Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 40, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 5 January 1907 — The Manager Of the B. & A. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Manager Of the B. & A.

By VAUGHAN KESTER

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. I—Dan Oakley, Manager of the Buckhorn and Antioch railroad (known as the “ Huckleberry”). receives two letters, one telling him that his convict father, Roger Oakley, has been pardoned, and the other that General Cornish, the owner of the B. & A,, is about to visit Antioch. ll—Oakley visit- Dr. Emory and meets Constance Emory. Other visitors are Griff Ryder, owner of the Antioch Herald, and Turner Joice, the local artist. Ill—Oakley tells General Cornish that in orderto keep the car slums running a cut in wages Is necessary. IV -Oakley tells Holt, Ids assistant treasurer, of 'he proposed cuts. V—Koger Oakley appears in Antioch. He is a worthy old man. who killed an enemv in self defence and was unjustly convicted of murder. VI Roger Oaklev goes to work in the car shops. Griff Ryder tries to induce Dan to keep a friend at work. Oakley refuses. Vll—Oakley and Ryder are rivals for Constance Emory's favor. VIII— Through Kenyon, candidate for congress, whose cousin is warden of the prison in which Roger Oakley was confined, Ryder learns the old man's history. IX—Oakley cuts wages in the car shops He Is attacked by the Herald. X—Oakley's office boy learns from the son of one of the men that the men are planning a strike and that Ryder is spreading the tale that Roger Oakley is a criminal XI -The men in the car shops refuse to work with Roger Oaklev. Branyon, their leader, is discharged. Oakley tells Dr. Emory that he will stay In Antioch and face the situation. Xlll—Oakley has a final interview with Constance. XIV and XV—The car shop men go on strike. XVI and XVll—Roger Oakley visits Ryder to try to induce h'm to cease his attacks on Dan. Ina struggle the editor is killed a cidently. The body is found and the slayer’s identity dis-overed. The old man flees. XVIII-Ttie sheriff arrests for the murder a man who is afterwards released, XIX —Koger Oakley is forced by forest fires to take refuge at Buckhorn He meets Dan there. XX—Dan has gone to Chicago, intending to resign. His resignation Is declined by the B. and A’s vice-president General Cornish being absent. Dan secures a big contract for the car shops. On learning that Antioch is in great danger from forest fires he decides to return. XXl—Oakley decides to run a relief train carrying fire engines to Antioch. his father, the only man availab'e at Buckhorn, act ng as his fireman. XXll—Antioch awaiting the relief train.

CHAPTER XXIII. WHEN Roger Oakley appeared on the platform at Buckhorn .Junction Durks started violently, while Dau took e quick step forward and placed a warning hand on the old convict's arm. He feared what he might say. Then z be said to the operator: “He’ll do. Go see if you can get Antioch. Try Just onee more. If you succeed tell them the engines and hose will be there within an hour or they need not look for them. Do you understand?" "All right, Mr. Oakley.” And Ducks moved up the platform, with alacrity. He was relieved of one irksome responsibility. He had his own theories as to who the stranger was, but he told himself It was none of his business. As soon as he was out of hearing Dan turned to his father and said earnestly: "Look here, daddy, I can't allow you to do It. We are neither of us popular. It’s bad enough for me to have to go.” "Why can’t you allow it, Dannie?” And his sou the same cheerful tone with which lie had always met and overruled his objections. “It will end in your arrest, and we don't want that.” "It's more than likely I’ll be arrested sooner or later, anyhow,” he said, with a suggestion of weariness, as if tills were a matter it was a waste of time to consider. "The Lord has set his face against me. It's his wish I should return. I’ve lieen stubborn and headstrong and wouldn’t see It, but look there,” And he nodded toward the red western sky. “It’s a summons. I got to obey whether I want to or not.” “It won't be safe. No telling what they will do with you.” "That ain't the question. Dannie; that ain’t at all the question. It’s not what they'll do to me.” And he softly patted the hand that rested on his arm.

Dan saw that his clothes hung loosely to his mighty frame. They were torn mid stained. He had the appearance of a man who had endured hardship, privation and toil. His glance ■was fugitive and anxious. “Where have yon been all this while?” he asked. "Not here?” "No; 1 have been living In the woods, trying to escape from the country, and the fires wouldn’t let me. Wherever I went they were there ahead of me, driving me back.” “Why did you kill him? How did It happen?" Dau added. “Or is it all a mistake? Did you do It?” The smile faded from the old convict’s lips. "It was a sort of accident, and it was sort of carelessness, Dannie," he explained, with a touch of sullenness. “I hit him—not hard, mind you. I know I shouldn’t have done IL but he was in the wrong, and he wouldn’t listen to reason. I don’t know when I ever seen a man so set In his wickedness.” “And now you want to go back. Do you know what it means If you are arrested? Have you thought of that?” Roger Oakley waved the query aside as though it concerned him not at all. “I want to be with you,” he said wistfully. “You may uot get through alive, and I want to be with you You’ll need me. There’s no one you can trust as you can me, for 1 won’t fall you no matter what the danger is. And there’s the girl, Dannie. Have you thought of her?" Dan set his lips. “My God, I can’t think of anything else.” There was a moment’s silence. “Here,” said Dan, thrusting his hands into bls pockets. “I am going to give you what money I have. It isn’t much.”

