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 Another Random Document on
Scribd Without Any Related Topics
them with his gloves. Another watchman, summoned by the whistle,
ran up at that moment.
“What’s the trouble?”
“Man burned t’ death,” panted the other.
“Who is he?”
“I don’t know; but he’s done for, whoever he is. You ought to
heard him screamin’!”
They worked together feverishly for a moment longer, and beat
out the last of the flames, but it was evident that the unfortunate
man at their feet was far past human aid. He was still moaning and
jerking convulsively, but was mercifully unconscious and would no
doubt remain so to the end.
“We’ve got t’ git away from here, an’ that mighty quick,” said one
of the men, with a glance at the seething inferno beside them. “That
car’s loaded with oil, an’ it’s goin’ to blow up in about a minute.”
“How’re we goin’ to carry him?”
“Roll him on my overcoat—we can carry him that way.”
“I don’t want to touch him,” faltered the other. “He—he comes off
on your fingers.”
But the first watchman, with an exclamation of impatience, spread
his overcoat beside the blackened body and rolled it over with his
foot.
“Now, take a hold of that end,” he said, “an’ git a move on.”
They gathered up the burden gingerly, and started away at a trot
—not a moment too soon, for they had gone scarcely a hundred
feet, when the car exploded with a mighty roar. Blazing oil was
hurled over everything in the neighbourhood, and instantly a dozen
cars were afire—the flames roaring and crackling furiously before the
wind.
 Stanley, awakened by the arrival of a crew from an incoming train
and the departure of another to take its place, lay for a while looking
down the room and watching the new arrivals prepare for bed. He
was a restless man and light sleeper at the best, and he devoutly
hoped that the strike was nearing an end. The strain was beginning
to tell on his nerves, never any too steady, and he longed for his
comfortable and quiet bed. The air in the freight-house had become
fetid from the exhalations of fifty men, not over dainty in their
personal habits, and with a sudden sense of disgust, Stanley threw
back the covers and sat up in bed.
As he did so, it seemed to him that he heard a faint knocking at
the wall underneath him. He listened a moment, but it was not
repeated, and he decided it was merely the vibration from a passing
engine. But he was burdened with a queer feeling of suffocation,
and slipping into his clothes, he went out to the platform for a
breath of fresh air.
He was worried. He knew, somehow, that, during his absence in
pursuit and prosecution of the robbers, he had lost his grip of the
situation.
It had got, in some subtle way, beyond his control, and he felt the
necessity of being “on the job” at every hour of the day and night. It
was as though he were shadowed by some impending calamity,
which he could not avoid.
He heard steps approaching along the platform and in a moment
the freight-house watchman emerged from the darkness.
“Everything quiet?” Stanley asked.
“Everything but the wind,” answered the watchman, laughing at
his own joke, and passed on his way.
“Blamed fool!” Stanley muttered to himself, for the jest and the
laugh jarred on him. “I’m gettin’ as nervous as a cat,” he added, and
walked slowly down the platform, trying to shake off the feeling of
depression.
 Another thing disturbed him. The tough-looking strangers whom
he had observed loitering about the depot-saloons for several days
past, had suddenly disappeared. He had made discreet inquiries, but
no one seemed to know who they were or what had become of
them. Where had they gone, he asked himself; where were they at
this moment? He had heard some vague rumours of the row at the
brotherhood meeting, and he could imagine Bassett’s rage and
chagrin. He had always connected the strangers with Bassett, in
some indefinite way, and a little shiver shook him at the thought that
perhaps Bassett had taken them with him to execute some fiendish
project. Perhaps—
The piercing note of a watchman’s whistle shrilled through the
night, and Stanley, waking from this reverie with a start, saw a
sudden burst of flame from the cars just before him, and realized
that the crisis he had vaguely expected was at hand. And the
realization made his nerves taut and his head clear. Not even his
worst enemies had ever accused Stanley of cowardice in the face of
danger.
“Call the fire department and the police and get out all our men!”
he shouted to the freight-house watchman, who had just come into
view again, and started with a jump toward the fire, which was
growing brighter every instant.
But suddenly he checked himself and swerved in his course, for
from beneath the platform almost at his feet, he saw a dim form
emerge and slink away through the darkness.
 “HE HEARD THE BULLETS SING PAST HIS
HEAD.”

Stanley was off the platform and after him in an instant.

“Halt!” he shouted, drawing his revolver. “Halt, or I fire!”
