| EVER
since Benny Ellis had been a little bit of a shaver
he had played at “railroad.” Not just now
and again, as other boys do, but he rarely touched a
game or a sport before he would ingeniously twist it
into a “pretend” railroad. Marbles were
to him merely things to be used to indicate telegraph
poles, with glass and agate alleys as stations. Sliding
down hill on a bobsleigh, he invariably tooted and whistled
like an engine, and trudging uphill he puffed and imitated
a heavy freight climbing up grade. The ball grounds
were to him the “Y” at the Junction, the
shunting yards, or the turn bridge at the roundhouse,
for Benny’s father was an engineer, who ran the
fast mail over the big western division of the new road,
where mountains and forests were cut and levelled and
tunnelled for the long, heavy transcontinental train
to climb through, and in his own home the boy heard
little but railroad talk, so he came by his preferences
honestly.
“Well, Benny, been railroading
to-day?” his father would often ask playfully,
on one of the three nights in the week when he was home,
with the grime of the engine coal-oiled from his big
hands, and his blue over-jeans hanging out behind the
kitchen door.
“Yes, daddy,” the
youngster would begin excitedly, and climbing on to
the arm of his father’s chair, he would beat his
little heels together in his eagerness to get the story
out in speech, and proceed to explain how he had built
a “pretend” track in the yard with curves
and grades, over which his little express cart ran “bully.”
“And ’round the curves we just signal to
the other train [Page 221] and have
whistles with real meanings to them, like a really big
train.”
“Oho! getting up the signal
system, are you, now?” his father would grin.
“Why, you’ll be big enough and wise enough
soon to come on Number 27 and wipe the engine or ‘fire’
for daddy. Won’t that be nice?” Then the
big man would set the chubby child of six years down
on the floor to play, as he winked knowingly at Benny’s
mother, who nodded a smiling reply.
But it did not take many years
to make Benny a pretty big boy, and one of the boy-kind
who always start schemes and devices among their schoolfellows.
He seemed to be a born leader, with a crowd of other
boys always at his heels ready to follow where he ventured,
or to mimic what he did. No one ever walked ahead of
him, no one ever suggested things to do or places to
go, when the engineer’s son was around. He was
always the vanguard, but fortunately was the kind of
boy who rarely, if ever, led his followers into trouble.
Finally someone nicknamed him “the Con,”
as short for “Conductor,” for he still played
at railroading, and had long since decided that when
school days were over he would go as a train hand, and
perhaps be lucky enough to be sometimes in his father’s
crew. It was about this time, when Benny was twelve,
that he invented the signal code, and more than once
it got “the gang” out of serious trouble.
The little divisional town where he lived was shut in
between hills so closely that it was a veritable furnace
in summer, and all who could went out camping, or built
shacks on the Three Islands in the little lake two miles
farther down the track. So Benny and his little brother
and sister went with their mother to join some neighbors
camping, and dad would come down on a hand-car on off
nights to get a breath of air, and the coal dust blown
out of his keen eyes. It did not take the shrewd engineer
long to discover that the boys on the islands had a
signal code. One would stand on his boat [Page
222] landing and wave a strip of white cotton
into a lot of grotesque figures, and far off on another
island some other boy would reply with similar figures,
and after much “talking,” the various bys
would act with perfect understanding, either meeting
out on the lake, in the boats, or going swimming, or
building camp fires¾it did not matter much what
they decided upon, but after these signals they all
worked in unison.
And one night something happened
of real import. It was just sunset one beautiful August
day, and Mr. Ellis, wearied with a long, hard run, lay
drinking in the wild beauty of the lonely lake, with
its forest-covered shores and its rocky islands. Over
on the mainland the McKenzie’s camp gleamed white
in the sunset. One could discern every movement in the
clear air, although the tents were a full mile, if not
more, from where the wearied engineer lay, grateful
for the stillness, after hours of the heated convulsions
of the great steed he drove, day after day.
“There go the McKenzie
boys for a swim, Benny,” called out his father.
“Too bad you’re not with them, but you and
I’ll go in together here, if you like.”
“All right, dad,”
answered Benny, leaving his fishing tackle to watch
his young neighbors. Then, “Say, the boys have
a dandy beach there. I wish ours was as good. The only
trouble is you’ve got to swim around that big
rock to it. There’s no climbing over it, and there’s
only one resting place on the way, but we always go.
It’s great! See, dad, there they go!” as
the two white, gleaming young bodies plunged into the
lake. No sooner were they well out than right at the
base of the rock, and along the very beach they were
heading for, came, stealthily and ponderously, a huge
black bear and two woolly cubs. Straight for the water’s
edge they padded their way; then stood drinking, drinking,
endlessly.
“Great Caesar! Benny,
look, look!” yelled Mr. Ellis, sitting upright
and rigid. “The boys, the McKenzie [Page
223] boys are heading right round that rock.
They’ll head on right into that she-bear!”
Benny stood, perfectly voiceless, paralyzed with the
sight. “The animal’s savage with heat and
thirst. They always are when they have cubs along, and
there are those naked boys making straight for her.”