“What for, Dannie?” “Yon are sure to be seen and recognized if you stay about here. Your description has been telegraphed all over the state. For that reason I'll take you with ine part way. Then I’ll slow up, and you can hide again. It's your only chance. 1 am sorry I can’t do more for you. I wish I could. But perhaps we can arrange to meet afterward.” Ills father smiled with the unconscious superiority of the man who firmly believes he is controlled by an Intelligence Infinitely wise and beyond all human conception. No amount of argument could have convinced him that Providence was not burning millions of feet of standing timber and an occasional town solely for his guidance. In his simple seriousness he saw nothing absurd or preposterous In the idea. He said: “I’ve wanted to escape, Dannie, for your sake, not for mine. But when I seen you tonight I knew the Lord intended we should keep together. He didn’t bring us here for nothing. That ain’t his way. There’s no one to go with you but me, and you can’t go alone.” “I can—l will!” And Dan swore under his breath. He realized that no word of ills could move his father. He would carry his point, just as he always had. Durks came running along the platform from the depot. “It’s no use,” shaking his head. “The wire’s down. Say, you want to keep your eyes open for the freight. It may be on the siding at Parker’s Run, and It may be on the main track,” Dan made a last appeal to his father. “Won’t you listen to what I say?” sinking ills voice to a hoarse whisper. •'They’ll hang you—do you hear? If ever they lay hands on you they will show no mercy!” It did not occur to him that his father would be returning under circumstances so exceptional that public sentiment might well undergo a radical change in his favor. Roger Oakley merely sihiled as he answered, with gentle composure: “I don’t think we need to worry about that. We are in ills hands, Dannie.” And he raised ids face to the heavens. Dan groaned.

"Come, then,” he said aloud. “I'll throw the switch for you!” Anti the operator ran down the track. He was quite positive he should never see Oakley again, and he felt something akin to enthusiasm at the willing sacrifice of his life which be conceives him to be making. Father and son stepped to the en. glue. The old convict mounted heavily to his post, and Dan sprang after him his hand groping for the throttle lever. There was the hiss of steam, and Joe cried from the darkness: “All right, come ahead!” And the engine, with its tender and tw’o cars, began its hazardous journey. As they slipped past him the operator yelled his goodby and Dan pushed open the cab window and waved his hand. Roger Oakley on the narrow iron shelf between the engine and the tender was already throwing coal into the furnace. His face wore a satisfied expression. Apparently he was utterly unmoved by the excitement of the moment, for he bent to his work as if it were the most usual of tasks and the occasion the most commonplace. He had takeq off his coat and vest and had tossed them up on the tender out of bls way. Dan. looking over the boiler’s end, could see his broad shoulders and the top of his head. He leaned back, with his hand on the throttle. "Father!" he called. The old convict straightened up Instantly. “Yes, Dannie.” “You are going with me? You are determined?” "I thought we settled that, Dannie, before we started," he said pleasantly, but there was a shrewd, kindly droop to the corners of his mouth, for he appreciated his victory. “1 want to know, because If I am to slow up for you I'll have to do it soon or I’ll be leaving you In worse shape than I found you." To this his father made no direct reply. Instead he asked, “Do you think we’ll reach Antioch in time to do them any good?” Dan faced about. They slid Into a straight stretch of road beyond the Junction, and the track shone yellow far ahead, where the engine looked down upon it with its single eye. Each minute their speed Increased. A steady jarring and poundlug had begun that grew into a dull and ponderous roar as the engine rushed forward. Dan kept a sharp watch for the freight. As Durks had said, it might be on the siding at Parker’s Ruh, and it might not In the latter event his and his father’s troubles would soon be at an end. He rose from his seat and went to the door of the cab. "We’ll take it easy for the first ten miles or so, then we’ll be In the fire, and that will be our time to hit her up.” Roger Oakley nodded his acquiescence. In what he conceived to be worldly matters be was quite willing to abide by Dan’s Judgment, for which he had profound respect. "How fast are we going?" he asked.

