Another tragedy which, only a few short years ago, too frequently meant the loss of the ship and every soul on board. How often has some stately vessel7, thronged8 with happy people, set sail from a crowded harbour over a fair summer sea, upon a voyage seemingly certain to prove prosperous and pleasant—never to be seen again! How agonized9 those first days of uncertainty10 when the ship did not appear at the port for which it had set sail. Days passed, and still no word from it; days and days, during which hope changed to doubt and doubt to despair; days and days, until finally men knew that it would never appear—that it had vanished into the deep—that it had struck an iceberg11 or a derelict and sunk with all on board.
But science, with its giant strides, has changed all that. The ship may go down, but at least she can give warning of her danger. For in a little cubby-hole on the upper deck, his hand upon his instrument, sits the wireless12 operator, flashing to the four winds of heaven the “C. Q. D., C. Q. D.,” which tells of deadly peril and the need of instant aid. And every ship within a hundred miles, catching13 that signal, turns in her tracks and speeds, full steam ahead, to render what aid she can. Truly, a fearful and wonderful thing, this wireless, with its slender filaments14 and lofty masts and bursts of ether-compelling flame, yoking15 to man’s service something more impalpable than the air itself, binding16 ocean to ocean around the whole face of the earth. An accident may happen—that ship may go down—the derelict may do its deadly work—but at least the world will know. And if there is any vessel within reaching distance, the passengers will be saved! Ill-fated Bourgogne, slowly settling beneath the icy waters off the Grand Banks, with aid just beyond the horizon, but all unconscious of her desperate need; ill-fated Naronic, lost with all on board, how or where for all time unsolved and unsolvable; ill-fated Republic, sending forth17 her cry for aid through the night and through the fog, lost, indeed, but with every living soul saved uninjured—a new tale and a new wonder on history’s page!
But here was a derelict of a new kind—a derelict on land—no less deadly than the derelict on sea; standing18 four-square in the way of traffic, a threat and a mystery.
Some such thought as this ran through Allan’s mind, as he stood for an instant staring in astonishment19 at the deserted20 train. Why was it here? Why had it been abandoned? What stress of peril was it had compelled its crew to leave it? What peril could there be to drive them not only from the train, but from the neighbourhood? The question staggered the reason. Above all, why had its headlight been extinguished? That seemed to argue design—seemed to argue malicious21 intent—seemed to argue that the missing crew were deserters, traitors—as much a traitor22 as the soldier who deserts in the face of the enemy.
And then, as the steam popped off from the abandoned locomotive, he awoke with a start to the necessity for instant action.
“We’ve got to get that train in on a siding,” he said to the brakeman. “We’ll have to back up to Schooley’s. It’s only a mile. Ask Leaveland and his engineer to come here right away.”
As the fireman hurried away, Allan ran forward and swung himself up into the cab of the deserted engine. He glanced at the water gauge23 and saw that there was plenty of water in the boiler24, but he opened the door of the fire-box as an extra precaution. Evidently the engine had been abandoned only a short time before, for the fire was burning briskly. He saw that the brakes had been applied25 and the throttle26 closed—
“What’s the matter?” asked Leaveland’s voice. “Is this the train?”
“Yes, this is the train, all right,” Allan answered, “but I don’t see anything of the crew.”
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” and Leaveland scratched his head in perplexity. “What do you suppose happened?”
“I don’t know. Let’s take a look at the caboose,” and jumping to the ground, he started back along the train.
The door of the caboose was swinging open, and a glare of yellow light came through it from the oil lamp, with polished tin reflector back of it, which was attached to the front wall. Allan sprang up the steps, with Leaveland after him, and both of them stopped in astonishment at the open door. The caboose was empty, but two stools stood on the floor before the stove, and between them a box on which was a checker-board and checkers. Evidently the conductor and rear brakeman had been playing together, but had been interrupted in their game and had left the board just as it was, expecting to return to it. They had not returned, however, but had vanished as completely as though the earth had opened and swallowed them.
“Well, I’ll be hanged!” said Leaveland again. “There’s something mighty27 queer about this. If I believed in ghosts, now—”
“No, I don’t think it’s ghosts,” laughed Allan. “But we can’t stop to investigate. We’d better couple the two engines together, and let Number Two push this train back to Schooley’s. You go ahead and have that done, and I’ll stay here. I’ll burn a fusee if I want you to stop, but I don’t think there’s any danger, because nothing will get past Schooley’s till this train has been accounted for.”
Allan, left to himself, made a careful inspection29 of the caboose, but search as he might, he could find nothing that shed the slightest light upon the disappearance30 of the train crew. It was evident that there had been no struggle of any kind. He found the conductor’s report made up ready to turn in at the end of the trip, and his lantern and dinner-pail on the floor near the door. The more he examined the surroundings the plainer it was that when the conductor and brakeman left the caboose, they had expected to return to it in a minute or two. And that they had left it only a short time before was evident from the fact that the fire in their stove had just been renewed and was burning briskly.