And, as if in answer, phitt! phitt! came two flashes of flame out of
the darkness ahead, and he heard the bullets sing past his head.
 “Take it, then!” he said, between his teeth, and fired at the legs of
the figure ahead.
The figure ran on, and Stanley raised his hand to fire again; but in
a moment he saw that this would not be necessary, for the fugitive
was no match for him in speed and he gained upon him rapidly.
Apparently, the stranger perceived the folly of flight, at last, for he
stopped, one hand against his side, and waited for his pursuer to
overtake him. He had not long to wait, for in an instant Stanley’s
heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.
“Drop that revolver!” said the detective, and knocked it with a
quick blow from his prisoner’s hand.
“Oh, it’s jammed,” said the other, with a little bitter laugh. “If it
hadn’t been fer that, I’d ’a’ got you!”
“What’s your game?” Stanley demanded, and swung his prisoner
around so that he could see his face. “Why,” he cried, chuckling with
satisfaction, “if it ain’t our old friend Hummel! This certainly is a
pleasant meeting. Welcome to our city!”
Hummel’s face was livid and his blackened and swollen lips were
drawn away from his teeth in an ugly snarl.
“Don’t be too gay!” he said, thickly. “Don’t be too gay! Mebbe
you’ll be laughin’ on the other side of your face afore long!”
“Well, one couldn’t tell which side you’re laughin’ on,” retorted
Stanley, “fer the dirt. Been livin’ with your friends the hogs?”
“Never you mind!” said Hummel, still more thickly, and reeled a
little and put his hands to his head. “Never you mind!”
“Why, I believe the man’s drunk!” said Stanley. “Come on back
with me, my friend, an’ I’ll send you up-town in style, behind two
horses, with a gong ringin’ in front. Come on,” and he started to lead
his prisoner back toward the freight-house.
But Hummel developed a sudden limpness and sat down suddenly
upon the pavement.
 “What d’you want me fer?” he demanded, sullenly.
Stanley waved his hand toward the growing conflagration, which,
at that instant, burst, with a mighty report, into a fountain of flame.
“For that,” he said, sternly. “Come along, or I’ll find a way to make
you!”
“I didn’t do that,” protested Hummel, staring toward the fire, as
though conscious of it for the first time. “That must ’a’ been—”
“Who?” asked Stanley, as Hummel suddenly checked himself.
“No matter,” answered that worthy.
Stanley, his patience exhausted, jerked the little man to his feet
and struck him over the head with his revolver.
“Come on,” he said savagely, “I ain’t got no time to waste on you!
Step lively, or I’ll put you to sleep.”
Away in the distance, he could hear the growing rattle of the
engine gongs and knew, with a breath of relief, that the fire
department was at hand. He knew something else, too—that within
a very few minutes, a great mob would be upon the scene, which it
would take the hardest kind of work to control. The windows in the
neighbourhood had been thrown up at sound of the explosion—he
could hear the hum of voices, the cries of alarm. He had no time to
fool with a reluctant prisoner, and he jerked him again to his feet.
“Will you come?” he demanded.
“No,” answered Hummel, his face yellow with terror, struggling
desperately to free himself.
Then Stanley lost his temper and raised his arm to strike.
But even as he did so, a mighty roar seemed to rend the
firmament above him, the earth rocked, and a blinding flame leapt
upwards towards the heavens. There was an instant’s appalling
silence, and then came the sound of crashing walls, the rending of
timbers—and again all was still.
 Only for a breath—then the night was filled with yells and groans
and curses. And the whole neighbourhood, wakened by the roar,
leaped from bed and rushed out into the streets, white-lipped and
trembling.

Allan West, having slept the greater part of the day and evening,
found himself restless and wakeful as the night progressed, and at
last lay staring up into the darkness above him, meditating with
smiling lips, on the events of the day. That this great happiness
should have come to him seemed almost past believing—he had
done so little to deserve it, had escaped so narrowly a nearly fatal
blunder.
He cast his mind back over the years he had spent with the
Welshes, remembering how he had seen Mamie grow from a child of
eight, through all the stages of girlhood, to the radiant young
womanhood she had attained; he had seen her sweetness of
disposition tested scores of times; he knew how true and honest and
loving she was, and he could not but wonder at his own blindness,
at his tardy awakening to his love for her. Most wonderful of all it
seemed that she should care for him, that she—
The window rattled suddenly and sharply, the house seemed to
quiver, as though struck by some giant hand, and almost instantly
there came a deep, jarring roar. A moment later, Allan heard the
distant ringing of the fire alarm, heard excited footsteps along the
street, and groped blindly along the floor for the board to which his
instrument was attached.
