Read Ebook: Cinders by Tuttle W C Wilbur C

Font size: 10 px 15 px 20 px 25 px 30 px 35 px

Background color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Text color: BlackWhiteGrayLight GrayDark GrayDim Gray

Apply/Save settings

Ebook has 126 lines and 6785 words, and 3 pages

Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark

CINDERS

by W. C. Tuttle

To Mrs. James Worthington Steele, a lady of great avoirdupois, he was a fair pinochle player. Not good--just fair. To Alicia Worthington, the daughter, he was something to depend upon in a financial way.

Alicia might be branded a vampire. Not that Alicia was bad. Oh, dear, no--not at all. But she knew that she was pretty, had wicked eyes and wore beautiful creations. Alicia would scorn to wear just clothes.

But even an important railroad magnate hankers for the untrammeled spaces of the great outdoors at times; and this was why James Worthington Steele's private car, the Lake Louise, was parked near a California lake, where the trout jumped almost off the pages of the railroad folders.

And it was here that a message came to James Worthington Steele, advising that he come at once to straighten out a tangle, which greatly affected the interests of his company. Unfortunately the passenger service on this particular branch of the C. M. & G. was not too good. The train had left about thirty minutes prior to the telegram; so it was up to James Worthington Steele to have the Lake Louise hooked to the rear end of a freight train, which would take him out to the main line. This especial freight train seemed to have been made up of all the decrepit rolling-stock owned by the aforementioned railroad; so their progress was not very swift.

And it was hot in the Lake Louise. To make matters worse for James Worthington Steele, Mrs. Steele insisted that they play pinochle. And when Mrs. Steele insisted, there was nothing for James Worthington to do but agree.

Alicia was bored to distraction. This was not her idea of a good time. She had been communing with nature too long for one of her disposition. She wanted some one to make eyes at, except a perspiring brakeman, who swore openly at everything connected with the railroad business.

And with everybody in this pleasant mood, the train jerked to a stop at the station of San Rego. The train drew up far enough for the observation platform of the Lake Louise to stop midway of the station platform. Alicia lolled in an easy chair, mumbled at some sodden chocolates and wished she was far away from San Rego.

Suddenly she sat up.

But that is getting along too far in the story. "Slim" Simpson weighed exactly two hundred and twenty pounds. He was twenty-two years of age--and in love. He had been a perfectly good cowpuncher until the love-bug inoculated his emaciated form; but now he was worthless for anything--except love.

Sadie Thompson was the maid of his choice. Sadie's pa was proprietor, or rather station-agent at San Rego. He owned a little home on the outskirts of San Rego, with honeysuckle, or something like that, around the door.

Sadie was of a jealous and suspicious nature, and she had a sneaking idea that Slim had danced too many times with the school teacher the night before. Anyway, she told Slim that she wouldn't divide him up with any woman, even if there was enough of him to divide.

Poor Slim had poked his nose to the sky and wailingly assured her that he was "her'n, and only her'n." But Sadie parted the honeysuckles, or whatever grew about the porch, and sent Slim uptown, pawing his way through a haze of indigo blue.

Slim didn't want a drink; he wanted solitude. And where may a man find more assorted kinds of solitude than on the heat scourged planks of a desert depot. He made up his mind to be a martyr--and melt.

But at the depot he ran into Jim Hilton and Barney McGonigle from the Lazy B ranch. They were trying to dig up enough money to pay for an express package, which had come C. O. D. They greeted him warmly and borrowed a dollar and eighty cents.

It was at this time that the freight train pulled in. Jim and Barney went outside, carrying their package, and got one look at Alicia. Slim was resting his elbows on the ledge of the ticket window, when Barney tiptoed back inside and nudged Slim.

Slim followed. Who wouldn't? Alicia had sat up. The box of soggy chocolates were forgotten. Here was raw material for her to work on. Back in the car she heard her mother say--

"Hundred aces and a hundred and fifty trump."

Slim moved closer. From the front end of the train came the clatter of couplers as the engine moved ahead. Slim moved closer. Just before the Lake Louise obeyed the impulse of the engine, Alicia's left eyelid drew down in an unmistakable wink--a very expressive wink.

Barney exploded and clung weakly to Jim Hilton. Slim did not turn his head, but walked slowly to the far edge of the platform, following the departing train. But Alicia did not wink again. She picked up her book, dipped into the chocolates and faded out in the distance.

