as the hills,” the despatcher affirmed.

Despite the chief’s confidence, however, when about 5 o’clock in the morning there came reports of a second cloud-burst up the river, he requested Alex to call up Jack, at the yard tower which overlooked the bridge, and ask him to keep them posted.

“Tell him the crest of this new flood will likely reach us in half an hour,” he added; “and that by that time, as it is turning colder, there’ll probably be a heavy fog on the river.”

Twenty-five minutes later Jack suddenly called, and announced, “The new flood’s coming! There is a heavy mist, and I can’t see, but I can hear it. Can you see it from up there?”

Alex and the chief despatcher moved to one of the western windows, raised it, and in the first gray light of dawn gazed out across the valley below. Instead of the dark waters of the river, and the yellow embankment of the railroad following it, winding away north was a broad blanket of fog, stretching from shore to shore. But distinctly to their ears came a rumble as of thunder.

“It must be a veritable Niagara,” remarked the chief with some uneasiness. “I never heard a bore come down like that before.”

“Here she comes,” clicked Jack from the tower. They stepped back to his instruments.

“Say! ”

There was a pause, while the chief and Alex exchanged glances of apprehension, then came quickly, “Something has struck one of the western spans of the bridge and carried it clean away

“No No, it’s there yet! But it’s all smashed to pieces! Only the upper-structure seems to be holding!”

Sharply the despatcher turned to an operator at one of the other wires. “McLaren, Forty-six hasn’t passed Norfolk?”

“Yes, sir. Five minutes ago.”

A cry broke from the chief, and he ran back to the window. Alex followed, and found him as pale as death.

“What’s the matter, Mr. Allen?” he exclaimed.

“Matter! Why, Norfolk is the last stop between that train and the bridge! She’ll be down here in twenty minutes! And even if we can get someone across the bridge immediately, how can they flag her in that wall of mist?” Hopelessly he pointed where on the farther shore the tracks were completely hidden in the blanket of white vapor. “And there’s no time to send down torpedoes.”

At the thought of the train rushing upon the broken span, and plunging from sight in the whirling flood below, Alex felt the blood draw back from his own face.

“But we will try something! We must try something!” he cried.

At that moment the office door opened and Division Superintendent Cameron appeared. “Good morning, boys,” he said genially. “I’m quite an early bird this morning, eh? Came down to meet the wife and children. They’re getting in from their vacation by Forty-six.

“Why, Allen, what is the matter?”

The chief swayed back against the window-ledge. “One of the bridge spans has just gone,” he responded thickly, “and Forty-six passed Norfolk!”

The superintendent stared blankly a moment, started forward, then staggered back into a chair. But in another instant he was on his feet, pallid, but cool. “Well, what are you doing to stop her?” he demanded sharply.

The chief pulled himself together. “It only happened this moment, sir. The man at the yard tower just reported. One of the western spans was struck by something. Only the upper-structure is hanging,” he says.

“Can’t you send someone over on foot, with a flag, or torpedoes?”

“There are no torpedoes at the bridge house, and there’s not time to send them down. As to flagging look at the mist over the whole valley bottom,” said the despatcher pointing. “Except directly opposite, where the wind between the hills breaks it up at times, the engineer couldn’t see three feet ahead of him.”

The superintendent gripped his hands convulsively. Suddenly he turned to Alex. “Ward, can’t you suggest something?” he appealed. “You have always shown resource in emergencies.”

“I have been trying to think of something, sir. But, as the chief says, even if we could get a man across the bridge, what could he do? I was down by the river yesterday morning, and the haze was like a blind wall.”

“Couldn’t a fire be built on the tracks?”

“Not quickly enough, sir. Everything is soaking wet.”

The superintendent strode up and down helplessly. “And of course it had to happen after the Riverside Park station had closed for the season,” he said bitterly. “If we had had an operator there we ”

The interruption was a cry from Alex. “I’ve something! Oil!”

He dashed for the tower wire.

“What? What’s that?” cried the superintendent, running after.

“Oil on a pile of ties, or anything, sir providing Orr can get over the bridge,” Alex explained hurriedly as he whirled off the letters of Jack’s call. The official dropped into the chair beside him.

“I, I, TR,” answered Jack.

“OR, have you any oil in the tower?” shot Alex.

“No, but there’s some in the lamp-shed just below.”

“Look here, could you possibly get across the bridge?”

“I might manage it. There is a rail bicycle in the lamp-house. If the rails are hanging together perhaps I could shoot over with that. Why?”

