THE WRECKERS

CONTENTS


CHAPTER PAGE

I. AT SAND CREEK SIDING 1

II. A TANK PARTY 11

III. MR. CHADWICK'S SPECIAL 23

IV. THE TIPPING OF THE SCALE 36

V. THE DIRECTORS' MEETING 51

VI. THE ALEXA GOES EAST 60

VII. "HEADS OFF, GENTLEMEN!" 65

VIII. WITH THE STRINGS OFF 75

IX. AND SATAN CAME ALSO 90

X. THE BIG SMASH 96

XI. WHAT EVERY MAN KNOWS 102

XII. WITH THE WHEELS TRIGGED 112

XIII. THE LOST 1016 123

XIV. A CLOSE CALL 140

XV. THE MACHINE 155

XVI. IN THE COAL YARD 169

XVII. THE MAN AT THE WINDOW 185

XVIII. THE NAME ON THE REGISTER 200

XIX. THE HOODOO 206

XX. THE HELPLESS WIRES 216

XXI. BILLY MORRIS EXPLAINS 225

XXII. WHAT THE PILOT ENGINE FOUND 232

XXIII. THE MAJOR'S PREMONITION 247

XXIV. THE DEAD-LINE 262

XXV. FLAGGED DOWN 274

XXVI. THE DIPSOMANIAC 292

XXVII. THE DESERTER 312

XXVIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END 319

XXIX. THE MURDER MADMAN 334

XXX. "UNDER THE WIDE AND STARRY SKY" 349

XXXI. P. S. L. COMES HOME 365




THE WRECKERS




I

At Sand Creek Siding


As a general proposition, I don't believe much in the things called
"hunches." They are bad for the digestion, and as often as not are like
those patent barometers that are always pointing to "Set Fair" when it
is raining like Noah's flood. But there are exceptions to all rules, and
we certainly uncovered the biggest one of the lot--the boss and I--the
night we left Portland and the good old Pacific Coast.

It was this way. We had finished the construction work on the Oregon
Midland; had quit, cleaned up the offices, drawn our last pay-checks,
told everybody good-by, and were on our way to the train, when I had one
of those queer little premonitory chills you hear so much about and knew
just as well as could be that we were never going to pull through to
Chicago without getting a jolt of some sort. The reason--if you'll call
it a reason--was that, just before we came to the railroad station, the
boss walked calmly under a ladder standing in front of a new building;
and besides that, it was the thirteenth day of the month, a Friday, and
raining like the very mischief.

Just to sort of toll us along, maybe, the fates didn't begin on us that
night. They waited until the next day, and then proceeded to shove us in
behind a freight-train wreck at Widner, Idaho, where we lost twelve
hours. It looked as if that didn't amount to much, because we weren't
due anywhere at any particular time. The boss was on his way home for a
little visit with his folks in Illinois, and beyond that he was going to
meet a bunch of Englishmen in Montreal, and maybe let them make him
General Manager of one of the Canadian railroads.

So Mr. Norcross was in no special hurry, and neither was I. I wasn't
under pay, but I expected to be when we reached Canada. I had been
confidential clerk and shorthand man for the boss on the Midland
construction, and he was taking me along partly because he knows a
cracking good stenographer when he sees one, but mostly because I was
dead anxious to go anywhere he was going.

But to come back to the Widner delay: if it hadn't been for that
twelve-hour lay-out we would have caught the Saturday night train on the
Pioneer Short Line, instead of the day train Sunday morning, and there
would have been no meeting with Mrs. Sheila and Maisie Ann; no telegram
from Mr. Chadwick, because it wouldn't have found us; no hold-up at Sand
Creek Siding; in short, nothing would have happened that did happen. But
I mustn't get ahead of my story.