Part 18 (1/2)

CHAPTER XIII--MAKING HIS WAY

Big Denny confronted the roundhouse foreman, an obstructing block in his path. He was one of the heaviest men in the service, built like an ox, and immensely good-natured.

Just now, however, he was also immensely excited and serious, and the crowd stared at him curiously, and at Forgan in an astonished way.

”This is none of your business. Don't you interfere, don't you try to s.h.i.+eld that miserable blunderer!” shouted the foreman.

”Hold on, Tim,” advised the watchman, putting out his big arm, and abruptly checking Forgan in a forward dash.

”Do you know what he's done!” howled Forgan.

”Do you?”

”Do I----”

”I guess you don't, Tim,” said Big Denny quietly. ”Just you cool down.

This way, boys,” called the watchman into the crowd at his heels. ”Keep cool, Tim--there's no harm done, but there might have been if Fairbanks here wasn't quicker than lightning, and a brave young hero, besides!”

The crowd parted, a switchman came into view. He carried in his arms, white and limp, a little girl about ten years of age.

Hanging by the neck ribbon was her pretty summer hat, crushed and cut squarely in two. One temple was somewhat disfigured, and her dress was soiled with roadbed dust and grime.

Tim Forgan looked once and his jaws dropped. He shuddered as if some one had dealt him a blow, and staggered where he stood, his face turning to a sickly gray.

”Nora!” he gasped--”my little Nora! Denny--boys! she is hurt--dead!”

”Neither,” answered the big watchman promptly, placing a soothing hand on the foreman's quivering arm. ”Steady, old man, now!”

”Give her to me!” shouted Forgan, in a frenzy. ”Nora, my little Nora!

What has happened? what has happened?”

The big fellow had one idol, one warm corner in his heart--his little grandchild.

His rugged brow corrugated, and he was frantic beyond all reason as he covered the still white face with kisses, nestling the motionless child in his arms tenderly.

”Take her into the office,” directed Denny. ”Give her air, lads--and get some cold water, some of you.”

He blocked the doorway with his bulky frame as the foreman and his charge pa.s.sed through, admitting a moment later a switchman with a can of water, and two of the older engineers at his heels.

Then he closed the door, and looked around for Ralph. The latter had sunk to a bench, still pale and faint-looking. The lame helper was ransacking his locker. Coming thence with some clean waste and a bottle of liniment, he s.n.a.t.c.hed up a pail, went outside, got some warm water from a locomotive, and approached Ralph.

Ralph regarded him in some wonder, but made no demur as the strange, silent fellow began to wash and dress his injured arm with a touch soft and careful as that of a woman.

Big Denny continued to stand on guard at the closed door of the foreman's little office.

The crowd from the outside was exchanging information with the roundhouse throng, trying to patch mutual disclosures together into some coherency.

Ike Slump's look of malevolent gratification had faded away. He began to surmise that Ralph had a purpose in so summarily deserting his post, and that the antic.i.p.ated ”turning of the tables” was not destined to materialize.