Hello! exclaimed this individual as he came before the little group, and held his lantern so as to get a good view of them. Whats the matter here?
I have just found this dog, replied Rod, and he seems to be in pain. If you will please hold your light a little closer perhaps I can see what has happened to him.
The man did as requested, and Rod uttered an exclamation of pleasure as the light fell full upon the dog; for it was the finest specimen of a bull terrier he had ever seen. It was white and brindled, its chest was of unusual breadth, and its square jaws indicated a tenacity of purpose that nothing short of death itself could overcome. Now one of its legs was evidently hurt, and it had an ugly cut under the left ear, from which blood was flowing. Its eyes expressed an almost human intelligence; and, as it looked up at Rod and tried to lick his face, it seemed to say, I know you will be my friend, and I trust you to help me. About its neck was a leathern collar, bearing a silver plate, on which was inscribed: Be kind to me, for I am Smiler the Railroad Dog.
I know this dog, exclaimed the track-walker, as he read these words, and I reckon every railroad man in the country knows him; or at any rate has heard of him. He used to belong to Andrew Dean, who was killed when his engine went over the bank at Hagers two years ago. He thought the world of the dog, and it used to travel with him most always; only once in a while it would go visiting on some of the other engines. It was off that way when Andrew got killed, and since then it has travelled all over the country, like as though it was hunting for its old master. The dog lives on trains and engines, and railroad men are always glad to see him. Some of them got up this collar for him a while ago. Why, Smiler, old dog, how did you come here in this fix? I never heard of you getting left or falling off a train before.
I think he must have come from the freight that just passed us, said Rod, and I shouldnt wonder, he added, suddenly recalling the strange movements of the figure he had seen appear for an instant at the caboose door, if he was kicked off. Then he described the scene of which he had caught a glimpse as the freight train passed him.
Id like to meet the man whod dare do such a thing, exclaimed the track-walker. If I wouldnt kick him! Hed dance to a lively tune if any of us railroad chaps got hold of him, I can tell you. It must have been an accident, though; for nobody would hurt Smiler. Now I dont know exactly what to do. Smiler cant be left here, and Im afraid he isnt able to walk very far. If I had time Id carry him back to the freight. Shes side-tracked only a quarter of a mile from here, waiting for Number 8 to pass. Im due at Euston inside of an hour, and I dont dare waste any more time.
Ill take him if you say so, answered Rod, who had been greatly interested in the dogs history. I believe I can carry him that far.
All right, replied the track-walker. I wish you would. Youll have to move lively though; for if Number 8 is on time, as she generally is, you havent a moment to lose.
Ill do my best, said the boy, and a moment later he was hurrying down the track with his M. I. P. bag strapped to his shoulders, and with the dog so strangely committed to his care, clasped tightly in his arms. At the same time the track-walker, with his swinging lantern, was making equally good speed in the opposite direction. As Rod rounded a curve, and sighted the lights of the waiting freight train, he heard the warning whistle of Number 8 behind him, and redoubled his exertions. He did not stop even as the fast express whirled past him, though he was nearly blinded by the eddying cloud of dust and cinders that trailed behind it. But, if Number 8 was on time, so was he. Though Smiler had grown heavy as lead in his aching arms, and though his breath was coming in panting gasps, he managed to climb on the rear platform of the caboose, just as the freight was pulling out. How glad he was at that moment of the three weeks training he had just gone through with. It had won him something, even if his name was not to be engraved on the railroad cup of the Steel Wheel Club.
As the boy stood in the rear doorway of the caboose, gazing doubtfully into its interior, a young fellow who looked like a tramp, and who had been lying on one of the cushioned lockers, or benches, that ran along the sides of the car, sprang to his feet with a startled exclamation. At the same moment Smiler drew back his upper lip so as to display a glistening row of teeth, and, uttering a deep growl, tried to escape from Rods arms.
What are you doing in this car! and what do you mean by bringing that dog in here? cried the fellow angrily, at the same time advancing with a threatening gesture. Come, clear out of here or Ill put you out, he added. The better to defend himself, if he should be attacked, the boy dropped the dog; and, with another fierce growl, forgetful of his hurts, Smiler flew at the strangers throat.
CHAPTER VII.
ROD, SMILER, AND THE TRAMP
Help! Murder! Take off your dog! yelled the young tramp, throwing up his arm to protect his face from Smilers attack, and springing backward. In so doing he tripped and fell heavily to the floor, with the dog on top of him, growling savagely, and tearing at the ragged coat-sleeve in which his teeth were fastened. Fearful lest the dog might inflict some serious injury upon the fellow, Rodman rushed to his assistance. He had just seized hold of Smiler, when a kick from the struggling tramp sent his feet flying from under him, and he too pitched headlong. There ensued a scene which would have been comical enough to a spectator, but which was anything but funny to those who took part in it. Over and over they rolled, striking, biting, kicking, and struggling. The tramp was the first to regain his feet; but almost at the same instant Smiler escaped from Rods embrace, and again flew at him. They had rolled over the caboose floor until they were close to its rear door; and now, with a yell of terror, the tramp darted through it, sprang from the moving train, and disappeared in the darkness, leaving a large piece of his trousers in the dogs mouth. Just then the forward door was opened, and two men with lanterns on their arms, entered the car.
They were Conductor Tobin, and rear-brakeman Joe, his right-hand man, who had just finished switching their train back on the main track, and getting it again started on its way toward New York. At the sight of Rod, who was of course a perfect stranger to them, sitting on the floor, hatless, covered with dust, his clothing bearing many signs of the recent fray, and ruefully feeling of a lump on his forehead that was rapidly increasing in size, and of Smiler whose head was bloody, and who was still worrying the last fragment of clothing that the tramps rags had yielded him, they stood for a moment in silent bewilderment.
Well, Ill be blowed! said Conductor Tobin at length.
Me too, said Brakeman Joe, who believed in following the lead of his superior officer.
May I inquire, asked Conductor Tobin, seating himself on a locker close to where Rod still sat on the floor, May I inquire who you are? and where you came from? and how you got here? and whats happened to Smiler? and whats came of the fellow we left sleeping here a few minutes ago? and whats the meaning of all this business, anyway?
Yes, wed like to know, said the Brakeman, taking a seat on the opposite locker, and regarding the boy with a curiosity that was not unmixed with suspicion. Owing to extensive dealings with tramps, Brakeman Joe was very apt to be suspicious of all persons who were dirty, and ragged, and had bumps on their foreheads.