Slim sighed, turned around and looked into the face of Sadie Thompson. He shuddered. Barney and Jim were watching them.

"So that's the way you put in your time, is it?" demanded Sadie. "Flirting with every girl you see, eh?"

"Yes?" Sadie grew sarcastic. "Didn't I see that wink? Here!"

She tugged at the third finger of her left hand and gave him back his ring.

"I'm all through with you," she declared chokingly. "I will never trust a man again. Take back your fickle ring."

Sadie turned and hurried toward home, while behind her came Slim, looking all spraddled out, as he tried to catch her and explain. But Sadie walked erratically down the narrow sidewalk, which kept Slim jumping from side to side; much to the amusement of every one who observed it.

Sadie beat him to the gate, fastened it from the inside, and faced him--a picture of outraged womanhood.

"Go back!" Sadie pointed dramatically. "Get on your horse and follow the maid. I want no more of you!"

Slim went. There was no good reason why he should stay. Back there on the sunny side of the depot, where the thermometer registered one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, Slim sat in the sun, and cogitated over the vagaries of women.

The incident passed from the mind of Alicia Steele. It was only one wink among many. If her wink brought a thrill to that fat cowboy, he was welcome to it. Two miles out of San Rego the train lurched to another stop.

Half an hour later the conductor, perspiring, dusty, came to the Lake Louise and informed James Worthington Steele that half the axle-boxes on the train were on fire, and they would have to be delayed another hour.

James Worthington Steele mopped his brow and swore. It was imperative that he move on.

"Can't be did," declared the conductor. "It's ten miles to Mesquite City, and ten more to the Mission Junction. I'm afraid you won't be able to hook this car on to No. 117. They are due there in thirty minutes."

James Worthington Steele was a good railroad man; so he did not rave. He knew just how bad most of their rolling-stock was. But he must at least get a message through; so the conductor ran a wire from the Lake Louise, tapped the telegraph, and let James Worthington Steele send his own messages.

Be it known that James Worthington Steele had at one time been a dispatcher on this same road; so it was no trouble for him to handle his correspondence via wire, through the medium of his own private telegraph instrument, which had long since been part of the Lake Louise's equipment.

After proving an alibi for not being able to attend the important meeting, which he managed to postpone, he went back to his game of pinochle. Not that he wanted to play; but his wife did.

The instrument clacked merrily away, and excited the interest of Alicia, who was becoming more bored each moment. On the polished mahogany table was a code book, containing the station calls, codes, etc., and on the fly-leaf was printed the Morse code of telegraphy.

Alicia glanced over it, and the code, with its dots and dashes, attracted her. She scanned the pages for San Rego. The station call was SR. Looking back at the code, she found the two letters. She had seen her father use it many times; so what could be easier?

She sat down, opened the key and began laboriously to tap out the SR signal. Several times she repeated it, before closing the key. The sounder rattled, as the operator at San Rego answered his call. Alicia had no idea what he was saying, but she had an idea of what she was going to say. Her ennui was all gone now.

Back in the hot little depot at San Rego, old Bill Thompson, the father of Sadie, squinted at the sounder of his instrument, a scowl on his face, as it began slowly ticking out a message.

"H-e-l-p,h-e-l-p,h-e-l-p."

The dots, dashes and spaces were not the work of a telegrapher. The agent cut open his key and wanted to know who in the blankety-blank was using that instrument.

But still it continued to tap out the one word. The agent bit down on his pipestem and swore to himself. Then the sounder awoke anew.

"H-e-l-p h-o-l-d-u-p p-r-i-v-a-t-e c-a-r h-e-l-p."

The agent snapped to his feet. He had seen the private car at the rear of that freight, and he knew well who James Worthington Steele was. There was a holdup. Some one was robbing the private car!

He opened his key and called Mesquite City. Had the freight reached there? It had not. The agent asked him if he had heard the call for help.

"Been out to eat," replied the Mesquite operator. "Heard J. W. Steele sending before I left. The freight is stuck about two miles from San Rego."

The agent whirled from his desk and ran outside. Around the corner he went and almost fell over Slim, who grunted and got to his feet. The agent was a quick thinker.

"Slim, where's your horse?"

Share on: WhatsApp @Hash Facebook Tweet