CHAPTER VII
WHAT THE ENGINE CAB REVEALED
When Garry left them, Phil and Dick debated as to what course they would pursue. Phil advanced the suggestion that one should make shift to get on the train that went to Coldenham and see what, if anything, transpired along the way.
“First I move we go to see Denton and find out if there will be any valuable mail sent this afternoon,” said Phil.
This was met with assent by Dick, and they departed for the general store.
“Your friend was here only a little while ago,” Denton told them. “Bought a lot of stuff and then hiked off. Goin’ to follow him?”
“No; he’s gone off on a little private trip,” said Phil. He gave no more information, since he saw plainly that Garry had told the postmaster very little about what he intended to do.
When they asked about the mail, Denton said:
“Yes, there’s quite a batch of it for the Ferguson outfit came in on the noon train, and there are several letters with cash in them from around this section. He owns a lot of property round here, and this is about time for the rents to be sent to him. Getting near the first of the month, and he’s a hard landlord, especially to the tenant farmers. Raises hob with them if they’re a day behind on the rent, and to be on the safe side, most of them send it before the first.”
Dick glanced at Phil, as though to say that this was the proper day to start investigating.
Phil asked Denton if he would mind his looking at the letters.
“’Tisn’t a regular thing to do, but guess it will be all right.”
“I don’t mean that I want to inspect the letters. I only want to see the way they are carried. I wouldn’t ask to touch United States mail without proper authority,” explained Phil.
“Oh, that’s all right,” and Denton led the way to the office, where he opened the safe and showed them a heavy leather sack.
“I lock it here and keep the key, and the postmaster at Coldenham has a key to open it with. Often times there’s registered mail only for the Ferguson mill, and that’s the case today,” said the postmaster, as he locked the safe.
“How is that taken to the train?” questioned Dick.
“I generally take it myself, or else send Bill, my assistant in the store, with it. We give it to the engineer, Gardener his name is, and he gives us a receipt. We have regular blanks for it. Then it’s met by the postoffice man at the other end.”
“What does the crew of that train consist of,” was Dick’s next question.
At this query Denton began to laugh.
“Well, now let’s see. There’s the engineer and the fireman and the conductor and the brakeman and the railway mail clerk. And the name of all of him is Gardner.”
“You mean it’s a one-man train?” asked Dick.
“Exactly. Don’t need any more than that. There isn’t any stop between here and Coldenham, and the only provision for passengers is about half a coach; the rest of the car is used for baggage, whenever there is any. Then the rest of the train is made up of freight cars that are used for pulp. The station agent here takes the tickets as the people get on the train, and the engineer only has to run the train. He fires himself most of the time. In bad weather he has a helper. It’s only a one-way track and few crossings, so he’s really all that’s needed. Old Ferguson is a tight Scotchman and won’t pay out any more than he can help in spite of the fact he’s the wealthiest man around here.”
Having gotten their desired information, they left the store and held a conclave.
“See how this strikes you, Dick. I’ll find some way to get on that freight train without being observed, and after we get started I’ll get near the engine and watch if the engineer throws any letters out to anyone, or makes a stop to let some confederate on.
“In the meantime you keep watch on Lafe Green, and perhaps you could go to the lean-to and see if your camera trap worked. I suggest that I go on the train, because it would be easier for me to board it while it was going, as I may possibly have to do, and since I am a little lighter than you, no offense, Dick, I could manage better on a moving train.”
“That gives you all the fun,” half grumbled Dick, “But I see your point, and this is a case of getting results and not having adventure. Besides, I want to see if that trap worked, and if we can find out the perpetrator of the rattle snake trick.”
This being settled, the boys separated. Dick thought for a moment of going straight to the French restaurant and getting something to eat, and sizing up the inmates, also to see who Lafe might be talking with.
However, he discarded this thought as being foolhardy, and wisely decided there was no need of putting his mouth in the lion’s jaws needlessly. He remembered the time he was captured by this outfit before, and had no desire for a second experience.
Furthermore, his appearance there would immediately put anyone he wanted to watch on guard, and he could accomplish nothing. It was well past noon, and Dick, as usual, remembering his inner man, decided to go to Aunt Abbie’s and prevail on her to give him something to eat, and at the same time see how Mr. Everett was. There was always the slim chance that Ruth might have turned up, but this was only a chance in a thousand.
