Motor Matt's Mariner; or, Filling the Bill for Bunce
Page 19
THE PHANTOM ENGINEER.
"Whenever I tell the story," said Alf Whitney, throwing away hishalf-smoked cigar, and putting his long legs on the top of the table,in a way some men have when a story is to be forthcoming, "everybodywinks at everybody else, as much as to say, 'Alf had taken too muchwhisky that time,' or 'Alf was asleep and dreamed the whole thing.'But I tell you, comrades, though you are at liberty to disbelievewhat I tell you, it is true; and that's all I know about it. I'm nolong-headed metaphysician to reason it all out--I only know whathappened, and it's that I'm going to tell."
We gathered closer around the red-hot stove in the bar-room of theAnderson House, for it was a biting cold night, and the snow was toomuch for our train, destitute as we were of a snowplow, and we hadgiven up the attempt to push through to C---- that night, and retakenourselves to the hospitalities of the Arlington.
It had often been whispered among the railway employees that AlfWhitney had once had something strange happen to him. He was ayoung man yet, though the oldest and most skillful engineer on theroad--noted for his skill and judgment, no less than for his sturdyendurance and his bravery, which nothing ever overcame.
I suppose you people who ride in Pullman cars, rocked in velvetcushions, and look at the scenery rushing past, through plate glasswindows, heavy with gilt and rosewood mouldings, never think much ofthe man upon whom your safety depends--the man who, with his handupon the lever which controls the monster that is bearing you along,stands tireless at his post, through cold and heat, through storm andsunshine, smutty, grimy with smoke, greasy and weather-hardened, butoftentimes the bravest and noblest man among you all. But this is adigression.
We all hastened to assure Alf that we were ready to believe whatever hemight say; and he, smiling a little, as if he doubted the sincerity ofour assurances, began his story. I give it in his own words, which aremuch better than mine would be.
"Six years ago, one dark stormy night, Jack Horton lost his life in asmash-up at Rowley's Bend. Jack was an engineer, and as fine a fellowas ever trod the ground. He was handsome, too, and notwithstanding hisdirty occupation, a great favorite with the ladies; for when he wasoff the machine long enough to get the oil and cinders washed off,and his other clothes on, he was the best-looking, as well as thebest-mannered, young man anywhere in this vicinity.
"He was engaged to marry Esther Clay; and Esther was a beauty withoutanything by way of art to help her--a sound-looking, wholesome, healthyyoung girl--none of your die-away kind, fainting at the sight of aspider, and going into tantrums over a cow a mile off. She was just thekind of woman I could worship, and not put myself out any to do it,either!"
"Why didn't you go for her after Jack was dead?" asked Tom Barnardcarelessly.
"Hush! she is dead!" said Alf, in a subdued voice; and the unwontedpallor that settled round his mouth gave me a slight clue to the reasonhe had never married. And afterward I knew that Esther Clay, dead,and pledged through all eternity to another, was more to him than anyliving woman!
After a little he went on.
"When Jack was killed, it was the breaking of an axle that caused themischief; and, of course, this axle broke on just the worst part of theroad. They always do. You all know Rowley's Bend? You all know just howhigh the grade is there, and just how rough and jagged the rocks lieall along the embankment, clear down to the river. No need to dwellon this. The train pitched down into the dark, head first, and Jack,true to his duty, never stirred from his post. It was a good whilebefore we could get to him, the broken timbers of the piled-up cars socompletely caged him in. She came there before we had taken his bodyout, and I shall never forget how she went down into the ruins whereeven the bravest of us hardly dared to venture, so insecure was thefooting, and worked with her white, slender hands, until the blood ranfrom their wounds. She never minded it a particle, but worked on, witha face as pale and rigid as marble. But I am making a long story, anddwelling too much on details. Jack was dead when they found him, andshe lived just a month afterward. And, though everybody lamented at herfuneral, and said it was 'so sad,' I do not think it was sad, for whentwo people love each other, truly and loyally, and one of them dies, itseems to me Heaven's special mercy if the other is suffered to go along.
"Jack and I had always been great friends; and once when we weretalking about the supernatural nonsense that so many believe in, Jacksaid to me laughingly:
"'If I die first, I'll keep a watch over you, old fellow; and whenI see you running into danger, I'll whistle the brakes down. Nowremember!' After he died these careless words of his kept coming backto me, and try as I would not to remember them, the more they werepresent to my mind.
"It was nearly two years after Jack's death that I was taking theten-fifty accommodation out to L----. It was a dark, drizzly night, andthe headlight on the front of the engine pierced but a short distanceinto the gloom and fog ahead of us. I was running carefully, as Ialways run on such nights, and had nearly reached Carney's Ford when Isaw something on the track before us. I whistled to down brakes, andreversed the lever. The train slackened, and I could see distinctlyahead of us the tall figure of a man. But we got no nearer to him, forthough he seemed to be only walking, his speed was fully equal to ours.We should never overtake him. A cold shiver ran through me as I notedthis fact. No mortal man could walk like that.
"'Richards,' said I to the fireman, who, ghastly and trembling withfear, was gazing at the strange apparition, 'it must be Old Nickhimself, with the seven-league boots on!'
"As I spoke, the figure turned toward us, and then I saw that in hishand he carried a red lantern, the well-known signal of danger. Helifted it, swung it slowly round his head once, and, as he did so, theblood-red light fell full on his face--the face of Jack Horton. Fora moment he stood motionless, then he was enveloped in a pale, azureflame, which died out instantly, and left--nothing!
"All this, which it has taken me so long to describe, took place in aninstant of time, and by the time the phantom had vanished Richards andI had managed to stop the train. We got off and went ahead. The redlantern had not signaled 'danger' for nothing. A heavy stick of timberwas spiked across the track, and, had we gone on at full speed, itwould have sent us to swift destruction.
"The company ferreted out the rascal who had done this vile thing, andhe is serving out a long term in the State prison now. I have seen himand talked with him, and he swore to me, with a voice that trembledeven then with horror, that after he had spiked down the timber and hadhidden in some bushes near by to watch the result, he had seen a tallman, with a red lantern in his hand, start up in front of the engineand walk, as nothing human could walk, until he reached the very spotwhere the danger lay.
"'And then,' said the miscreant, 'he changed into a blue flame, andvanished, and I knew that my plan was upset, and that for once Satanhad gone back on them as he'd set to work.'"
"Well," said Tom Barnard, "what else?"
"That is all," said Alf, lighting another cigar.
"But what was the fellow's object in seeking to disable the train?"
"Plunder. He had ascertained that a carrying company would have a largesum of money on board that night, and he was not averse to turning anhonest penny."
"But the phantom--how do you explain it?" persisted Tom.
"I don't explain it," said Alf quietly.