He found it at last, seized it, pulled it up, and began calling the
dispatchers’ office. Fully a minute passed before the answer came,
and he knew that the dispatcher had not been at his key.
“This is West,” he clicked. “Any trouble up there?”
“Trouble!” flashed back the answer, in a staccato which told how
excited the sender was. “I should say so! All the cars in the yards
are afire and the freight-house is blown up!”
 Allan gently replaced the instrument on the floor and slid out of
bed. He groped his way to the closet, got out his clothes and slipped
into them as quietly as he could. Shirt and coat gave him some
trouble, but he managed to get them on, gritting his teeth at the
pain the movement cost him. Then, without collar or tie, which he
knew were beyond him, even if he had cared to linger for such
trifles, he took his shoes in his hand, opened his door softly, and
started down the stairs, hoping that he might get away unseen.
But before he was half way down, he heard light steps behind him
and a low voice.
“Allan!” it called.
He turned as Mamie came flying down to him, visible only as a
dim shape in the darkness.
“You’re not going out!” she protested, her hands upon his
shoulders.
“I must,” he said, bending and kissing her. “The strikers have fired
the yards and blown up the freight-house. I’ve got to go.”
“But you’re not able!”
“Oh, yes, I am,” he contradicted lightly, but he was grateful for the
darkness which hid his face from her anxious eyes.
“And there’ll probably be more trouble.”
“All the more reason I should be there. You wouldn’t have me be a
coward, Mamie!”
It was the one appeal to touch her, and he knew it.
“No,” she said, “I wouldn’t have you be a coward. Go if you must;
but, oh, Allan dear, be careful of yourself for my sake!”
“I will,” he promised and kissed her again, as she went with him
down the stairs. “I’ve got to put on my shoes,” he added. “I thought
maybe I could get away and be back and in bed again without
anyone knowing.”
 “Let me put them on,” she said quickly. “You can never manage it.
You know, in the old days, the ladies used to buckle on the armour
of their knights,” and she took the shoes from him, pressed him into
a chair and knelt before him.
“I’m sure no knight ever had a fairer lady,” and he caressed her
hair with tender hand.
He could feel the head lift proudly.
“Nor any lady a braver knight,” she said.
“‘I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more!’”

Allan hummed. “But what an imagination you’ve got, Mamie!”

“Yes—you know I’m Irish.”
“And what a warm, loyal heart!”
“That’s Irish, too, isn’t it? And there the armour’s on!” she added,
rising. “And now your overcoat, for it’s bitter cold, and this muffler
around your neck,” and she tucked the ends in under his coat.
“There,” she concluded, buttoning the last button, and raised herself
on tip-toe and kissed him. “Good-bye, Allan, and come back to me.”
“Good-bye, Mamie; never fear,” and he was off and away.
And Mamie, drawing closer about her the shawl she had thrown
on when she slipped out of bed, hurried up the stairs and knocked at
the door of the room where her parents slept. It was in the back
wing of the house, farthest from the street, which accounted for the
fact that they had not been awakened by the hurrying feet and
excited talk of the ever-increasing crowd running toward the fire. But
Mamie’s knock awakened Mary on the instant.
“What is it?” she called.
“It’s Mamie—the strikers have set the yards on fire and blown up
the freight-house—and Allan’s gone!”
 “Gone!” echoed Mary, and sprang out of bed. “Jack!” she cried.
“Wake up!” and she repeated to him what Mamie had just told her.
Jack, with never a word, was out of bed and into his clothes, while
his wife, with trembling fingers, lighted a lamp and opened the door
for Mamie.
“How do you know he’s gone?” demanded Mary. “Did you see
him?”
“Yes,” said the girl, her white face and trembling lips telling of her
struggle for self-control.
“And you let him go?”
“He had to go—it was his place to go.”
“She’s right, mother,” broke in Jack. “He had to go. I’m proud of
the boy. An’ I’ll see no harm comes to him.”
“Thank you, dad,” said Mamie, simply, and kissed him. “You’ll
telephone as soon as the danger’s over?”
“Yes,” Jack promised; “an’ don’t be worried.”
They heard the front door slam after him, and the house was still.
“I’m going to get dressed,” said Mamie; “then—then if anything
happens, we’ll be ready.”
