CHAPTER XXVI.

CAPTURING A WILD ENGINE.

Frank ran the engine out all right, although it startled him somewhat to feel her go the instant he touched the throttle. He knew how she ought to be handled, but found it rather confusing when he came to do it himself. The throttle, reverse lever and brake seemed to be in each other’s way, and he could not find them with his hands without looking for them, something that is a dead giveaway for a greenhorn.

Hobson talked to Frank, telling him just how everything should be done, and he permitted Frank to handle the engine for some time, although some of his criticisms were rather cutting.

Occasionally Frank caught himself in the act of giving her steam when he should have reversed her first, and the laughter of Hobson was not calculated to make him any cooler. Still, after a time, he began to grow more confident, and the engineer ceased laughing and criticising.

At the end of an hour, Hobson said:

“You’ll be a winner all right, young man; but you want to let booze alone.”

“I do not touch it, sir,” answered Frank.

“That’s all right. By booze I mean everything--beer and all.”

“I never drink beer.”

“With your color? Not when you are thirsty?”

“Never.”

“Hum! Where did you work before you came here?”

“I was in college, sir.”

“College? And you never worked anywhere else?”

“No, sir.”

“What college?”

“Yale.”

“Then you used to drink?”

“No, sir.”

“Why, all them college chaps drink! They’re a wild crowd, and they don’t do a thing but steam up at times. You must have had your little toots with the boys.”

“If by ‘little toots’ you mean drunks, you are mistaken. I suppose I have had as much sport as anybody, but I never took a drink of beer or liquor in my life!”

“Well, you’re a wonder! But you’ll have to look out now. Railroad men are worked pretty hard, especially firemen and engineers, and many of them brace up by drinking, especially when they have not had a wink of sleep for twenty-four hours, as sometimes happens. You’ll be tempted to do that some time.”

“I do not think so, sir; but, if I am tempted, I shall resist.”

“That’s right,” nodded Hobson, gravely. “If you never take your first drink, you’ll be all right. I would have been myself. I was a passenger engineer once, and now I am on a switch engine. What put me here? Rum! Couldn’t let booze alone. I don’t like to talk about it, for it makes me feel ugly. I’ve sworn off a thousand times, but it’s no use. I always break over. You see I know so many of the boys who take something. After I have been without it a long time, I get a hankering to do something. Then I run into some of the men. I think I won’t drink, but the man who has done so once is always tempted. His friends say that a little snifter will do him good. He ain’t lookin’ well, and he thinks he ain’t feeling well. He says he’ll just take a small one as medicine. Then it’s all off. That small one starts him in again, and he’s just as bad off as he was before. Yes, if you never take the first one, you’ll be all right, and you will get somewhere in the world. Drink is what holds men down. It keeps them from rising. It wastes their money and keeps them poor. It makes hard times for the laborer. Oh, I know! I know all about the man who gets plumb full, loses his job, and curses the hard times.”

The man’s manner, as much as his words, showed how deeply he felt what he was saying.

It was not necessary to read Frank Merriwell a temperance lecture. He fully realized the truth of Hobson’s words. Years before he had promised his dying mother that he would not drink, and although he had been greatly tempted, that promise had never been broken.

Finally, when the work slackened somewhat, Hobson swung down from the engine and went into the yardmaster’s office, saying he would be back in a minute.

The main track was clear, and Hobson had not been gone a minute when Frank was directed to run up past the freight house and change onto another switch. This was to be done on the main track, as no trains were due.

But just as 91 was running along the main track past the freight house, the operator came jumping out of the little office, showing great excitement.

“Get off the track!” he cried. “Clear the track. There is a wild engine coming, and she ought to be here now!”

Frank’s heart gave a leap. A wild engine was coming, and he was on the main track.

“Which way is she coming?” he cried.

“East.”

She was behind him.

“Here she comes!”

The operator waved his arms and shouted. Looking over the tender Frank saw the wild engine just rounding a curve in the distance. Then he opened up, and 91 jumped ahead.

Frank thought he might get down past the switch, and back onto the first siding, thus letting the wild engine pass. He was going to make the attempt.

But, as he approached the switch, he saw that the tender was not on hand, although he had whistled for the man.

Another look back told Merry he had not a moment to spare if he would get out of the way of the runaway engine. He thought he might be able to stop 91, jump off, open the switch, get on again, and back out of harm’s way. Then he saw that he might not be able to do the trick, and, even if he did succeed, he could not leave the engine again in time to throw the switch and save the runaway from being wrecked.

In such a position it was necessary to think swiftly. There was one thing he could do.

He could run away from the wild engine if he could keep up steam.

Now the engine was close upon him, and he hooked 91 up another notch. Down past the first switch he ran, bidding farewell to the hope of backing in and leaving a clear track.

“I must stop the runaway!”

He muttered the words and his jaws squared. Now that he was in a position of peril, he never felt cooler in his life. Again he looked back at the oncoming engine, calmly measuring the distance between them.

He wondered why the operator had not received notice before of the runaway, but there was little time then to speculate on that point.

As he looked back, he became aware that the runaway was not making much over twenty miles an hour. It was evident that her steam was running down, and she was nearing the end of her wild trip.

Then Frank became confident. He knew well enough that there was a clear track ahead, but it would be necessary to whistle for crossings whenever possible. Four miles away was a hard grade.

“I’ll stop her there,” he decided.

He set about regulating the speed of 91 so that he could keep clear of the runaway, and still the wild engine was permitted to creep nearer and nearer.

It gave Frank a creepy feeling to see her coming up silently, without sound of bell or whistle, and with no human being in her cab.

When the stretch of woods at the foot of the grade was reached, the runaway was not over four rods away. Then Frank permitted her to come nearer and nearer till the nose of her pilot was right under the tender of 91.

Then Frank left the cab and scrambled back over the tender, swinging down onto the pilot of the runaway. He worked swiftly, fearing the wild engine might give out and let 91 get away, but this did not happen, and he succeeded in coupling the two.

“Hurrah!” he cried, with boyish enthusiasm. “I have her!”

Back along the running board he went and soon was in the cab. He found she was hooked up to within one short notch of the center. Her cylinder cocks were open.

It did not take Merry a moment to shut off steam, so that the runaway was helpless, but in that moment he discovered the cause of the runaway--a weak throttle latch-spring.

Back to 91 Merry made his way, and soon both engines were at a standstill. He had successfully captured the runaway.

There was a crowd waiting when Frank backed to the yards with the wild engine. Sam Hobson was there, looking pale but relieved, and a gang of brakemen and switch-tenders welcomed the hero of the adventure with cheer after cheer.