CHAPTER XI.
A FIGHT AND A MISTAKE.
MYLES MANNING hated to fight. He considered it a low and ungentlemanlything to do. Rather than maintain his rights by brute force he wouldsubmit to a very considerable degree of wrong; and he did not believethat either fighting or submission was necessary in the majority ofcases. It seemed to him that any man or boy having control of his owntemper could, by keeping cool and talking the matter over quietly,control that of his enemy. Still there are cases in which it becomesabsolutely necessary to exert one’s strength, and one of them is when aperson is attacked by a madman. This was Myles’ position as Ben Watkinssprang at him when detected in the act of setting fire to the railroadbuilding—an act that he thought would be laid to the strikers.
He had been in such a state of guilty terror for the preceding halfhour that his nerves were wholly unstrung. Thus, when his guilt wasdiscovered, and that by a person whom he had deeply wronged, andtherefore hated, he lost all control of himself, and, springing atMyles like a madman, attacked him with all the fury of one.
For a moment the young reporter was staggered by the suddenness andforce of this unexpected attack, and only partially warded a stunningblow aimed full at his face. Then he rallied, and, with the skill forwhich he had been famous among the athletes in the X—— gymnasium,coolly defended himself. Ben was the stronger of the two, but Myles wasmuch the more skilful and well trained in all manly exercises. He wasthus perfectly well able to protect himself from the other’s furiousblows. At length, seeming to realize this, Ben changed his tactics,and, breaking through the reporter’s guard by a fierce rush, clinchedwith and tried to throw him. Now Myles was indeed in danger, and everymuscle of his athletic young frame was strained to the utmost. As thetwo swayed and tugged in their desperate struggle they staggered fromside to side of the office, overturning chairs and tables in theircourse. The one lighted lamp went to the floor with a crash, and theystruggled in utter darkness.
Myles felt that he was becoming exhausted. The fierce hot breath ofhis adversary seemed to poison him and take away his own. He began tofear that his very life was in danger from the madman with whom hewrestled. He must not yield. He could not. He had too much at stake. Hebraced himself for one last tremendous effort. For a moment he did notbreathe. His teeth were set. The veins of his forehead swelled almostto bursting. His muscles became rigid as whip-cords. His opponent gaveway slightly, and the next instant they both fell heavily to the floor,but Myles was on top. He knelt on the form of his prostrate rivaland held his arms down with a fierce grasp, beneath which the otherlay utterly powerless and helpless. For a full minute no word passedbetween them. Each was regaining his breath with panting gasps.
At length Myles said:
“Ben Watkins, we have been rivals for a long time; but this is ourfirst fight, and, I hope, our last. Although I would willingly haveavoided it I am glad it has come off. I hope you realize that you arewhipped. I hope you also realize that the chance which sent me here hassaved you from committing a State prison offence. I cannot imagine yourobject in attempting to set fire to this building, for that is what youmost certainly were doing as I entered that door. It looks as thoughyou had some good reason for wishing to destroy the contents of thatsafe, and thought you could do it in such a way that the blame wouldbe laid upon the strikers. I don’t know what those books and papersare, but they must be of value to the company. It is evident that youare not fit to be trusted with them. Now, if you choose to put themall back where they belong, lock the safe, and give me the key to keepuntil your uncle or some other officer of the road arrives, I will thenreturn it to you, and no one need ever know that it has been out ofyour possession. As I have no wish to see an old classmate disgracedI will also agree to say nothing of this night’s work so long as youbehave yourself. I want you to remember, though, that I can do so atany time, and that you are thus to a certain extent in my power. Stillwe are alone, there are no witnesses of what has happened, and I giveyou my word that I will never open my lips upon the subject unless youforce me to. There is one thing more,” he added, suddenly rememberingthe errand on which he had come: “I want you to order out a hand-carfor my immediate use, and let it be at the station inside of fifteenminutes.”
Ben sullenly agreed to these terms and was released from hishumiliating position. Another lamp was lighted, the books and paperswere returned to the safe, it was locked, and the key was handed toMyles. Then, leaving Ben to restore the office to order and to removeas far as possible all traces of their recent struggle, Myles startedto keep his appointment with Jacob Allen, and to return to the hotel,where he had left his report for the _Phonograph_.