She stole away to her room, but she did not proceed immediately
to dress. Instead, she slipped down beside her bed and threw her
arms forward across it and buried her face in them—and when, five
minutes later, she arose, it was with a countenance pale, indeed, but
serene and almost smiling.
She found her mother awaiting her in the dining-room, and they
sat down together and—waited. There is no harder task, and as the
weary minutes dragged along, they dared not look at each other, lest
their self-control slip from them. So half an hour passed, until Mrs.
Welsh could stand it no longer.
 “I’m going to git some news,” she said, and went to the
telephone, but central could tell her little more than she already
knew, for everything was confusion as yet at the scene of the
outrage. The dispatchers’ office was busy and refused to answer any
call. So Mary hung up the receiver again and came back to Mamie.
“I’ll try again after a while,” she said, and again they nerved
themselves to wait.
But not for long.
For suddenly, the telephone rang sharply.
“I’ll go,” said Mary, and Mamie sat where she was, clutching
blindly at her chair, biting her lips until the blood came.
“He’s not hurt!” she said, over and over to herself. “He’s not hurt!
He’s not hurt! It can’t be! It sha’n’t be! He’s not hurt!”
“Is that you, Mary?” asked Jack’s voice.
“Yes; what’s the matter?—your voice don’t sound natural.”
“The boy’s hurted,” said Jack, his voice breaking in a sob. “Bring
Mamie an’ come quick.”
“Where to?”
“To Chestnut’s drugstore. I can’t tell you, Mary, but fer God’s sake,
come quick!”
 CHAPTER XXVIII

HUMMEL KEEPS HIS WORD

Allan, as he turned into the street before the house, was caught
by a fierce gust of wind, whirled against a tree at the edge of the
pavement, and would have fallen, had not a strong arm grasped him
about the waist.
“Sure, an’ ’tis a reg’lar hurricane,” shouted a well-known voice,
and Allan found himself gazing into the cheerful face of Reddy
Magraw.
“Why, Reddy,” he cried, “what are you doing here?”
“I was sent after you,” Reddy explained, “an’ it was well I was—ye
niver could have got up there by yerself.”
“Nonsense!” Allan protested. “I’m nearly as strong as I ever was.
That gust caught me unprepared, that’s all. Come on.” He didn’t ask
who it was had sent Reddy, but supposed of course it was Stanley.
“I’ll jest hold on to yer arm, anyways,” said Reddy. “Is this the well
one?”
“Yes; hold on to it, if you want to; maybe it’ll keep you from being
blown away;” but to himself Allan was forced to confess more than
once that Reddy’s arm was a welcome support. For he was weaker
than he had thought—weaker than he was willing to acknowledge,
even to himself.
As for Reddy, he judged it best to say nothing as to how he had
come to be appointed Allan’s body-guard. He had been routed out of
bed by Mrs. Magraw at the first explosion. Across the yards from
their front window they could see the flames spreading, and Reddy
jumped into his clothes in a hurry.
“Now listen to me,” his wife had said, as this process was in
progress, “there’s jist one thing fer ye t’ do this night, Reddy
Magraw, an’ that is t’ kape yerself glued t’ Allan West an’ t’ see the
boy don’t come t’ no harm. They’ll be gittin’ him out o’ bed the first
thing, an’ him scarce able t’ stand! Reddy Magraw, if any harm
comes t’ him this night, I’ll niver fegive ye!”
“Don’t ye fear, darlint,” Reddy assured her. “I’ll stick t’ him like
beeswax,” and, giving her a quick hug, he ran from the house and
down the path to the gate.
Mrs. Magraw opened her lips to call to him; but closed them again
by a mighty effort, and stood watching his dim figure until it
vanished in the darkness. Then, drawing a chair close to the front
window, she sat down and watched the flames grow and spread.
Her face was very pale, and her lips moved mechanically as she told
over and over again the beads of her rosary.

“There’s the very divil t’ pay,” Reddy went on, as he and Allan
hurried forward. “I didn’t stop t’ see much of it, but I saw enough.”
As a matter of fact, he hadn’t stopped at all, but had made a bee-
line for Allan’s gate, fearing that he would miss him.
“You kin see the fire now,” he added, a moment later, and Allan,
looking up, saw ahead of him a red glow against the sky, which
spread and brightened, even as he watched it.
