“You know Mist’ Fairbanks, Jimmy,” said the yardmaster. “He’ll help us out. The saints will be good to you, boy, for sticking to the fireshovel and bar. Now, git busy. Here’s the list for Eighty-seven, Ralph. I’ve kept the crew together. Nagle is captain. Go to it!” He hurried away as Ralph slowly climbed aboard. The young fellow had no more right on the little switcher than an outsider. But the situation demanded drastic action. And if Mr. Hopkins did not appear to interfere, Ralph might help out the old yardmaster in this emergency. In a way, too, he was helping himself. If Eighty-seven did not get out of the yard somewhere near on time, the train would ball up the train dispatcher’s schedule. Ralph grabbed the suit of overalls the fireman threw him and struggled into them. The steam was up and there was plenty of coal in the bunker. He tried the water-gauge himself, then felt out the various levers and cocks under his hand. A lantern was giving him the “high sign” down the yard. He opened her up carefully and trundled the little engine out on the cluttered track. Under the radiance of the fixed bull’s-eye beside him, Ralph scrutinized the numbers of the cars in the string he was expected to pick up. Here were four gondolas loaded with pig-iron first on the list. Really, in making up a well-balanced freight, these four cars should come about the middle of the train, to “stiffen her back.” So much weight next the locomotive made hard switching and, when the regular engine crew took the train for the western pull, they certainly would blame the yard crew for making it up so clumsily. But Ralph saw that the four gondolas fairly “blanked” the remainder of the train—like a broken cork in the neck of a bottle. Had there been full and plenty of time, he would have shunted the heavy cars upon a siding and picked them up after laying out about half the cars that were on the list the yardmaster had given him. Nagle, the conductor of Eighty-seven, ran along and boarded the switcher as Ralph dropped her down to couple on to the gondolas. Nagle’s eyes popped open like a scared cat’s when he saw who was handling the switcher’s throttle. “Jerusalem! is the G. M. himself going to take a hand in this strike, too, I dunno?” he demanded. “I shouldn’t wonder. I have seen him take to the deck of a mountain hog himself on occasion, Nagle,” admitted Ralph. “It’s right you are. And more than me is remembering that same, Ralph, when these crazy loons ask us to go out with them against the orders of our Brotherhood chiefs. We’ve worked hand in hand with the old G. M. and many another of the brass-collared crew on this road. These poor simps that are following McCarrey will be sorry enough in the end.” “I am glad to hear one man talking sense, Nagle,” said Ralph. “Now, how do these cars stand?” “Of course, you know, these four you’ve grappled are the worst of the lot?”