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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33947-8.txt b/33947-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..81f6451 --- /dev/null +++ b/33947-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5085 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nerve of Foley, by Frank H. Spearman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Nerve of Foley + And Other Railroad Stories + +Author: Frank H. Spearman + +Release Date: October 4, 2010 [EBook #33947] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NERVE OF FOLEY *** + + + + +Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE NERVE OF FOLEY + + AND OTHER RAILROAD STORIES + + BY FRANK H. SPEARMAN + + + ILLUSTRATED + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + 1900 + + Copyright, 1900, by Frank H. Spearman. + + _All rights reserved._ + + TO + MY BROTHER + + +[Illustration: "FOLEY DROPPED DOWN ON THE STEAM-CHEST AND SWUNG FAR +OUT"] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE NERVE OF FOLEY + +SECOND SEVENTY-SEVEN + +THE KID ENGINEER + +THE SKY-SCRAPER + +SODA-WATER SAL + +THE McWILLIAMS SPECIAL + +THE MILLION-DOLLAR FREIGHT-TRAIN + +BUCKS + +SANKEY'S DOUBLE HEADER + +SICLONE CLARK + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"FOLEY DROPPED DOWN ON THE STEAM-CHEST AND SWUNG FAR OUT" + +"THE CAB FOR A PASSING INSTANT ROSE IN THE AIR + +"THAT WAS BURNS'S FIRING THAT NIGHT" + +"SINCLAIR WAS WHISTLING SHARPLY FOR ORDERS" + + + + +The Nerve of Foley + + +There had been rumors all winter that the engineers were going to +strike. Certainly we of the operating department had warning enough. Yet +in the railroad life there is always friction in some quarter; the +railroad man sleeps like the soldier, with an ear alert--but just the +same he sleeps, for with waking comes duty. + +Our engineers were good fellows. If they had faults, they were American +faults--rashness, a liberality bordering on extravagance, and a +headstrong, violent way of reaching conclusions--traits born of ability +and self-confidence and developed by prosperity. + +One of the best men we had on a locomotive was Andrew Cameron; at the +same time he was one of the hardest to manage, because he was young and +headstrong. Andy, a big, powerful fellow, ran opposite Felix Kennedy on +the Flyer. The fast runs require young men. If you will notice, you will +rarely see an old engineer on a fast passenger run; even a young man can +stand only a few years of that kind of work. High speed on a locomotive +is a question of nerve and endurance--to put it bluntly, a question of +flesh and blood. + + * * * * * + +"You don't think much of this strike, do you, Mr. Reed?" said Andy to me +one night. + +"Don't think there's going to be any, Andy." + +He laughed knowingly. + +"What actual grievance have the boys?" I asked. + +"The trouble's on the East End," he replied, evasively. + +"Is that any reason for calling a thousand men out on this end?" + +"If one goes out, they all go." + +"Would you go out?" + +"Would I? You bet!" + +"A man with a home and a wife and a baby boy like yours ought to have +more sense." + +Getting up to leave, he laughed again confidently. "That's all right. +We'll bring you fellows to terms." + +"Maybe," I retorted, as he closed the door. But I hadn't the slightest +idea they would begin the attempt that night. I was at home and sound +asleep when the caller tapped on my window. I threw up the sash; it was +pouring rain and dark as a pocket. + +"What is it, Barney? A wreck?" I exclaimed. + +"Worse than that. Everything's tied up." + +"What do you mean?" + +"The engineers have struck." + +"Struck? What time is it?" + +"Half-past three. They went out at three o'clock." Throwing on my +clothes, I floundered behind Barney's lantern to the depot. The +superintendent was already in his office talking to the master-mechanic. + +Bulletins came in every few minutes from various points announcing +trains tied up. Before long we began to hear from the East End. Chicago +reported all engineers out; Omaha wired, no trains moving. When the sun +rose that morning our entire system, extending through seven States and +Territories, was absolutely paralyzed. + +It was an astounding situation, but one that must be met. It meant +either an ignominious surrender to the engineers or a fight to the +death. For our part, we had only to wait for orders. It was just six +o'clock when the chief train-dispatcher who was tapping at a key, said: + +"Here's something from headquarters." + +We crowded close around him. His pen flew across the clip; the message +was addressed to all division superintendents. It was short; but at the +end of it he wrote a name we rarely saw in our