“46 is due in twenty minutes, and apparently we have no way of stopping her except through you.”

“Why, certainly I’ll risk it,” buzzed the sounder. “I suppose the oil is to make a quick blaze, to flag her?” Jack added, catching Alex’s idea.

“That’s it. Make it just this side of the Riverside Park station.”

“OK! Here goes!”

“Good luck,” sent Alex, with a sudden catch in his throat, as he realized the danger his chum was so cheerfully running. “God help him!” added the superintendent fervently.

Jack, in the distant tower, took little time to think of the danger himself. Catching up a lantern and lighting it, he was quickly out and down the tower steps, and running for the nearby shed. Fortunately it was unlocked. Darting in, he found a large can of oil. Carrying it out to the main-line track, he returned, and hurriedly dragged forth the yard lamp-man’s rail bicycle a three-wheeled affair, with the seat and gear of an ordinary bicycle.

Swinging the little car onto the rails, he placed the oil can on the platform between the arms, swung the lantern over the handlebars, mounted, and was off, pedalling with all his might.

As he speedily neared the down-grade of the bridge approach, and the roar of the flood met him in full force, Jack for the first time began to realize the danger of his mission. But with grimly set lips, he refused to think of it, and pedalled ahead determinedly.

He topped the grade, and below him was a solid roof of mist, only the bridge towers showing.

Apprehensively, but without hesitation, he sped downward. The first dampness of the vapor struck him. The next moment he was lost in a blinding wall of white. He could not see the rails.

On he pedalled with bowed head. Suddenly came a roar beneath him. He was over the water.

Jack’s occasional views from the tower had shown him where the bridge was shattered; and for some distance he continued ahead at a good speed. Then judging he was nearing the wrecked portion, he slowed down and went on very slowly, peering before him with straining eyes, and listening sharply for a note in the tumult of water below which might tell of the broken timbers and twisted iron.

It came, a roar of swirling, choking and gurgling. Simultaneously there was a trembling of the rails beneath him.

He was on the shattered span.

At a crawl Jack proceeded. The vibration became more violent. On one side the track began to dip. Momentarily Jack hesitated, and paused. At once came a picture of the train rushing toward him, and conquering his fear, he went on.

Suddenly the track swayed violently, then dipped sharply sideways. With a cry Jack sprang off backwards, and threw himself flat on his face on the sleepers. Trembling, deafened by the roar of the cataract just beneath him, he lay afraid to move, believing the swaying structure would give way every instant. But finally the rails steadied, and partly righted; and regaining his courage, Jack rose to his knees, and began working his way forward from tie to tie, pushing the bicycle ahead of him.

Presently the rails became steadier. Cautiously he climbed back into the saddle, and slowly at first, then with quickly increasing speed and rising hope, pushed on. The vibration decreased, the track again became even and firm. Suddenly at last the thunder of the river passed from below him, and he was safely across.

A few yards from the bridge, and still in the mist, Jack peered down to see that the oil can was safe. He caught his breath. Reaching out, he felt about the little platform with his foot.

Yes; it was gone! The tipping of the car had sent it into the river.

As the significance of its loss burst upon him, and he thought of the peril he had come through to no purpose, Jack sat upright in the saddle, and the tears welled to his eyes.

Promptly, however, came remembrance of the Riverside Park station, a mile ahead of him. Perhaps there was oil there!

Clenching his teeth, and bending low over the handlebars, Jack shot on, determined to fight it out to the finish.

Meantime, at the main office the entire staff, including the superintendent, the chief despatcher and Alex, were crowded in the western windows, watching, waiting and listening. Shortly after Alex had announced Jack’s departure a suppressed shout had greeted the tiny light of his lantern on the bridge approach, and a subdued cheer of good luck had followed him as he had disappeared into the wall of mist.

Then had succeeded a painful silence, while all eyes were fixed anxiously on the spot opposite where a light west wind, blowing down through a cut in the hills, occasionally lifted the blanket of fog and dimly disclosed the river bank and track.

Minute after minute passed, however, and Jack did not reappear. The silence became ominous.

“Surely he should be over by this time, and we should have had a glimpse of his light,” said the chief. “Unless ”

An electrifying cry of “There he is!” interrupted him, and all momentarily saw a tiny, twinkling light, and a small dark figure shooting along the distant track.

A moment after the buzz of excited hope as suddenly died. From the north came a long, low-pitched “Too oo, too oo, oo, oo!”

The train!

“How far up, Allen?”

“Three miles.”

