One glance was all that was necessary to show Ralph the cause of the disaster. The four heavily laden gondolas had been allowed to run a few feet too far. The corner of the gondola at the end stuck out over the curve of the switch and the first box car on Number Twenty-eight had caught upon its steel corner. This corner had ripped the sides of two box cars open; then the ruined cars had crashed over onto the other main track. Two following cars had jumped the rails and—— “A four hour job for the wrecking crew, aside from the damage done,” declared Ralph to Nagle, when he came running up with Dooley, the yardmaster. “Where is the brakie you sent to guard that tail-end, Nagle?” “The rascal!” yelled the conductor. “He’s taken it on the run. We haven’t had him on the line but a few weeks. It is my opinion there are a lot of wabblies got jobs on this division just for the chance of hurting the road.” “I’ll fix ’em if I catch ’em!” yelled Dooley, almost frothing at the mouth he was so wild. The whistle was blowing the signal for the wrecking crew. All that Ralph could do was to go on with his task. As it happened, the wreck would not interfere with getting Number Eighty-seven out of the yard. He picked up one bunch after another of the cars numbered on his list, while the derrick was being brought up to clear the tracks and jack the unhorsed cars upon the rails again. Ralph knew that his assistant would be much troubled by this break in the schedule; but there were certain routine things to do about it, and that was all. Trains would have to be held outside in both directions until the main tracks in the yard were cleared. Not more than twenty minutes late the young fellow saw the big mogul backed down to the long string of cars and coupled on. The switcher was steaming on a side track, waiting for the next job. Eighty-seven pulled out of the yard safely and soon its parting hoot-too-hoot! could be heard beyond the hill. “Now what?” asked Ralph, as Dooley came along with another clip of papers in his hand. So much had been going on during the last few minutes that he had quite forgotten his own schedule. The excited Dooley was about to pass him up his list for the next freight when a tall figure came striding across the tracks from the vicinity of the wreck. “Cheese it!” gasped the fireman. “Here comes the Great-I-Am.” Mr. Barton Hopkins showed in his face about as much expression as Ralph had ever seen him display. And that expression was one of anger. “What is going on here, Yardmaster?” he demanded harshly. “Are you ready with your report on that accident yonder?” “I don’t know much about it,” said the boss doubtfully. “I didn’t see it. Mebbe Mr. Fairbanks, here——” This was shifting the responsibility in good truth. At another time Ralph might have been angry at Dooley. But he knew that the old man was much perturbed. Mr. Hopkins turned his scowling visage on the young train dispatcher.