office. It was that of +the railroad magnate we knew as "the old man," the president of the +system, and his words were few: + +"Move the trains." + +"Move the trains!" repeated the superintendent. "Yes; but trains can't +be moved by pinch-bars nor by main force." + +We spent the day arguing with the strikers. They were friendly, but +firm. Persuasion, entreaties, threats, we exhausted, and ended just +where we began, except that we had lost our tempers. The sun set without +the turn of a wheel. The victory of the first day was certainly with the +strikers. + +Next day it looked pretty blue around the depot. Not a car was moved; +the engineers and firemen were a unit. But the wires sung hard all that +day and all that night. Just before midnight Chicago wired that No. +1--our big passenger-train, the Denver Flyer--had started out on time, +with the superintendent of motive power as engineer and a wiper for +fireman. The message came from the second vice-president. He promised to +deliver the train to our division on time the next evening, and he +asked, "Can you get it through to Denver?" + +We looked at each other. At last all eyes gravitated towards Neighbor, +our master-mechanic. + +The train-dispatcher was waiting. "What shall I say?" he asked. + +The division chief of the motive power was a tremendously big Irishman, +with a voice like a fog-horn. Without an instant's hesitation the answer +came clear, + +"Say 'yes'!" + +Every one of us started. It was throwing the gage of battle. Our word +had gone out; the division was pledged; the fight was on. + +Next evening the strikers, through some mysterious channel, got word +that the Flyer was expected. About nine o'clock a crowd of them began to +gather round the depot. + +It was after one o'clock when No. 1 pulled in and the foreman of the +Omaha round-house swung down from the locomotive cab. The strikers +clustered around the engine like a swarm of angry bees; but that night, +though there was plenty of jeering, there was no actual violence. When +they saw Neighbor climb into the cab to take the run west there was a +sullen silence. + +Next day a committee of strikers, with Andy Cameron, very cavalier, at +their head, called on me. + +"Mr. Reed," said he, officiously, "we've come to notify you not to run +any more trains through here till this strike's settled. The boys won't +stand it; that's all." With that he turned on his heel to leave with his +following. + +"Hold on, Cameron," I replied, raising my hand as I spoke; "that's not +quite all. I suppose you men represent your grievance committee?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I happen to represent, in the superintendent's absence, the management +of this road. I simply want to say to you, and to your committee, that I +take my orders from the president and the general manager--not from you +nor anybody you represent. That's all." + +Every hour the bitterness increased. We got a few trains through, but we +were terribly crippled. As for freight, we made no pretence of moving +it. Trainloads of fruit and meat rotted in the yards. The strikers grew +more turbulent daily. They beat our new men and crippled our +locomotives. Then our troubles with the new men were almost as bad. They +burned out our crown sheets; they got mixed up on orders all the time. +They ran into open switches and into each other continually, and had us +very nearly crazy. + +I kept tab on one of the new engineers for a week. He began by backing +into a diner so hard that he smashed every dish in the car, and ended by +running into a siding a few days later and setting two tanks of oil on +fire, that burned up a freight depot. I figured he cost us forty +thousand dollars the week he ran. Then he went back to selling +windmills. + +After this experience I was sitting in my office one evening, when a +youngish fellow in a slouch-hat opened the door and stuck his head in. + +"What do you want?" I growled. + +"Are you Mr. Reed?" + +"What do you want?" + +"I want to speak to Mr. Reed." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Are you Mr. Reed?" + +"Confound you, yes! What do you want?" + +"Me? I don't want anything. I'm just asking, that's all." + +His impudence staggered me so that I took my feet off the desk. + +"Heard you were looking for men," he added. + +"No," I snapped. "I don't want any men." + +"Wouldn't be any show to get on an engine, would there?" + +A week earlier I should have risen and fallen on his neck. But there had +been others. + +"There's a show to get your head broke," I suggested. + +"I don't mind that, if I get my time." + +"What do you know about running an engine?" + +"Run one three years." + +"On a threshing-machine?" + +"On the Philadelphia and Reading." + +"Who