"Always the same dear, faithful mother," he murmured gratefully, as he approached the cheerful looking cottage all alight down stairs, and hurried his steps to greet her waiting for him on the porch. "Ralph," she spoke anxiously, "you are not hurt?" "Hurt!" cried Ralph, "not a bit of it. Why," as he noticed his mother trembling all over, "what put that into your head?" "The fear that what Zeph heard downtown at the roundhouse might be true," replied Mrs. Fairbanks. "There was a rumor that there had been a collision. Besides, I knew that some of your enemies were watching your movements." "You must stop worrying over these foolish notions," said Ralph reassuringly. "We made a successful run, and as to the enemies, they generally get the worst of it. Men in the wrong always do." Ralph was glad to get back to his comfortable home. As he passed through the hallway he noticed Zeph Dallas, asleep on the couch. Ralph did not hail or disturb him. Young Dallas had been at work for the friends of Ralph who operated the Short Line Railroad up near Wilmer, but about two weeks previous to the present time had got tired of the dull route through the woods and had come to Stanley Junction. The young engineer had gotten him a job "subbing" as a helper on a yards switch engine. Zeph had been made welcome at the Fairbanks home, as were all friends of Ralph, by his devoted mother. "You are the best mother and the best cook in the world," declared Ralph, as he sat down at the table in the cozy little dining room, before a warm meal quickly brought from the kitchen. "Really, mother, you are simply spoiling me, and as to your sitting up for me this way and missing your sleep, it is a positive imposition on you." His mother only smiled sweetly and proudly upon him. Then she asked: "Was it a hard trip, Ralph?" "In a way," responded Ralph. "But what made it harder was some unpleasant developments entirely outside of railroad routine." "That so? It never rains but it pours!" proclaimed an intruder abruptly, and, awakened from his sleep by the sound of voices, Zeph Dallas came into the dining room yawning and stretching himself. "Why!" exclaimed Ralph, giving the intruder a quick stare, "what have you ever been doing to yourself?" "Me?" grinned Zeph--"you mean that black eye and that battered cheek?" "Yes--accident?" "No--incident," corrected Zeph, with a chuckle. "A lively one, too, I can tell you." "Fell off the engine?" "No, fell against a couple of good hard human fists. We had been sorting stray freights all the afternoon on old dinky 97, and had sided to let a passenger go by, when I noticed a man with a bag and a stick picking up coal along the tracks. Just then, a poor, ragged little fellow with a basket came around the end of the freight doing the same. The man thought he had a monopoly in his line, because he was big. He jumped on the little fellow, kicked him, hit him with his stick, and--I was in the mix-up in just two seconds."