It was an old tourist car, used only on far western railroads. He had seen its like only once or twice before. Its inside shades were all drawn. There was no sight of life about it. The locomotive belonged to the northern branch of the Great Northern, and had the right of way and was tracked for the Mountain Division. "That's a queer layout," soliloquized Ralph, as the strange outfit flashed by. "Hello!" The young engineer uttered a great shout. As the car passed him he naturally glanced at its rear platform. Upon its step in solitary possession of the car sat his long-lost friend--Zeph Dallas. CHAPTER XXVI MYSTERY Ralph Fairbanks saw Zeph Dallas distinctly and recognized him. The latter looked up as the young engineer uttered an irrepressible shout. He started to wave his hand. Then he shrank down on the car step as if seeking to hide himself. Ralph stood gazing after the coach until it had disappeared from view. From the look of things he decided that Zeph was not casually stealing a ride. Something about him suggested a sense of proprietorship--a certain official aspect as if he had a right to be where Ralph had seen him, was, in fact, in charge of the car. "A queer car--the queerest old relic I ever saw," mused Ralph. "I'm going to look into this affair." "Say, Mr. Fairbanks," spoke little Torchy as the young engineer entered the roundhouse; "just saw an old friend of ours." "Did you?" spoke Ralph. "You don't mean Zeph Dallas, do you?" "That's who," nodded Torchy. "Big as life on a single car run--and, say, such a car!" "Do you know where it came from, or where it was bound for?" inquired Ralph. "No, but I heard one of the fellows here say it must have come over the north branch." "I thought so, too," said Ralph, and after a stroll about the place he went down to the dispatcher's office. Ralph knew the railroad routine well, and he soon had a good friend working in his interest. He was one of the assistants in the office of the chief dispatcher. Ralph had loaned him a little sum of money once when he was off on the sick list. It had been paid back promptly, but the man was a grateful fellow, and, under the influence of a sense of obligation, was glad to return the favor in any way he could. "I'll fix you out, Fairbanks," he promised, and he kept his word, for as Ralph sat in the doghouse two mornings later the man came to its doorway, peered in, and beckoned to his friend to come outside. "All right, Fairbanks," he reported, holding a card in his hand bearing some memoranda; "I've got the tracer." "Good!" applauded Ralph. "Here's the dope--that engine and old tourist car was a kind of a special--the craziest special, though, that either you or I ever heard of." "Is that so?" inquired Ralph. "Listen, and see. She started on extra orders from Brampton, the yards up on the north division. Was chartered for a run via the Junction to Fordham spur." "Indeed?" murmured Ralph thoughtfully.