sent you in here?" + +"Just dropped in." + +"Sit down." + +I eyed him sharply as he dropped into a chair. + +"When did you quit the Philadelphia and Reading?" + +"About six months ago." + +"Fired?" + +"Strike." + +I began to get interested. After a few more questions I took him into +the superintendent's office. But at the door I thought it well to drop a +hint. + +"Look here, my friend, if you're a spy you'd better keep out of this. +This man would wring your neck as quick as he'd suck an orange. See?" + +"Let's tackle him, anyhow," replied the fellow, eying me coolly. + +I introduced him to Mr. Lancaster, and left them together. Pretty soon +the superintendent came into my office. + +"What do you make of him, Reed?" said he. + +"What do you make of him?" + +Lancaster studied a minute. + +"Take him over to the round-house and see what he knows." + +I walked over with the new find, chatting warily. When we reached a live +engine I told him to look it over. He threw off his coat, picked up a +piece of waste, and swung into the cab. + +"Run her out to the switch," said I, stepping up myself. + +He pinched the throttle, and we steamed slowly out of the house. A +minute showed he was at home on an engine. + +"Can you handle it?" I asked, as he shut off after backing down to the +round-house. + +"You use soft coal," he replied, trying the injector. "I'm used to hard. +This injector is new to me. Guess I can work it, though." + +"What did you say your name was?" + +"I didn't say." + +"What is it?" I asked, curtly. + +"Foley." + +"Well, Foley, if you have as much sense as you have gall you ought to +get along. If you act straight, you'll never want a job again as long as +you live. If you don't, you won't want to live very long." + +"Got any tobacco?" + +"Here, Baxter," said I, turning to the round-house foreman, "this is +Foley. Give him a chew, and mark him up to go out on 77 to-night. If he +monkeys with anything around the house kill him." + +Baxter looked at Foley, and Foley looked at Baxter; and Baxter not +getting the tobacco out quick enough, Foley reminded him he was waiting. + +We didn't pretend to run freights, but I concluded to try the fellow on +one, feeling sure that if he was crooked he would ditch it and skip. + +So Foley ran a long string of empties and a car or two of rotten oranges +down to Harvard Junction that night, with one of the dispatchers for +pilot. Under my orders they had a train made up at the junction for him +to bring back to McCloud. They had picked up all the strays in the +yards, including half a dozen cars of meat that the local board of +health had condemned after it had laid out in the sun for two weeks, and +a car of butter we had been shifting around ever since the beginning of +the strike. + +When the strikers saw the stuff coming in next morning behind Foley they +concluded I had gone crazy. + +"What do you think of the track, Foley?" said I. + +"Fair," he replied, sitting down on my desk. "Stiff hill down there by +Zanesville." + +"Any trouble to climb it?" I asked, for I had purposely given him a +heavy train. + +"Not with that car of butter. If you hold that butter another week it +will climb a hill without any engine." + +"Can you handle a passenger-train?" + +"I guess so." + +"I'm going to send you west on No. 1 to-night." + +"Then you'll have to give me a fireman. That guy you sent out last night +is a lightning-rod-peddler. The dispatcher threw most of the coal." + +"I'll go with you myself, Foley. I can give you steam. Can you stand it +to double back to-night?" + +"I can stand it if you can." + +When I walked into the round-house in the evening, with a pair of +overalls on, Foley was in the cab getting ready for the run. + +Neighbor brought the Flyer in from the East. As soon as he had uncoupled +and got out of the way we backed down with the 448. It was the best +engine we had left, and, luckily for my back, an easy steamer. Just as +we coupled to the mail-car a crowd of strikers swarmed out of the dusk. +They were in an ugly mood, and when Andy Cameron and Bat Nicholson +sprang up into the cab I saw we were in for trouble. + +"Look here, partner," exclaimed Cameron, laying a heavy hand on Foley's +shoulder; "you don't want to take this train out, do you? You wouldn't +beat honest working-men out of a job?" + +"I'm not beating anybody out of a job. If you want to take out this +train, take it out. If you don't, get out of this cab." + +Cameron was nonplussed. Nicholson, a surly brute, raised his fist +menacingly. + +"See here, boss," he growled, "we won't stand no scabs on this line." + +"Get out of this cab." + +"I'll promise you you'll never get out of it alive, my buck, if you ever +get into it again," cried Cameron, swinging