Then he sprang to his feet,
yelling at the top of his lungs, “Take care! Go
back! Go back!” But the boys still swam on. They
either could not hear him, or else his voice carried
no warning. “Quick, Benny!” he shouted,
“get my revolver on the shelf. I’ll get
the boat out. We must go to help them. They’re
dead boys, as sure as anything.”
But Benny had found his tongue
and his wits. “There they go, climbing on to the
resting-place. They’ll stay a second there, and—”
But at that instant he broke
off, and dashing into the shack, seized the white tablecloth,
scattering the supper dishes far and wide. With a rush
he was at a point of rock which the dying sun flooded
with a brilliant red light. In this radiance the boy
stood, swinging about his head the white cloth until
it circled five times, then dropped to his feet. Seizing
it again, he held it at arm’s length in his right
hand, then dexterously tossed it over his head and caught
it in his left.
“Oh, I wonder if they
see me!” he cried, shakily, then once more went
through the signals. A faint, far whistle reached his
ears. Then, in a weakness of relief, he dropped down
on the rocks, shouting, “They’ll never budge,
dad. They understand.”
But Mr. Ellis was already in
the boat, revolver in hand, and three seconds later
he and Benny were pulling for all they were worth towards
the shivering swimmers, who crouched on the resting-place,
unconscious of why they must remain there, or what danger
threatened.
Very little was said until Benny
and his dad had them safely in the boat, and had rowed
them round the rock [Page 224] and
pointed silently at the bear and cubs, which still lapped
the water at the edge of the beach. As she caught sight
of the boat, the mother growled sullenly, and her red
tongue dripped saliva as she started for them until
she was breast high in the water. But strong arms pulled
the boat out far beyond danger, and the tragedy that
might have been was averted by a boy’s invention
and quick wit. It was very late when the Ellis family
had supper that night, but Mrs. Ellis did not mind the
broken and scattered dishes when she saw what a rescue
Benny had accomplished. They all talked until they were
tired, just as the McKenzie boys talked at their camp.
Later Mr. and Mrs. McKenzie rowed across the lake in
the dark, to tell their gratitude to Benny and his father.
But Mr. Ellis would have none of it. “You just
owe it to Benny, here,” he laughed. “But
what he did with that white tablecloth beats me.”
“That’s part of
my signal code,” said the boy, a little shyly.
“I invented it; it’s our Scout Society Code,
but I don’t mind telling you, after all this,
that three circles of any white cloth above one’s
head means ‘Danger,’ five circles means
‘Great Danger,’ and a toss from one hand
to the other up through the air means ‘Don’t
move. Stay where you are.’”
“Well, I never knew that
child’s play would save my boys’ lives,”
said Mr. McKenzie gratefully. “I knew these kiddies
had some fool ‘code’ they played at, but
this beats me, as well as you.”
“It’s no ‘fool’
code, friend Mack,” answered the engineer. “It’s
what an engine whistle or the swing of a lantern is
to us trainmen, and I’m glad our boys play at
something so sensible. It’s a mighty good thing
once in a while, as we saw to-day—this ‘Signal
Code.’”
*
* *
* *
*
It
was late in September when the little colony on the
lake struck camp and pulled into town. The hunting season
was well on, and sportsmen were out after deer [Page
225] and partridge, and Benny and his friends
had been fortunate enough to shoot two birds and a jack
rabbit. This, of course, meant that every Saturday they
took to the woods, with the one little shotgun the crowd
possessed, for in the wild, new railway districts it
is a good thing for boys to learn to be good shots while
yet young. Often in the snowbound winters meat is scarce,
and one’s food is frequently the result of being
a dead shot, so guns in the hands of boys of ten and
twelve are nothing unusual. One wonderful autumn day
six of “the gang” had prowled the forest
for hours, and had succeeded in bagging some plump partridges,
and late in the afternoon they all sprawled out in the
Indian summer sunshine, finishing the remnants of their
luncheon, and looking about the marvellous cavern that,
formed by the pine-crowned hills, lay like a cup at
their feet. In and out wound the railroad track, a lonely,
isolated bit of man’s handiwork threading through
the vastness of nature. It was the only sign of human
life visible, until, after a long, lazy hour, Benny
sat up staring with round eyes into the valley below.
A thin scarf of blue smoke was indolently curling up
from a spot apparently in the forest. He called the
attention of the boys to it, and for want of something
else to do they lay and watched it. Presently a puff
arose more rapidly. Then another.
“That’s a real fire,
sure enough,” said Benny. “Bet you it will
burn among the timber for a month this dry season.”
“Doesn’t look among
the timber,” said another boy. “Looks as
if it was along the track.”
“Let’s go down there
and see,” said someone else, and forthwith “the
gang” scrambled to their feet, grabbed their gun
and ammunition bag and birds, and proceeded to slip
and slide and scramble down the steeps, until a half-hour
brought them to the railroad, along which they ran towards
the direction from where they had seen the smoke. They
ran through a big cut, rounded an abrupt [Page
226] curve, and dashed right into a cloud of
smoke, while the crackle of flame spit and sparkled,
bringing them up short with speechless horror. The huge,
wooden railroad trestle spanning Whitefish Creek was
in flames. For an instant the entire gang gazed at it
numbly. Then a boy yelled:
“Great Scott, fellows,
isn’t it good there’s no train due? She’d
plunge round this curve right into it.”
