Ralph did not find the article in question in his own bunker. He threw back the cover of Fogg's box, to discover the vest neatly folded up at the bottom of that receptacle. With some curiosity he looked over its pockets.

"Whew!" whistled Ralph, as he removed and opened the only article it contained--a check book. The checks were upon a bank at Newton. About half of what the book had originally contained had been removed.

Examining the stubs, Ralph calculated that over $1,000 had been deposited at the bank in the name of Marvin Clark, and that fully half that amount had been checked out.

"This is pretty serious," commented the young engineer. "It looks as if the impostor has not only stolen Clark's name, but his pa.s.ses and his check book as well. I don't like the looks of this. There's something here I can't figure out."

Ralph placed the check book in his own pocket and returned the vest to the box. As he did this, he disturbed a piece of cloth used by Fogg to wipe grease from the cab valves. Something unfamiliar to the touch was outlined wrapped up in the rag, and Ralph explored.

Two objects came into view as he opened the piece of cloth. With a great gasp the young engineer stared at these. Then he rolled up the rag and placed it and its contents in his pocket.

His face grew grave, and Ralph uttered a deep sigh, startled and sorrowful.

The young engineer of No. 999 had made a discovery so strange, so unexpected, that it fairly took his breath away.

The mystery of the collision on the siding at Plympton was disclosed.

CHAPTER IX

THE LIGHT OF HOME

Ralph walked home in the quiet night in a serious and thoughtful mood.

His usually bright face was clouded and his head bent, as though his mind was greatly upset. As the light of home came into view, however, with a effort he cast aside all railroad and personal cares.

"Always the same dear, faithful mother," he murmured gratefully, as he approached the cheerful looking cottage all alight down stairs, and hurried his steps to greet her waiting for him on the porch.

"Ralph," she spoke anxiously, "you are not hurt?"

"Hurt!" cried Ralph, "not a bit of it. Why," as he noticed his mother trembling all over, "what put that into your head?"

"The fear that what Zeph heard downtown at the roundhouse might be true," replied Mrs. Fairbanks. "There was a rumor that there had been a collision. Besides, I knew that some of your enemies were watching your movements."

"You must stop worrying over these foolish notions," said Ralph rea.s.suringly. "We made a successful run, and as to the enemies, they generally get the worst of it. Men in the wrong always do."

Ralph was glad to get back to his comfortable home. As he pa.s.sed through the hallway he noticed Zeph Dallas, asleep on the couch. Ralph did not hail or disturb him. Young Dallas had been at work for the friends of Ralph who operated the Short Line Railroad up near Wilmer, but about two weeks previous to the present time had got tired of the dull route through the woods and had come to Stanley Junction. The young engineer had gotten him a job "subbing" as a helper on a yards switch engine. Zeph had been made welcome at the Fairbanks home, as were all friends of Ralph, by his devoted mother.

"You are the best mother and the best cook in the world," declared Ralph, as he sat down at the table in the cozy little dining room, before a warm meal quickly brought from the kitchen. "Really, mother, you are simply spoiling me, and as to your sitting up for me this way and missing your sleep, it is a positive imposition on you."

His mother only smiled sweetly and proudly upon him. Then she asked:

"Was it a hard trip, Ralph?"

"In a way," responded Ralph. "But what made it harder was some unpleasant developments entirely outside of railroad routine."

"That so? It never rains but it pours!" proclaimed an intruder abruptly, and, awakened from his sleep by the sound of voices, Zeph Dallas came into the dining room yawning and stretching himself.

"Why!" exclaimed Ralph, giving the intruder a quick stare, "what have you ever been doing to yourself?"

"Me?" grinned Zeph--"you mean that black eye and that battered cheek?"

"Yes--accident?"

"No--incident," corrected Zeph, with a chuckle. "A lively one, too, I can tell you."

"Fell off the engine?"

"No, fell against a couple of good hard human fists. We had been sorting stray freights all the afternoon on old d.i.n.ky 97, and had sided to let a pa.s.senger go by, when I noticed a man with a bag and a stick picking up coal along the tracks. Just then, a poor, ragged little fellow with a basket came around the end of the freight doing the same. The man thought he had a monopoly in his line, because he was big. He jumped on the little fellow, kicked him, hit him with his stick, and--I was in the mix-up in just two seconds."