All about them were people hastening in the same direction, and
as they neared the yards, they could hear the excited shouts of the
crowd already assembled, the clanging of the fire-engines, and
finally, just as they arrived, the swish and hiss of water as it was
turned on the flames.
 But Allan paused for only a glance at the fire, serious as it
appeared to be. Mere property loss, however heavy, was a little
thing in comparison with the possible loss of life which the wrecking
of the freight-house involved, and he pushed his way forward
through the crowd, anxious to learn the worst at once. The town’s
limited police force was already on the scene, but the crowd was
entirely beyond its control, and the most it could accomplish was to
keep clear a space on the freight platform where two physicians
were already busily at work, by the light of an engine headlight.
Toward these, Allan made his way with a curious sinking of the
heart. The policemen recognized him and passed him through, and
at that moment, one of the doctors rose with a little gesture of
despair.
“We can’t do anything for him,” he said. “The poor devil’s about
out of his misery.”
Allan, staring down at the blackened shape upon the platform,
scarcely recognized in it a human being.
“Who is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know him,” said the doctor, looking up and recognizing the
chief dispatcher. “Maybe you do,” and he knelt down again and
turned the distorted and blackened countenance so that the light
shone full upon it.
At the first sickened glance, Allan decided that he had never seen
the man, then a certain familiarity struck through to his
consciousness.
“Why, it’s Rafe Bassett!” he cried.
“Rafe Bassett!” echoed a voice, and Allan turned to find that
Stanley had broken a way through the crowd. “Well, that’s justice for
you!”
“Justice?” echoed Allan.
 “It was him did all that,” said Stanley, with a wave of the hand
toward the burning cars. “Set fire to them an’ got burned up hisself!”
The crowd pressing upon the policemen heard the words and a
low angry murmur ran through it, for with that blackened shape
before them, the detective’s words sounded particularly heartless.
“Men,” cried Stanley, facing them, “this ain’t no guesswork. Rafe
Bassett was kicked out of the brotherhood t’-night, an’ decided t’ git
even this way. He set that car of oil on fire—but he was inside the
car—an’ before he could git the door open, this is what happened to
him. I pity the poor devil as much as any of you—an’ yet I say ’twas
justice.”
“He’s right,” nodded a man at the front of the crowd. “He’s right.
Let’s have no trouble here, men.”
Allan looked down again at the dim and shapeless mass.
“Is there an ambulance?” he asked.
“Yes,” answered one of the doctors. “Two of them.”
“Take him away, then; and see that he is cared for. After all, he’s
dead, Stanley.”
“An’ a blamed good thing, too,” muttered Stanley, whose stock of
sentiment was very small; but he took care that the crowd did not
hear the words. After all, there was no use in provoking trouble.
“And how about the others?” asked Allan.
“What others?”
“The men in the freight-house.”
“Oh,” answered Stanley, with a grin, “they was more scared than
hurt.”
Allan drew a quick breath of relief.
“But didn’t the bomb wreck the place?” he asked.
 “Oh, it wrecked it all right; at least this end of it; but by good luck,
it blew the end wall out, instead of in, and the roof didn’t fall until
everybody had scrambled out. I thought there’d been at least a
dozen killed by the way they hollered after the bomb went off, but
nobody was hurt beyond some cuts and bruises.”
“Well, that was good luck!” said Allan. “That takes the biggest kind
of a load off my heart.”
“Yes; and the best luck of all,” added Stanley dryly, “is that I
caught the man who did it.”
“The man who did it?” Allan stopped short in amazement to look
at his companion. “Do you mean it, Stanley?”
“Mean it? I should say I did. It was the merest luck—I fell right on
to him as he was gettin’ away, and when I started to take him back
to the freight-house he was scared to death—but he don’t deny it,
fer that matter.”
“Who was it?” asked Allan. “One of the strikers?”
“No,” said Stanley, grinning again. “One of the strike-breakers.”
Again Allan stopped to gaze in amazement at his companion.
“Hummel,” explained Stanley, his face fairly glowing with
satisfaction. “Oh, this has been a great night.”
“Where is he now?”
“I’ve got him under guard in the freight office—I’ll send him up to
the county jail pretty soon—but he said he wanted to see you first.”
“To see me? What for?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he wants to confess and tell who his pals
were. Of course we know Bassett was. I’ve got a sort of idea that
Bassett was at the head of the whole thing. There’s the freight-
house. You kin see what damage the bomb did.”
