Everybody was asking questions or explaining, as the depot master and his companion edged their way to the rails.

Ralph had a full view now of the man he knew to be Bardon, the inspector.

His first impression was a vivid one. He saw nothing in the coa.r.s.e, sensual lips and shifty, sneering eye of the man to commend him for either humanity or ability.

"What's the trouble here?" questioned Bardon, with the air of a person owning everything in sight, and calling down the humble myrmidons who had dared to interfere with the smooth workings of an immaculate railway system.

"You ought to be able to see," growled the freight engineer bluntly.

The inspector frowned at this free-and-easy, offhand offense to his dignity and importance.

"I'm Bardon," he said, as if the mention of that name would suffice to bring the stalwart engineer to the dust.

"I know you are," said the latter indifferently. "Cut off the two last cars," he ordered to his brakeman, turning his back on Bardon and starting back for his engine to pull out.

"Hold on," ordered the inspector.

The engineer halted with a sullen, disrespectful face.

"Well?" he projected.

"Who's to blame in this smash up?"

"Tain't me, that's dead sure," retorted the engineer, with a careless shrug of his shoulders, "and we'll leave it to the yardmaster to find out."

"_I_ want to find out," spoke Bardon incisively--"I am here to do just this kind of thing. Can't you read a signal right?" he demanded of the brakeman.

The latter smiled a lazy smile, lurched amusedly from side to side, took a chew of tobacco, and counter-questioned:

"Can't you?"

Mr. Bardon, inspector, was getting scant courtesy shown him all around, and his eyes flashed. He deigned to glance at the first switch. It was set wrong, he could detect that at a glance.

"How's this?" he called to the one-armed switchman sharply. "You're responsible here."

"I reckon not, cap'n," answered the man lightly. "The switch is set on rule. I got no signal to change it."

"But the indicator's wrong?"

"That's the repair gang's business--and the wind. The Great Northern don't own the wind, so I reckon it will have to pocket the loss gracefully."

Bardon bit his lips.

"We've saved the junkmen a job as it is," said the freight engineer.

"The switch was set for track C. You'd have had a pretty bill if you'd smashed that twenty-thousand dollar show car yonder."

"That's right--the switch was C open," declared the switchman.

"Then who changed it?" demanded Bardon, scenting a chance yet to exploit his meddling, nosing qualifications.

Ralph hesitated. He doubted if Bardon was the proper party to whom to report. He, however, simplified the situation by saying:

"I did it, sir."

"Eh? Why--you!" exclaimed the inspector, turning on him with a malevolent scowl.

"Yes, sir."

"What did you change it for?"

The freight engineer gave a derisive guffaw.

"To save the show car, of course!" he said quickly. "The company owes you about nineteen thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine dollars, kid!"

declared the engineer, giving Ralph a glance of the profoundest admiration.

But Mr. Bardon, inspector, was not to be moved by matters of sentiment.

He fixed a stony stare on the free-and-easy engineer, and turned upon Ralph, the icy, immovable disciplinarian to perfection.

"What right have you to tamper with the railway company's switches?" he demanded.

"None, perhaps," answered Ralph, "but----"

"You are a switchman?"

"No, sir, but I am an employe of the company."

"Oh, you are?"

Ralph bowed.

"In what capacity?"

"Wiper."

"At the roundhouse?"

"Yes."

"And you took it on yourself to----"

"To choose the best horn of a dilemma, and saved the company a big lump of money," put in the imperturbable freight engineer. "And bully for you, kid! and if we had more sharp young eyes and ready wits like yours, there would not be so many smash-ups. That's right, Bardon?"

The inspector scowled dreadfully. If the engineer had called him Mr.

Bardon he might have coincided in the view of the case presented.

Turning his back on the free and fearless knight of the lever as if he was dirt under his feet, he took out a pencil and memorandum book.

"I'll look into this matter myself," he said severely. "You say you are a wiper, young man?"