He gave up the problem, at last, and getting a fusee out of the box where they were kept, he stepped out upon the rear platform. As he did so, he heard the cars of the train buckling31 toward him, and an instant later the caboose caught the motion and started slowly up the track toward Schooley’s. The mile was soon covered, and the train, coming to a stop just outside the little town, was run in on a siding, while the flyer proceeded on to the station. There Allan reported it, secured orders for it, and sent it on its way. Then he proceeded to try to solve the mystery of the abandoned freight train.
But there was little or nothing to be learned concerning it more than he already knew. It had passed through Schooley’s without stopping, and the operator there had observed nothing wrong with it. After half an hour’s inquiry32, Allan gave it up, ordered another crew sent out from Wadsworth, and finally, after reporting the occurrence to Stanley, turned in at his own gate about midnight, very tired and not a little worried.
As he entered the house, he was surprised to see a light burning in the dining-room, and he opened the door softly and looked in. For a moment, he saw no one, and thinking that the room was empty and that the light had simply been left burning for him, he was about to turn it out, when his eyes fell upon a figure curled up on the lounge which stood against the wall under the windows.
“Why, it’s Mamie!” he said, half to himself, and took a step toward her. “I wonder—”
And then he stopped suddenly, for, awakened33 by the noise of his entrance or by the consciousness of his presence, she opened her eyes and looked at him.
For a moment, she lay so, looking up, her lips parted in a smile. Then, with a quick movement, she brushed her hand over her eyes and sat upright, her cheeks crimson34 with a strange confusion.
“Why, Allan!” she cried. “Do you know, I—I must have been asleep!”
“Yes,” he agreed, laughing. “I don’t think there’s any doubt of it. Since when have you taken to sleeping on this lounge?”
“I wasn’t at all sleepy to-night,” Mamie explained, “and I knew it wasn’t any use to go to bed, so I thought I’d read awhile till I got sleepy or till you—till you—”
“Or till I got home,” said Allan, finishing the sentence for her. “Admit, Mamie, that you were sitting up for me!”
“Yes, I was!” confessed the girl, raising her eyes for one swift glance at him. “Dad came home and told about that horrid35 man trying to kill you, and I—I just couldn’t stand it to go to bed without seeing you.”
Allan took a quick turn up and down the room. That shy and timorous36 glance had moved him strangely, as did the faltering37 words which followed it.
“But he didn’t,” said Allan, coming back to her. “So what’s the use of supposing anything of the sort?”
“Dad says he’ll be sure to try it again. Dad says—”
“Dad says altogether too much,” broke in Allan. “Now, see here, Mamie, I’m not going to have you worried like this. Wait till I see your father!”
“Oh, but I want him to tell me! If you’re in danger, I want to know it!”
“But I’m not in any danger—as for that affair with Hummel, it happened so long ago that I’d nearly forgotten it.”
“So long ago!” cried Mamie. “Why, it was only this evening!”
“Well, so much has happened since. Mamie, I’m worried to death,” he added, with sudden weakness. “The queerest thing happened to-night you ever heard of.”
“Tell me about it,” said Mamie, her face glowing with pleasure at this call for sympathy and help; and she patted the lounge invitingly39. I fear there was some instinct of the coquette in Mamie, or she would not have done that! Some true womanly instinct, too, or she would not have so welcomed this chance to be of help.
Allan sat down, his pulses not wholly steady, and told of the strange disappearance of the crew of the extra west, while Mamie listened spell-bound.
“Well, if that doesn’t beat anything I ever heard!” she cried, when he had finished. “What do you suppose happened?”
“I haven’t any idea. Only I’m sure the strikers must have had something to do with it. I’m going to take Stanley out to look the place over in the morning. Maybe we’ll discover something. Stanley is pretty shrewd, you know.”
“But if the strikers had something to do with it,” Mamie protested, “maybe they will be there yet! And you will walk right into them!”
“Well?” laughed Allan. “What if I do? Indeed, I hope I will!”
“Oh, but think what they will do to you!”
“They won’t do anything very bad! We’re not living in the Middle Ages, Mamie. I believe you think we’re going to find the bloody40 corpses41 of that train crew out there in a ditch, somewhere!”
“But if they aren’t dead, where are they?”
“Kidnapped. The strikers are taking that method of getting our men away from us.”
Mamie thought it over a minute, and then shook her head.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, “but it seems to me that the strikers would be pretty foolish to do anything like that. Suppose they do take a crew, that won’t matter much, will it?”
“No; not one crew; but suppose they keep on taking them?”
