"Hey?" stared the engineer.

"Don't pull out for a minute."

"Why not?"

"I think there's a mistake in your orders."

"What's the matter with you?" snapped back the fireman with affected gruffness. "I hain't got no orders. Come here, till I oil the wheels in your head."

"You must come up to the dispatcher's office," insisted Bates urgently, and the engineer followed him wonderingly. Ralph, tracing something unusual in the episode of the moment, kept them company.

The chief dispatcher was standing by the counter. He glanced sharply at Bates with the words:

"What's up, kid? Seen a ghost? You look almost pale enough yourself to be one."

"No," quavered Bates in a shaky tone. "I haven't seen any ghosts, but I am afraid I forgot to notify that track gang just west of here about this extra."

The chief went to the order book and glanced at the train sheet.

"Oh, bosh!" he said. "Of course you notified them. Here it is as big as life. Look out for extra west engine 341 leaving Stanley Junction at 1:21 P. M. What do you want to get a case of rattles and scare us all that way for. Say, I'd ought to run down your spinal column with a rake.

Don't you know there are other dispatchers in this office besides yourself--men who know more in a minute about the business than you do in a month? Don't you suppose that order book would be verified and the train sheet consulted before sending out the extra. Say, don't you ever show up with such a case of rattles again."

Bates expressed an enormous sigh of relief. As he came down to the platform, however, Ralph noticed that he was shaking from head to foot.

"Did you ever work up there?" inquired Bates in a solemn tone.

"No," answered Ralph.

"Then don't. Just wake up once after you've left the key, and get thinking you've forgotten something, and--nightmare? Fairbanks, it's worse than the horrors!"

CHAPTER XI

MAKING A SCHEDULE

"You understand me, Fairbanks?"

"Perfectly, Mr. Drake."

"You have helped us out of trouble before this and I believe you can be of inestimable service in the present instance. We are sorry to lose a first-cla.s.s engineer, but we need you somewhere else, and need you badly."

They were seated in the private office of the superintendent of the Great Northern, that august official and the young engineer of the Overland Express, and a long, earnest and serious colloquy had just ended.

"From what I have told you and from what you have personally discovered, it is more than apparent that a plot is on foot among our train dispatchers to cripple the running time of the road for the benefit of the opposition."

"There is little doubt of that, I think," said Ralph.

"There is a leak somewhere, and it must be stopped."

"It is my opinion that investigations should begin at the fountain head," submitted Ralph.

"That is just where we shall begin. It may be a hard, even a dangerous task. We look to you, Fairbanks, for results."

It was the third day after Ralph's adventure in the tunnel. Not much had happened of active importance during that time. Ralph had met the superintendent on three different occasions. The present one was a definite culmination of a series.

The young railroader felt very much pleased at the confidence placed in him by the railroad head. It stirred his pride because it had all come about naturally. The superintendent had told him that after a little preliminary work he was to be made chief dispatcher of the Western division of the road. It was a grand promotion, both in importance and salary, enough to satisfy the most ambitious person working for a rapid rise.

Ralph had been sent to the home of the paymaster by the superintendent, and there was a colloquy there. Bob Adair, the road detective, was called in from the other end of the line, and Ralph told him the story of Glen Palmer and his grandfather, leaving the officer to work out himself whatever mystery might surround the two.

In plain words, somebody was tampering with the train dispatching service of the road. Some one on the inside was giving out important information. Cross orders had gone over the wires in a mysterious way and could not be traced. There had been two bad freight wrecks, and twice the Overland Express had been caught in a tangle brought about by vague contradictory orders and had come in many hours late.

As to those who were suspected of being responsible for this state of affairs Ralph was apprized in his talks with the superintendent. The plans to trap them and fasten the proofs of conspiracy upon them were all outlined to the young railroader. Ralph had blocked out just what he was expected to do, but that day as he was led to the office of the train dispatcher by the superintendent he knew that he had no easy task before him.

Glidden was in charge as they came into the place. The two trick men under him and the copy operators were busy at their tables. Mounted on a roll in front of Glidden was the current official time card of the division. From the information contained thereon he had evidently just finished his calculation for time orders, meeting points and work trains.

"Good morning, Glidden," said the superintendent. "I spoke to you yesterday about our friend, Fairbanks here."

The gruff dispatcher nodded brusquely. He liked Ralph and the latter knew it. Ralph also knew that Glidden was one of the "true blues" of the office.

"His arm is not strong enough to pull a lever, but he's in shape to tackle a key, and knows how to do it."

"Glad," vouchsafed Glidden tersely.

"All right. Set him at work."

"Come on," said Glidden, and he opened the little office gate and Ralph stood within the charmed precincts of the train dispatching circle.

"You've had some experience, I understand," resumed Glidden, after some bustling about. "I suppose you know what an O. S. report is?"

"The one sent in by operators of the various stations as trains arrive and depart."

"Exactly, and the 'Consists'?"

"The conductors' messages giving the exact composition and destination of every car in the train."

"You'll do," nodded Glidden. "Now, then, I have an inkling you and I are booked for something special at the relay station to-night, so you needn't work yourself out. Just for practice, though, and to prove how smart you are, show the kind of stuff you are made of by tackling that."

Glidden threw down a train sheet before Ralph, and following it a copied telegram. Then he strode away, with the words:

"Make out a schedule for this special, giving her a clean sweep from end to end with the exception of No. 8."

"Very well, Mr. Glidden," said Ralph quietly. "How soon do you want it?"

"Take your time," was the short reply, while a chuckle sounded deep down in the throat of the dispatcher.

Ralph set his lips grimly. He realized that for a green hand he had been given an arduous task. He knew much about the service, however, and had not watched, studied and absorbed during the past two days for nothing.