Then Benny Ellis went white.
“Who’s got a watch?” he asked very
quietly.
“My Ingersoll says five-fifteen,
and she’s right, too,” replied Joe McKenzie.
Benny gulped; he seemed to find
a difficulty in speaking, but the words finally came.
“My dad went down to Grey’s Point to bring
up a special to-night, the Divisional Superintendent’s
private car and some fast freight. They’re—they’re—they’re
due about now.”
“Thanks be! Grey’s
Point is this side of the trestle. We can stop them,”
shouted Joe, and without argument “the gang”
turned, tearing at a breakneck pace around the curve,
and through the cut, in a hopeless effort to make their
home town before the special reached it.
Breathlessly they ran for ten
minutes, stumbling along the sleepers, recovering, then
forging ahead, until, cutting the evening air, came
a long, thin whistle, and immediately afterwards the
black nose of an engine and a ribbon of smoke rounded
a distant curve, and came bearing down on them at the
rate of forty-five miles an hour.
“The gang” paused,
standing rock still for an instant, then five of them
danced up and down, waving their arms wildly, to signal
the train to stop. But the sixth boy—Benny Ellis—white
as a sheet, was tearing madly at his collar, and dragging
off his coat. Then quick as a flash he skinned from
his narrow shoulders his blue cotton shirt, faded almost
white by the summer suns, and dashing down the track
towards the oncoming engine, whirled it high above his
head in five distinct circles, [Page 227]
while his young voice, hoarse with a frenzy of fear,
shrieked, “Father, father! Oh, dad, try to remember.
Try, try!”
And from the cab of the great
mogul, Engineer Ellis was peering out with his keen
eyes piercing the track ahead, his hand at the throttle.
“Jim,” he called
abruptly to his fireman. There was something in his
tone that made Jim fling himself to the window. Then
both men exclaimed simultaneously, “It’s
a hold-up.”
“There’s six of
them, and one’s got a gun,” gasped the engineer.
“We’ll have to crowd on steam and rush them,
unless they’ve wrecked the track.” Then,
as the huge iron monster lifted itself to greater speed,
Mr. Ellis saw something like a white flag wave in the
air then fall. Once more it circled, one, two, three,
four, five times above someone’s head, fell again,
then was tossed from one hand high in the air and caught
in the other.
“Jim, I’ve seen
that signal somewhere. It means something.” Then,
like a photograph, he seemed to see a lake, two boys
swimming, and a black bear and cubs on a far shore,
while Benny’s voice rang in his ears: “Five
circles means ‘Great danger,’ and a toss
from one hand to the other up through the air means
‘Don’t move; stay where you are.’”
“It’s the boys,
Jim,” gasped the engineer. “There’s
something wrong.” Before the words had left his
lips the shrill whistle was shrieking for “brakes”—“double
brakes” at that—and the gigantic engine
almost leaped from the rails as the halter was thrown
about her neck. On she rushed, slipping, grinding, rocking
in her restraint. The train crew and passengers in the
rear car pitched almost on their faces with the violent
checking of speed, until, snorting and pulsing and belching,
the great mogul came to a standstill.
“Oh, daddy, you did
remember, you did, after all!” cried
a very white-faced little boy who peered up into the
[Page 228] cab window with horrified
eyes, while his naked shoulders heaved, and his hand
clutched a torn, faded blue shirt.
“What’s the meaning
of this nonsense, Ellis?” thundered an angry voice
behind him, and the superintendent, black with scowling,
glared at first the boy, then the engineer. “What’s
this stop for, when you know I haven’t a minute
to spare getting to Dubuc? You nearly broke my neck,
too, downing brakes. What does it mean, I say?”
But when the boys, bold with
excitement, dragged the great man around the curve,
and pointed to the doomed trestle, with its already
falling timbers, it was another story altogether. From
the engineer’s white lips he listened to the history
of Benny’s “signal code.” Then for
a long time the great man stood looking at the burning
trestle. Once he muttered aloud, “All our lives,
a priceless engine, valuable freight, rolling stock,
all saved!” Then, whirling rapidly on
his heel, he said, “Ellis, we want your boy on
the road when he’s bigger. The boy who can invent
a useful plaything and keep his head in an emergency
is the boy we want to make into a man on the great Transcontinental.
Will you let us have him?”
“Ask Benny what he wants
to do!” smiled the engineer.
“Well, little ‘Signal
Code’ man, what do you want to do?” asked
the superintendent. “Speak, old man.”
The boy was looking him directly
in the eyes. “Go on the great Transcontinental,
if I get the chance,” he replied.
“You’ll get the
chance all right,” said the superintendent. “I’ll
see that you get it. Ellis, you may back the train down
into town now. There’s lots to see to about reconstructing
the trestle.” Then under his breath he added:
“That’s the sort of boy we want on the railroad.
That’s the sort of boy!” [Page 229]
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