For his part, Phil went towards the station to reconnoitre the ground and see what would be his chances of boarding the train that went to Coldenham.
He looked carefully around the station platform to see if there was anyone he knew, or anyone who would be apt to be interested in his movements, but outside of one or two loafers, the platform and station were devoid of people. The station agent was in his little office busily ticking away at the telegraph key, sending a message.
After his hasty survey, Phil darted on into the yards. Although Hobart was a very small town, the yards there were quite sizable, since it was a sort of a transfer point for freight and passengers bound into Canada, and then there was a long siding that was used for the pulp cars that came from Ferguson’s mills at Coldenham.
Along one side of the siding was the long storehouse where the bulky packages of pulp were stored until a sufficient quantity had accumulated to make it worth while to have a long string of freight cars come from Bangor or below to carry it to the paper mills.
Phil noted that the Coldenham train was already on this siding, but the engineer was nowhere to be seen. He made his way to the storehouse landing and walked along the string of cars wondering in just what manner he could get on the train without being observed. He did not, of course, care to buy a ticket and ride as a regular passenger, for that would tip his hand to any of the enemy that might be around.
There was the chance of ducking into one of the freight cars, and hiding there until the train started, and then in some manner making his way to the roof of the car, and in this way proceed along the top until he could come within sight of the cab.
The slight element of danger in this was that some station employe or the engineer himself, for that matter, might make a tour of the cars just for the purpose of preventing anyone from getting a free ride.
After conning over the situation, Phil discarded the idea of boarding the train while it was in the yard.
There was still a long wait until the train would start, so Phil decided to utilize it by strolling up the track for a short distance to see if there was any spot where he could wait and, unobserved, get on the moving train. He walked nearly a mile, but saw that there was no spot where he could do this. In some places, a house or two bordered the tracks, and women could be seen working in little gardens, or sewing while sitting in front of the houses.
At others, where there was no danger of being seen, the ditching at the side of the road provided no place where he could locate himself without being observed by the engineer.
He glanced at his watch and saw that he still had plenty of time for further investigation, so he walked on.
His added walk was rewarded, for he came to a spot where there was a fairly deep cut between two natural miniature cliffs. Spanning the cliffs was an open bridge; that is, it was open at the top, but the sides came up for a matter of three feet or so.
This was just what he wanted. He could wait until he heard the approach of the train and then hide behind one of the sides of the bridge. As soon as the engine had passed under, he would only have to crawl over the side, and drop to the top of one of the cars as it passed under the bridge. Looking up, Phil estimated that there was only about two feet clearance between the top of a car and the bottom of the bridge.
This would make it a safe proposition to drop to the train, even though it was moving. Had it been anything but the slow Coldenham train, he knew such a feat would be impossible, for a swiftly moving express would have thrown him off almost as soon as he touched the top.
There was little to do now but wait until the train should approach. Phil wondered if the road was in constant use, for should a team or an automobile be passing as he attempted to board the train, his work would be for nothing.
This, however, was one chance that he would have to take.
It was a warm, drowsy afternoon, and but one team passed him as he sat on the wall that protected the bridge. He whiled away the time by finding a stick of soft wood, which he whittled into odd shapes, for Phil was a wizard with his penknife, and a friend to all the children in his home town, as they were constantly importuning him to carve dolls for them or whittle a ball inside of a little cage. Phil, who loved the work for an idle moment, seldom refused them.
At last he heard the sound of the train approaching, and quickly dropped to cover behind the wall. The train came along at a fair rate of speed, wheezing and puffing at every revolution of the wheels.
Phil’s heart beat rapidly, for this was the crucial moment. If a team or auto should happen to pass just as he was in the act of dropping to the train, there was no knowing what might happen, and he did not want anyone to have the knowledge that he had gone on this mission.
He strained his ears to catch the sound of the approach of any vehicle, but the noise of the oncoming train drowned out all other sounds.
Phil heard the engine pass under the bridge, and then hastily clambered up over the wall, and giving a quick look in either direction, and fortunately seeing nothing, lowered himself and dropped to the roof of a car about midway in the string. He hit the roof with a thud that almost knocked the breath from him as his feet hit the top.
However, he retained his presence of mind, and dropped quickly to his hands and knees and grasped the running board that is on the top of all freight cars. The momentum of the moving train was greater than he thought it would be, and he was afraid for a moment that he was going to be thrown off after all.