It was certainly a frightful looking place. The end wall of the
building had been blown out bodily, and a great section of the
platform had also been blown away. Evidently Hummel had placed
the bomb just inside the wall. There was, at either end of the
building, a small square ventilator near the ground, covered with a
piece of perforated iron, as such openings usually are. Later
investigation showed that Hummel had probably knocked out this
plate, and as the ventilator was too small to permit the passage of
his body, he had placed the bomb as far inside as he could reach,
and had then attached and lighted the fuse. The position of the
bomb, by a fortunate chance, was such that the greatest force of the
explosion was directed outwards, and while the end wall had fallen,
it had fallen outward and not inward, and the side walls had
remained nearly intact. The roof had sagged badly, but had not
fallen. The other end of the freight-house, at which were the offices,
had not been injured at all.
Allan stood for a moment contemplating this wreckage, and as he
turned away, he felt a touch on his arm. He turned to find himself
face to face with Simpson, the special delegate.
“Mr. West,” said Simpson, “I hope I may have a few words with
you.”
“Why, certainly,” said Allan. “What is it?”
“In the first place, I want to assure you that no brotherhood man
had anything to do with this,” and he waved his hand toward the
wrecked freight-house and the blazing cars.
“We know who did both,” said Allan quietly. “The man who set fire
to the cars was a union man.”
“Who was it?” asked Simpson quickly.
“Rafe Bassett.”
Simpson’s face grew a shade paler, and his eyes lighted with a
grim satisfaction, as he realized how this discovery vindicated the
course he had taken with regard to the strike.
“Bassett was not a union man; he was suspended from the lodge
last night,” he said, quietly. “He would never have been reinstated. I
suspect him of having had something to do with that outrage at
Cincinnati, and I believe all this was done simply to revenge himself
on the brotherhood and give it a black eye.”
“And you were going to carry on the strike for a man like that?”
“No, Mr. West, we were not,” answered Simpson earnestly. “After
Bassett was run out of the hall last night, a committee was
appointed to wait upon you in the morning and declare the strike
off.”
Allan’s face brightened wonderfully.
“Without condition?” he asked.
“With only one condition—that the men be reinstated in their old
positions—all except Bassett.”
“We have promised to give permanent positions to any of the new
men who made good,” said Allan. “We must keep that promise.”
“We have no objection to that. Mighty few of them can hold a
permanent job. Mr. West, I’m going to be candid with you. This
strike was begun foolishly and without proper investigation. You
know why—it was because of your exposure of Nixon. Now we are
anxious to make such amends as we can, and we go further than we
usually do. We agree, as I have said, to your giving permanent
places to as many of the strike-breakers as you care to keep and as
care to stay.”
Allan held out his hand quickly.
“Then I understand the strike is ended?”
“It will end at noon, if you say so.”
“I do say so.”
“Good!” cried Simpson, and grasped the hand held out to him.
Not more than half a dozen men were within hearing, but the
news of the great event passed like lightning from mouth to mouth,
and the crowd was soon cheering like mad.
 “Well,” said Stanley, “I guess my job’s done. I’ll be mighty glad t’
git back t’ my bed ag’in. Will you see Hummel before I send him up-
town?”
“Yes; only I’ve got two or three things to do first. Let’s have a look
at the fire.”
They started together toward the lower yards, and Stanley, after
glancing back once or twice, leaned over and spoke in a carefully
repressed undertone.
“There’s a tough-lookin’ feller been follerin’ you around all night,”
he said. “He’s right behind us now. Glance around kind of careless-
like an’ see if you know him.”
Allan glanced apprehensively over his shoulder, and then laughed
outright as he recognized his faithful body-guard.
“Why, that’s Reddy Magraw,” he said. “He thinks I’m going to keel
over any minute, and he’s ready to catch me when I do.”
“Oh,” said Stanley, in a chagrined tone; “I didn’t recognize him in
the dark.”
“Didn’t you send him after me?”
“Send him? Why, no. Did he say I did?”
“No, I don’t know that he said exactly that. But if you didn’t, who
did? I wonder—”
But they had reached the place where the cars were blazing, and
the matter was driven from Allan’s mind for the time being. It was
soon evident that all danger of the fire spreading further was over.
The cars in the neighbourhood had been jerked away to a place of
safety, and three or four lines of hose were playing upon the fire,
with the result that it was soon under control. Six cars and their
contents had been destroyed and twice as many more damaged to
some extent, but this loss seemed trifling to Allan beside what might
have been.
