"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!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: JACK ROSE TO HIS KNEES, AND BEGAN WORKING HIS WAY FORWARD FROM TIE TO TIE.]

"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.

"h.e.l.lo! 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.

[Ill.u.s.tration: WITH THE SHARP WORDS HE AGAIN GRASPED THE KEY.]

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 pa.s.s?"

"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 antic.i.p.ate 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.