Mamie stared at him with wide-open eyes.
“Do you mean that’s what you think they’ll do?” she questioned.
“I don’t know—it’s a thought that came to me. But it seems foolish, too. Well, we’ll find out in the morning. And now you must be getting to bed. How about the beauty sleep?”
“Beauty sleep, indeed!” cried Mamie, tossing her head. “I don’t need any beauty sleep!”
“No, you don’t!” agreed Allan, gazing at the piquant42 face. “Do you know, Mamie, you’re growing up into the prettiest girl imaginable!”
“Growing up!” echoed Mamie. “I’ve grown up! Why, I’m nearly seventeen!”
“A tremendous age!”
“Old enough to know you’re talking nonsense!” she retorted, but with the colour coming and going in her cheeks.
“I’m not!” he protested. “It’s true! If I was younger, Mamie, I’d be falling in love with you!”
“Younger!”
“I’m twenty-seven.”
“A tremendous age!” she echoed, glancing up at him.
“Ten years older than you!”
“Pooh! What’s ten years?”
“Well, it’s a good deal,” said Allan, rising with an effort. “And I feel considerably43 older than twenty-seven to-night—more like forty! You can keep on sitting up, if you want to, but I’m going to bed. Good-night.”
Mamie had risen too, a strange light in her eyes. She watched him as he turned away, and then, when his hand was on the knob of the door, she called him.
“Allan.”
“Yes?” he said, turning and looking at her.
The lamplight sent little mocking shadows across her face and brought out the glint of gold in her hair. He held on to the door-knob to keep from going back to her.
“Promise me you’ll not run into any danger,” she said, softly.
“Of course I won’t—not unless I have to.”
“Not even if you have to!”
“What—run away?” he demanded, staring at her in astonishment. “You wouldn’t have me do that, Mamie?”
“No,” she said, “I wouldn’t have you do that! Good-night, Allan.”
“Good-night,” he repeated, and opened the door and went resolutely44 up the stair to his room.
And Mamie, standing listening until the sound of his steps died away, at last flung herself down upon the lounge and buried her face in her arms. Her eyes were wet with tears—but they were tears of joy.
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收听单词发音
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1
buffeted
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| 反复敲打( buffet的过去式和过去分词 )； 连续猛击； 打来打去； 推来搡去 | |
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supreme
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| adj.极度的，最重要的；至高的，最高的 | |
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peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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5
mariners
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| 海员，水手（mariner的复数形式） | |
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6
enacted
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| 制定（法律），通过（法案）( enact的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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7
vessel
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| n.船舶；容器，器皿；管，导管，血管 | |
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thronged
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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agonized
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| v.使（极度）痛苦，折磨( agonize的过去式和过去分词 )；苦斗；苦苦思索；感到极度痛苦 | |
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10
uncertainty
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| n.易变，靠不住，不确知，不确定的事物 | |
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iceberg
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| n.冰山，流冰，冷冰冰的人 | |
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wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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13
catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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14
filaments
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| n.（电灯泡的）灯丝( filament的名词复数 )；丝极；细丝；丝状物 | |
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15
yoking
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| 配轭，矿区的分界 | |
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binding
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| 有约束力的，有效的，应遵守的 | |
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17
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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deserted
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| adj.荒芜的，荒废的，无人的，被遗弃的 | |
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malicious
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| adj.有恶意的，心怀恶意的 | |
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traitor
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| n.叛徒，卖国贼 | |
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23
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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24
boiler
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| n.锅炉；煮器(壶，锅等) | |
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applied
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| adj.应用的；v.应用，适用 | |
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throttle
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| n.节流阀，节气阀，喉咙；v.扼喉咙，使窒息，压 | |
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27
mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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28
assented
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| 同意，赞成( assent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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29
inspection
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| n.检查，审查，检阅 | |
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30
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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31
buckling
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| 扣住 | |
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32
inquiry
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| n.打听，询问，调查，查问 | |
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33
awakened
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| v.（使）醒( awaken的过去式和过去分词 )；（使）觉醒；弄醒；（使）意识到 | |
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34
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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35
horrid
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| adj.可怕的；令人惊恐的；恐怖的；极讨厌的 | |
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36
timorous
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| adj.胆怯的，胆小的 | |
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faltering
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| 犹豫的，支吾的，蹒跚的 | |
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gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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39
invitingly
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| adv. 动人地 | |
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40
bloody
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| adj.非常的的；流血的；残忍的；adv.很；vt.血染 | |
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41
corpses
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| n.死尸，尸体( corpse的名词复数 ) | |
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42
piquant
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| adj.辛辣的，开胃的，令人兴奋的 | |
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43
considerably
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| adv.极大地；相当大地；在很大程度上 | |
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44
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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