DanTifeadled himself "IiST ITstehed, with a finger on his pulse, until he caught the rhythmic swing of the engine as it jarred from one rail to another. Then he said: “Twenty-five miles an hour.” “It ain’t very fast, is it, Dannie?" He was evidently disappointed. “JVe’ll do twice that presently." The old convict looked relieved. They were running now with a strip of forest on one side of the track and cultivated fields on the Qther, but with each rod they covered they were edging in nearer the flames. At Parker’s Run the road crossed a little stream which doubled back in the direction of Buckhorn Junction. There was nothing after that to stay the progress of the fire, and the rest of their way lay through the blazing pine woods. Just before they reached the ten mile fill they came to the strip of burned timber that had sent Baker back to Buckhorn earlier In the day. Here and there a tree was still blazing, but for the most part the fire had spent its strength. As they swung past Parker’s Run a little farther on Dan saw the freight, or, rather, what was left of It, on the siding. It had been cutting out four flat cars loaded with ties, and he understood the difficulty at a glance. On the main track a brick and stone culvert spanned the run, but the siding crossed it on a flimsy wooden bridge. This bridge had probably been burning as the freight backed in for the flat cars, and when it attempted to pull out the weakened structure had collapsed and the engine had gone through into the cut. It rested on its forward end, jammed between the steep banks, with Its big drivers in the air. Of the cars there remained only the trucks and Ironwork. Near by a tool shed had formerly stood, but that was gone too. The wheels and gearing of a hand car In the midst of a heap of ashes marked the spot. Dan turned to his father. “Are you all right, daddy?” he asked. “Yes, Dannie.” “Mind your footing. It will be pretty shaky back there.” They were still In the burned district, where a change In the wind that afternoon had driven the fire back on Itself. It had made a clean sweep of everything inflammable. Luckily the road had been freshly ballasted, and the track was in fair condition-to resist the flames. But an occasional tie smoldered, and from these the rushing train thrashed showers of sparks. Dan kept his eyes fastened on the rails, which showed plainly In the jerky glare of the headlight. It was well to be careful while care was possible. By and by he would have to throw aside all caution and trust to chance. Now he increased his speed, and the insistent thud of the wheels drowned every other sound, even the faroff roar of the flames. At his back at intervals a ruddy glow shot upward Into the night when Roger Oakley threw open the furnace door to pass in coal. Save for this it was still quite dark in the cab, where Dan sat with his hand on the throttle lever and watched the yellow streak that ran along the rails in advance of the engine. Suddenly the wall of light ahead brightened visibly, and its glare tilled the cab. They were nearing the fire. Dan jammed the little window at his elbow open and put out his bead. A hot blast roared past him, and the heat of the fire was in his face. He drew the window shut. It was light as day in the cab now. He leaned across the boiler’s end and, with a hand to his Ups, called to his father, “Are you all right?” The old man drew himself erect and crept nearer. “What’s that you say, Dannie?” he asked. His face was black with coal dus£ and grime. “Are you all right? Can you bear the heat?”

“I am doing very nicely, but this ain't a patch on what it’s going to be.” “Yes, it will be much worse, though this is bad enough.” “But we can stand IL We must think of those poor people at Antioch.” “We’ll stick to the engine as long as the engine sticks to the rails,” said Daii grimly. “Hadn’t you better come into the cab with me? You’ll be frightfully exposed when we get into the thick of it.” "Not yet, Dannie? I’ll give you steam, and you drive her as hard as you can.” He turned away, shovel in hand. Then, all in a second, and they were in the burning woods, rushing beneath trees that were blazing to their very summits. The track seemed to shake and tremble in the fierce light and fiercer heat. Burning leaves and branches were caught up to be whirled in fiery eddies back down the rails as the train tore along, for Dan was hitting her up. Tongues of fire struck across at the two men. Smoke and fine white ashes filled their mouths and nostrils. Their bodies seemed to bake. They had been streaming wet with perspiration a moment before. Off in the forest it was possible to see for miles. Every tree and bush stood forth distinct and separate. Roger Oakley put down his shovel for an instant to fill a bucket with water from the tank on the tender. He plunged his bead and arms in it and splashed the rest over his clothes. Dan turned to him for the last time. "It Isn’t far now,” he panted. “Just around the next curve and we’ll see the town If it’s still there off in the valley.” The old convict did not catch more than the half of what he said, but he smiled and nodded bls head. As they swung around the curve a dead sycamore which the fire had girdled at the base crashed across the track. The engine plunged Into Its top, rolled It over once and tossed It aside. There was the smashing of glass and the ripping of_ leather as the syca-

inbre’sTTmbs raked The cab, anSTWet Oakley uttered a hoarse cry—a cry Dan did not hear, but he turned, spitting dust and cinders from bls lips, and saw the old convict still standing, shovel in hand, in the narrow gangway that separated the engine and tender. He had set the whistle shrieking, and it cut high above the roar of the flames, for off in the distance under a canopy of smoke he saw the lights of Antioch shining among the trees. Two minutes later and they were running smoothly through the yards, with the brakes on and the hiss of es-

caplng steam. As they slowed up beside the depot Dau sank down on the seat in the cab limp and exhausted. He was vaguely conscious that the platform was crowded with people and that they were yelling at him excitedly and waving their hats, but he beard their cries only indifferently well. His ears were dead to everything except the noise of his engine, which still echoed In his tired brain. He staggered to his feet and was about to descend from the cab when he saw that his father was lying face down on the Iron shelf between the engine and tender. He stooped and raised him gently In his arms. The old convict opened his eyes and looked up Into his face, hte lips parted as if he were about to speak, but no sound came from them. [TO BE CONTINUED)

Dan turned, spitting dust and cinders from his lips.