"You should keep out of trouble, Zeph," advised Mrs. Fairbanks, gently.

"How could I, ma'am, when that little midget was getting the worst of it?" demurred Zeph. "Well, I pitched into the big, overgrown bully, tooth and nail. I'm a sight, maybe. You ought to see him! He cut for it after a good sound drubbing, leaving his bag of coal behind him. I gave the little fellow all the loose change I had, filled his basket from the bag, and sent him home happy. When I got back to the engine, Griggs, the a.s.sistant master mechanic, was in the cab. He said a few sharp words about discipline and the rules of the road, and told me to get off the engine."

"Discharged, eh?"

"And to stay off. I'm slated, sure. Don't worry about it, Fairbanks; I'd got sick to death of the job, anyway."

"But what are you going to do?" inquired Ralph gravely.

"Get another one, of course. I'm going to try to get Bob Adair, the road detective, to give me a show. That's the line of work I like. If he won't, I'll try some other town. I'm sorry, Fairbanks, for my wages will only settle what board I owe you, and there's that last suit of clothes you got for me, not paid for yet----"

"Don't trouble yourself about that, Zeph," interrupted Ralph kindly.

"You're honest, and you'll pay when you can. You may keep what money you have for a new start until you get to work again."

Zeph looked grateful. Then Ralph gave some details of the record run to Bridgeport, there was some general conversation, and he went to bed.

Ralph had asked his mother to call him at nine o'clock in the morning, but an hour before that time there was a tap at the door of the bedroom.

"Ralph, dear," spoke up his mother, "I dislike to disturb you, but a messenger boy has just brought a telegram, and I thought that maybe it was something of importance and might need immediate attention."

"That's right, mother. I will be down stairs in a minute," answered the young railroader, and he dressed rapidly and hurried down to the sitting room, where his mother stood holding out to him a sealed yellow envelope. Ralph tore it open. He looked for a signature, but there was none. It was a night message dated at Bridgeport, the evening previous, and it ran:

"Clark--Porter--whatever you know don't speak of it, or great trouble may result. Will see you within two days."

"I wonder what the next development will be?" murmured Ralph. "'Great trouble may result.' I don't understand it at all. 'Will see you in two days'--then there is some explanation coming. Clark, or whatever his real name is, must suspect or know that his cousin, Dave Bissell, has told me something. Well, I certainly won't make any move about this strange affair until Clark has had an opportunity to straighten things out. In the meantime, I've got a good deal of personal business on my hands."

Ralph was a good deal in doubt and anxious as to his railroad career, immediate and prospective. As has been told, his trip to Bridgeport had been a record run. The fact that the China & j.a.pan Mail could be delivered on time, indicated a possibility that the Great Northern might make a feature of new train service. It would not, however, be done in a day. No. 999 might be put on the Dover branch of the Great Northern, or accomodation service to other points, and the Overland Express connection canceled.

There had been all kinds of speculation and gossip at the dog house as to the new system of business expansion adopted by the Great Northern. That road had acquired new branches during the past year, and was becoming a big system of itself. There was talk about a consolidation with another line, which might enable the road to arrange for traffic clear to the Pacific. New splendid train service was talked of everywhere, among the workmen, and every ambitious railroader was looking for a handsome and substantial promotion.

Ralph could not tell until he reported at the roundhouse after twelve o'clock when and how he would start out again. On the Bridgeport run he was not due until the next morning. All he was sure of was that he and Fogg were regulars for No. 999 wherever that locomotive was a.s.signed, until further orders interfered. Despite the successful record run to Bridgeport, somebody was listed for at least a "call-down" on account of the accident on the siding at Plympton.

Every time Ralph thought of that, he recollected his "find" in Lemuel Fogg's bunker, and his face became grave and distressed.

"It's bound to come out," he reflected, as he strolled into the neat, attractive garden after breakfast. "Why, Mr. Griscom--I'm glad to see you."

His old railroad friend was pa.s.sing the house on his way to the roundhouse to report for duty. His brisk step showed that he was limited as to time, but he paused for a moment.