Allen was waiting just where he left him, and apparently had not movedfrom the spot or even changed his position during the reporter’sabsence. He held out a bit of folded letter-paper as Myles drew near,saying:
“Here is a little note that I have just written for you, Mr. Manning.It may be of use to you in case you should ever get into anydifficulty with the boys. Even if you never have to use it, it willserve to remind you that Jacob Allen will never forget what you did forhim last evening, and will count it a piece of good luck if he evergets a chance to do you a good turn in part payment of what he owesyou.”
Myles thanked him for his thoughtfulness, thrust the note into apocket, bade Allen good-night, and hurried on.
At the hotel he spent a few minutes in his room, got his report andwriting materials, and then going to the office told the proprietorthat he should probably be out all night and perhaps part of the nextday.
“Very well, Mr. Manning,” replied the landlord, “but as these aretroubled times, and you don’t leave any baggage to amount to any thingbehind you, I shall have to ask for the amount of your bill to datebefore you go. It is—let me see—yes, five dollars will square us upto breakfast-time to-morrow morning.”
What was to be done? Myles had not two dollars in his possession, norhad he a friend within reach from whom to borrow. He hesitated, grewred in the face, stammered and finally said:
“Your demand is rather unexpected, sir, and finds me without fundsto meet it just at this moment. I was going to telegraph to my paperfor money as soon as the wires were in order. I am certainly comingback here again. You don’t suppose I would run away for a five-dollarhotel-bill, do you?”
“Oh, no, of course not,” replied the landlord. “I don’t suppose anything of the kind, and I don’t doubt but that you mean to come back.Still, folks have cleared out forgetting to pay smaller bills thanthat, and when a man once leaves town there’s no telling what mayhappen to prevent his return. Your being broke, as you say you are,is unfortunate; but it won’t make any difference if you can leavesomething as security until your return—your watch, for instance.”
Without another word Myles pulled his gold watch, a birthday gift fromhis father the year he entered college, from his pocket, handed it tothe landlord, received a receipt for it, and hurried into the street,hot with indignation and mortification.
He found the hand-car standing on the track in front of the railwaystation, and beside it the operator awaiting his coming with thegreatest impatience, for it was an hour since they had separated.
“Where have you been and what have you been doing all this time?” heasked. “I had nearly given you up, and was going home, when a fellowbrought this car along with word from Mr. Watkins that it was for youruse. Then I knew things were moving all right. But what has kept you solong?”
“Some unexpected business,” answered Myles, evasively, as they jumpedon the car, and, hanging a lantern in the forward end, began to turnthe cranks that set it in motion. Myles’ thoughts were still toounpleasant and too full of his recent mortification for him to care totalk, and he found relief in the active exertion necessary to propelthe car. It furnished an ample excuse for silence, but his companionwondered at the tremendous energy with which he toiled.
They rolled quickly out of the railroad yard, and in a few minuteswere beyon
d the limits of the town. Faster and faster they flew overthe ringing lines of steel. Now they roared like a train of carsthrough a stretch of dark forest, then they skirted the base of a tallmountain, and again skimmed the edge of some deep valley lying blackand mysterious far beneath them. They sped round sharp curves, rattlednoisily over bridges that spanned swift rushing streams, rumbled overthe hollow arches of culverts, and every now and then plunged throughthe breathless blackness of echoing tunnels. As they were on a downgrade their speed increased with each turn of the cranks, until theyseemed fairly to fly, and the wind of the their own progress nearlytook away their breath as it whistled keenly past them.
Occasionally they caught the gleam of a charcoal-burner’s fire,sometimes close beside the track and again far up on a mountain-side orglowing like an angry eye from the depths of a ragged ravine; but thesevanished almost as soon as seen. Once they were stopped by a red lightswung furiously across the track but a short distance ahead of them.Somebody was waving the danger signal, and their iron-shod brake wasapplied so vigorously that a train of sparks flew hissing from it. Asthey came to a stand-still two rough-looking fellows stepped within thecircle of light thrown by their lantern and demanded to know who theywere and what was their business. They were members of a guard postedby the strikers to see that no one left or entered Mountain Junctionduring the night.
“Hello, Ned! is that you?” said the operator, recognizing one of them.“We are all right. You know me, don’t you? I’m only going to StationNo. 1 to send a dispatch for this _Phonograph_ reporter. We’ve got apermit from——” Here the operator lowered his voice so that Myles didnot catch the name he mentioned. It was evidently satisfactory, for theman stepped aside, saying:
“Go on, then. If he says so it must be all right.”
So on they went, speeding through the darkness and waking the sleepyechoes of the night until the ten miles had been left behind, and thelight of Station No. 1 shone out clear and bright, only a hundred yardsaway.