The superintendent groaned. “He’ll never do it! He’ll never do it! She’ll be at the bridge in five minutes!”

“No; Broad is careful,” declared the chief, referring to the engineer of the coming train. “He won’t keep up that speed when he strikes the worst of the fog. There are eight or ten minutes yet.”

Again came the long, mellow notes of the big engine, whistling a crossing.

“Who’s that?” said Alex suddenly, half turning from the window. The next moment with a cry of “He’s at the station! Orr’s at the Park station!” he darted to the calling instruments, and shot back an answer. The rest rushed after, and crowded about him.

“I’m at the Park station,” whirled the sounder. “I broke in. I lost the oil can on the bridge. There is no oil here. What shall I do?”

As the chief read off the excited words to the superintendent, the official sank limply and hopelessly into a chair.

“But might there not be some there, somewhere? Who would know, Mr. Allen?”

At Alex’s words the chief spun about. “McLaren, call Flanagan on the ’phone!” he cried. “Quick!”

The operator sprang to the telephone, and in intense silence the party waited.

He got the number.

“Hello! Is Flanagan there?

“Say, is there any oil across the river at the Park station?

“For Heavens sake, don’t ask questions! Is there?”

“Yes; he says there’s a half barrel in the shed behind,” reported the operator.

Alex’s hand shot back to the key.

At the first dot he paused.

Through the open window came a whistle, strong and clear.

The chief threw up his hands. Alex himself sank back in his chair, helplessly.

Suddenly he again started forward.

“I have it!”

With the sharp words he again grasped the key, and while those about him listened with bated breath he sent like a flash, “Jack, there’s a barrel of oil in the shed at the rear. Knock the head in, spill it, and set a match to it.

"Burn the station!"

The chief and the operators gasped, then with one accord set up a shout and darted back for the windows. The superintendent, told of the message, rushed after.

In absolute silence all fixed their eyes on the spot a mile up the river where lay the little summer depot.

Once more came the long-drawn “Too oo, too oo, oo, oo!” for a crossing.

“The next’ll tell,” said the chief tensely “for the crossing this side of the station, or ”

It came. It was the crossing.

But the next instant from the mist shot up a lurid flare. From the windows rose a cry. Higher leaped the flames. And suddenly across the quiet morning air came a long series of quick sharp toots. Again they came then the short, sharp note for brakes.

And the boys and the flames had won!

The superintendent turned and held out his hand. “Ward, thank you,” he said huskily. “Thank you. You are a genuine railroader.”

“And about the station?” queried Alex, a sudden apprehension in his face and voice. For the moment the crisis was past he had realized with dismay that he had issued the unprecedented order for the burning of the station entirely on his own responsibility.

“The station?” The superintendent laughed. “My boy, that was the best part of it. That was the generalship of it. There was no time to ask, only act. The fraction of a second might have lost the train.

“No; that is just why I say you are a genuine railroader the burning of the station was a piece of the finest kind of railroading!

“And this reminds me,” added the superintendent some minutes later, leading Alex aside and speaking in a lower voice. “We expect to start construction on the Yellow Creek branch in six weeks, and will be wanting an ‘advance guard’ of three or four heady, resourceful operators with the construction train, or on ahead. Would you like to go? and your friend Orr? There’ll be plenty of excitement before we are through.”

“I’d like nothing better, sir, or Orr either, I know,” declared Alex with immediate interest. “But where will the excitement come in, sir?”

“You have heard the talk of the K. & Z. also running a line to the new gold field from Red Deer? And that they were held up by right-of-way trouble? Well, we have just learned that that was all a bluff; that they have been quietly making preparations, and are about to start construction almost immediately. And you see what that means?”

“A race for the Yellow pass?”

“A race and more than that. Did you ever read of the great war between the Santa Fe and the Rio Grande for the Grand Canyon of Colorado? Regularly organized bands of fighting men on either side, and pitched battles? Well, I don’t anticipate matters coming to that point between us and the K. & Z., but I wouldn’t be surprised if it came near it before we are through. The lines traverse wild country, and the K. & Z. people have men in their construction department who would pull up track or cut wires as soon as light a pipe. In the latter case they would cut at critical times. There is where an operator with a head for difficulties might prove invaluable.”

“I would be more than glad to tackle it, sir,” agreed Alex enthusiastically.

“Very well then. You may consider yourself, and your friend Orr, appointed. And if you know of anyone else of the same brand, you might suggest him,” the superintendent concluded.

“I don’t think I do, sir at the moment,” Alex responded.

The week succeeding brought Alex a suggestion.