The Young Train Dispatcher. Burton Egbert Stevenson
any shock more violent than the first, and the conductor hastened out to investigate. He found the engineer and fireman standing in front of the engine, staring at a fusee burning red in the darkness, and questioning a young fellow who stood near by.
“What is it?” demanded the conductor, hurrying up.
“This here youngster says he had orders t’ flag th’ train,” answered the engineer.
“Orders from whom?” asked the conductor sharply, turning to the boy.
“Orders from—”
The boy stopped and turned red.
“Well, go on. Who gave the orders?”
“A chum of mine,” burst out the boy desperately. “He works in the trainmaster’s office. He wired me a minute ago to flag Number Two and be quick about it. I just had time to get that fusee lighted when you whistled for the crossing.”
The conductor frowned. The whole affair savoured of a boyish prank.
“And do you mean to say,” he demanded, sternly, “that because another boy told you to, you stopped this train—”
He paused, his mouth open, and listened, hand to ear. Then he stooped, snatched up the fusee, and fairly hurled himself down the track, waving the blazing torch above his head. And an instant later, his companions caught the sound of an engine pounding up the grade toward them.
The red light disappeared through the snow; then two sharp whistles testified that the signal had been seen; and a moment later, a great mogul of a freight-engine loomed through the darkness and came grinding to a stop not thirty feet away.
Her engineer swung himself to the ground and came running forward.
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