Here another swinging red lantern warned them to stop. As they pulledup in front of the little station and sprang from their car breathless,and wringing wet with perspiration, they were surrounded by a curiouscrowd of railroad men who seemed to be making this their head-quarters.The operator answered all their questions satisfactorily, and, at themention of the magical name which Myles still failed to catch, theyreadily fell back, making way for the new-comers to enter the station.Here an operator of but limited experience was slowly sending andreceiving short dispatches concerning the progress of the great strike.The change in the sound of the electric notes as the skilled operatorwho accompanied Myles sat down to the instrument was wonderful. Thesluggish wire seemed to spring into wide-awake activity, and the sharpclicking of the key as the nimble fingers rattled off thirty-five wordsto the minute was like the continuous buzz of some great insect. Atthe end of an hour the column-long message had been sent and receivedwithout a break.
As the operator leaned back in his chair after this feat he remarked:
“That fellow at the other end is a lightning taker. I don’t know him,and he must be a new hand; but he’s a daisy, and I guess I’ll send hima 73 any how.”[1]
“I wish you would also send this to the _Phonograph_ for me,” saidMyles, handing the operator a slip of paper on which was written:
“Am out of money. Please send fifty dollars. Will explain upon return. MYLES MANNING.”
After this had been flashed over the wires the operator said:
“My dear fellow, why didn’t you tell me you were broke? I would gladlyhave loaned you whatever you needed for a day or two. I can now if youwill take it.”
“Oh, no, indeed, thank you!” answered Myles. “They will get money tome somehow, and I shouldn’t be in a fix any way if it wasn’t for thestupidity of that hotel proprietor.” Then he told the story of hisrecent mortification, with which the operator sympathized warmly. Heagain tried to persuade the young reporter to accept a loan, but Mylessteadily refused, and finally the matter was dropped.
After finishing their business they spent some time at Station No. 1listening to bits of news regarding the strike. Myles now learned forthe first time how very general it was, and how it was paralyzing thebusiness of the whole country. He was told that the militia of manyStates had been ordered out, and that even detachments of troops fromthe regular army were hurrying to points where riots were expected.The men gathered about the station spoke very bitterly of this sendingof soldiers to aid in “cheating them of their rights,” as theyexpressed it, and declared that they would make things lively for anytroops that came in their way.
While they were thus talking word was received over the wire that the50th New York Regiment was ordered to Mountain Junction and would startthe next morning.
This dispatch was greeted with an angry yell by those who crowded upto the operator’s window to hear it read, and Myles heard more thanone muttered declaration that the 50th would have a sweet time gettingthere, and a red-hot time when they arrived. He wanted very much tosend a few hundred words more to the _Phonograph_ describing the scenesabout the station and the strikers’ reception of the news regarding the50th, but he was sternly forbidden to do so.
“No, not Jake Allen himself shouldn’t send another word to any paper,now that they are going to put the soldiers on to us,” shouted one man.
“What has Allen got to do with it, that they mention his name in thatway?” asked Myles of his friend.
“Why,” answered the operator, “didn’t you know that he was the grandmogul and recognized leader of all the strikers in these parts?”
“No, I had no idea of such a thing.”
“Well, he is; and if it hadn’t been for him we wouldn’t have got hereto-night. He seems to know all about you, and he gave us permission tocome out. It was only by using his name that we got through.”
At length Myles and the operator boarded their car to go back to town,to which they promised, in return for the favors shown them, to carrythe news of the expected coming of the New York regiment. The returnjourney was a hard one. Both of them were sleepy and tired out. Theywere no longer borne up by the excitement that attended their outwardtrip, and their hands were blistered by the crank-handles. The car grewheavier and heavier as they forced it slowly up the long grades, whilethe miles seemed to stretch to infinity.
When they were half-way back they would have stopped for a while andtaken an hour or two of sleep where they were, but, all at once, theycaught sight of a dull glow overhanging the distant town that they knewmust be caused by some great fire. They also thought they heard shotsevery now and then. Their anxiety to find out what was going on lentthem new strength, and again their car hummed merrily over the rails.
As they approached the town they met several small parties of men,who shouted to them to stop, and once a pistol-bullet whizzed byunpleasantly close to them, but they dashed forward without paying anyattention to these orders.
At last they rolled into the railroad yard and stepped wearily fromtheir car, only to be arrested by two soldiers, who said they mustappear before Lieutenant Easter and give an account of themselves.