 “Now I’ve got a report to make, and then I’m done,” he said to
Stanley. “I’ll come over to the freight office just as soon as I can.”
“All right, sir,” said Stanley, and hurried away to provide fresh
quarters for the strike-breakers. He found them fraternizing with the
brotherhood men, and Simpson himself proposed a solution of the
problem of lodging them.
“Why not bring them up to the lodge room?” he said. “It’s plenty
big enough, and each man can bring his cot with him. We’ll see that
breakfast is ready for them in the morning and after that, I guess
they can get board around town somewhere. I hope you’ll approve,”
he added to Stanley. “We want to show we’re in earnest about this
thing and that we bear no grudge against anyone.”
“All right,” agreed Stanley; “I don’t see no objections; though of
course, I see your little game,” he added, in an undertone. “These
fellers’ll be union men inside of a week.”
Simpson made no reply, but smiled a diplomatic smile; and
Stanley’s prediction came true; for all of the strangers who secured
permanent positions, joined the brotherhood in a very short time. It
may be added, in passing, however, that not above eight or ten
remained at Wadsworth. Most of them had the wanderlust in their
blood; they could be contented in one place only for a very short
time, and then must be moving on; while the rest were victims of an
even worse disease, which converted them from men into brutes,
and rendered them unfit to hold any position.

Allan, hurrying across the yards in the direction of his office, was
conscious of quick steps behind him, and turned to find that Jack
Welsh had joined Reddy Magraw.
“So here you are!” cried Jack. “Well, I certainly am glad to see
you. And you’re not hurted?”
“Hurt?” repeated Allan. “Why, no, of course not; why should I be?”
 “And you’re about ready to go home? The women are jest
naterally worrited to death about you.”
“Oh, I’m all right,” Allan assured him, though he was conscious
that both head and shoulder were aching numbly. “Reddy’s been
dogging me like a shadow. I’ll be ready to go back before long.
You’ve heard the news?”
“No. What?”
“The strike’s off. I’m just going to wire the news to Mr. Schofield.
Then I’ll be ready to go home. I must be up early in the morning.”
“We’ll wait fer you,” said Jack, and he and Reddy sat down on the
bottom step of the steep flight which led to the dispatchers’ office,
while Allan hurried up the stairs.
It took but a moment to get Mr. Schofield on the line. He had
been sent the first news of the disaster, and was anxious to know
how serious it was. Allan’s first words reassured him.
“Nobody hurt,” Allan flashed, “and not over six cars destroyed,
though some damage to others. Fire about out. Freight-house badly
wrecked. Bassett set fire to cars and was burned to death. We also
have fellow who set off bomb. Just saw Simpson, and arranged to
have strike called off at noon to-day. No conditions. Admits that
strike was mistake and says Bassett was fired from brotherhood last
night. Willing to do most anything to square himself. And I guess
that’s all till I see you.”
There was an instant’s pause before Mr. Schofield answered.
“West,” he began, “this is the greatest night’s work you ever did.
Are you able to be up?”
“I’m aching some,” Allan answered, “but I’m going home to bed
now. Everything is well in hand. I guess there’s no further danger of
trouble.”
“Wait a minute,” came the answer.
Allan waited until his instrument began again to call him.
 “All right,” he said.
“This is Round,” chattered the instrument. “Schofield has just been
telling me. I want to congratulate you—and order you to take at
least a month’s vacation.”
“I guess I’ll wait till my honeymoon,” answered Allan, and laughed
to himself at the thought.
“Are you engaged?”
“Yes. Tell Mr. Schofield I’ve taken his advice.”
“When is it to be?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Well, mind you ask me.”
“I will.”
“And here’s my best wishes, my boy. Now go home and go to bed.
I’ll be at Wadsworth in a day or two, and will tell you then what I
think about your work.”
“All right; thank you. Good-bye.”
Allan closed his key with a click, and as he did so, he was
conscious of a throng around his desk. He looked up to see all the
employees on duty and some who weren’t on duty, but who had
been got out of bed by the disturbance, crowding around him.
“Shake!” they said. “Of course we heard that,” and Allan gripped
one hand after another, his eyes shining.
“Thank you, boys,” was all he could say. “Thank you.”

He rejoined Jack and Reddy, at last, at the foot of the stairs.

“Just one more errand and then I’m ready to go home,” he said.
“Seems to me they allers is one more,” rejoined Jack. “What is it
now?”
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