But fortune favored him, and he kept his grip, although he scratched his hands severely in so doing.
The train chugged on its way, and Phil was content to lie on the top of the car for awhile and get a breathing spell. He had been told that after the train was about five miles out of the town, it passed a long strip of woodland that reached almost to Coldenham. Phil thought it wiser not to attempt to get near the engine until they had reached these woods, and also he knew that lying there on the top of the car, he might attract some attention from a chance passerby.
With this thought in mind, he began to edge along toward one end of the car. Reaching his objective, he found the ladder and crawled down between the two freight cars, and clinging to the ladder, with his feet braced on the narrow ledge over the coupling, maintained a safe but uncomfortable position.
Suddenly the train began to slow down perceptibly, and he wondered whether or not he had been seen, and the engineer was coming back to investigate.
In that case there would be only one thing to do, and that was cut and run, taking refuge among the trees, for he had seen that the train had entered the woodland.
Phil risked taking a look by peering out around the car’s side, and what he saw surprised him sharply, although he was prepared for anything that might happen.
The train had come almost to a stop, and he saw the engineer leap down from his steps on the cab and stretch out a helping hand to someone that darted at that moment out of the woods.
The person that the engineer helped aboard was none other than Simmons, the postal inspector!
“Aha,” thought Phil to himself. “I am beginning to think I am on a warm trail. Now to get up towards the cab and see what this is all about.”
There was every chance that he would be seen as he got near to the cab, but at that moment Nature came to his aid. The sky darkened. Great black clouds rolled across the dome of the world, and it became almost as dark as dusk. It was one of those sudden summer storms, and that, and the fact that they were passing through the forest, made it just a shade lighter than night.
This Phil thought was the appropriate time to get close to the cab, and clambering back to the top of the car made his precarious way along the tops of the string. The pelting rain soaked him to the skin, and in addition made the walking perilous, for the boards became almost as slippery as glass.
When he came within two cars of the engine, he dropped to his hands and knees, and crawled, animal fashion, along the top. The rain and the darkness still continued, and as he neared the end of the last car, he laid flat and wriggled along until he came to the edge.
From his perch he could see down into the cab of the engine, across the small coal tender. He could see the engineer and Simmons engaged in an animated conversation, but the rush of the train and the noise of the rain made it impossible to hear what they were saying.
He could see perfectly, by the light from the open engine boiler door, all that was transpiring, and what he saw gave him the solution to the mystery of the missing letters.
Simmons had taken a small tool of some sort from his pocket and was engaged in picking the lock of the registered mail bag.
He made short work of this, and then ensued a strange scene.
The engineer worked a small pet-cock that let out a thin stream of hot steam, and passing the letters back and forth over this, Simmons opened them. That is, he opened several that he had selected, after a hasty glance at the superscription.
From the envelopes, he took out some of the contents, and then moistening the glue again with steam, carefully pressed them back. This process is often used by culprits, but it speaks well for the law that few of them get very far with it, for Uncle Sam safeguards his mails with an eternal vigilance.
To Phil it appeared that the postal inspector was either an out and out criminal, who had successfully blinded the postoffice department to his criminal ways, or had for some reason succumbed to temptation. Later he was to learn what the real reason was.
Phil was wondering what his next step had better be,—to go back and seek the safety of the space between two cars and ride to Coldenham and there get into connection with Ferguson and have the pair arrested, or to try and drop off just before they struck the town and get some conveyance to take him back to Hobart, where he could confer with Dick and possibly arrange to see how far Simmons would go.
Then he thought that the best course would be to get straight to Coldenham so that Ferguson could have the guilty pair taken up and recover the money and checks that had been taken from the envelopes.
He had decided that this was the wisest course, and was about to go back along the top of the car, when the train suddenly swerved, as it rounded a curve, and threw Phil, who was not expecting it, from his perch.
Had it been dry, he could probably have kept his grip; but the continued rain had made the top wet and slippery, and try though he did to keep hold, he was unsuccessful and slipped from the top.
As he fell, he remembered that he should relax his muscles as much as possible, as acrobats do when they fall while doing some tumbling trick.
He struck the ground and a sharp twinge of pain ran through his leg. He could not keep his balance, and fell back against the ground with a jarring thud.
His head hit a stone, and he lapsed into unconsciousness.