down. Nicholson followed, +muttering angrily. I hoped we were out of the scrape, but, to my +consternation, Foley, picking up his oil-can, got right down behind +them, and began filling his cups without the least attention to anybody. + +Nicholson sprang on him like a tiger. The onslaught was so sudden that +they had him under their feet in a minute. I jumped down, and Ben +Buckley, the conductor, came running up. Between us we gave the little +fellow a life. He squirmed out like a cat, and backed instantly up +against the tender. + +"One at a time, and come on," he cried, hotly. "If it's ten to one, and +on a man's back at that, we'll do it different." With a quick, peculiar +movement of his arm he drew a pistol, and, pointing it squarely at +Cameron, cried, "Get back!" + +I caught a flash of his eye through the blood that streamed down his +face. I wouldn't have given a switch-key for the life of the man who +crowded him at that minute. But just then Lancaster came up, and before +the crowd realized it we had Foley, protesting angrily, back in the cab +again. + +"For Heaven's sake, pull out of this before there's bloodshed, Foley," I +cried; and, nodding to Buckley, Foley opened the choker. + +It was a night run and a new track to him. I tried to fire and pilot +both, but after Foley suggested once or twice that if I would tend to +the coal he would tend to the curves I let him find them--and he found +them all, I thought, before we got to Athens. He took big chances in his +running, but there was a superb confidence in his bursts of speed which +marked the fast runner and the experienced one. + +At Athens we had barely two hours to rest before doubling back. I was +never tired in my life till I struck the pillow that night, but before I +got it warm the caller routed me out again. The East-bound Flyer was on +time, or nearly so, and when I got into the cab for the run back, Foley +was just coupling on. + +"Did you get a nap?" I asked, as we pulled out. + +"No; we slipped an eccentric coming up, and I've been under the engine +ever since. Say, she's a bird, isn't she? She's all right. I couldn't +run her coming up; but I've touched up her valve motion a bit, and I'll +get action on her as soon as it's daylight." + +"Don't mind getting action on my account, Foley; I'm shy on life +insurance." + +He laughed. + +"You're safe with me. I never killed man, woman, or child in my life. +When I do, I quit the cab. Give her plenty of diamonds, if you please," +he added, letting her out full. + +He gave me the ride of my life; but I hated to show scare, he was so +coolly audacious himself. We had but one stop--for water--and after that +all down grade. We bowled along as easy as ninepins, but the pace was a +hair-raiser. After we passed Arickaree we never touched a thing but the +high joints. The long, heavy train behind us flew round the bluffs once +in a while like the tail of a very capricious kite; yet somehow--and +that's an engineer's magic--she always lit on the steel. + +Day broke ahead, and between breaths I caught the glory of a sunrise on +the plains from a locomotive-cab window. When the smoke of the McCloud +shops stained the horizon, remembering the ugly threats of the strikers, +I left my seat to speak to Foley. + +"I think you'd better swing off when you slow up for the yards and cut +across to the round-house," I cried, getting close to his ear, for we +were on terrific speed. He looked at me inquiringly. "In that way you +won't run into Cameron and his crowd at the depot," I added. "I can stop +her all right." + +He didn't take his eyes off the track. "I'll take the train to the +platform," said he. + +"Isn't that a crossing cut ahead?" he added, suddenly, as we swung round +a fill west of town. + +"Yes; and a bad one." + +He reached for the whistle and gave the long, warning screams. I set the +bell-ringer and stooped to open the furnace door to cool the fire, +when--chug! + +I flew up against the water-gauges like a coupling-pin. The monster +engine reared right up on her head. Scrambling to my feet, I saw the new +man clutching the air-lever with both hands, and every wheel on the +train was screeching. I jumped to his side and looked over his shoulder. +On the crossing just ahead a big white horse, dragging a buggy, plunged +and reared frantically. Standing on the buggy seat a baby boy clung +bewildered to the lazyback; not another soul in sight. All at once the +horse swerved sharply back; the buggy lurched half over; the lines +seemed to be caught around one wheel. The little fellow clung on; but +the crazy horse, instead of running, began a hornpipe right between the +deadly rails. + +I looked at Foley in despair. From the monstrous quivering leaps of the +great engine I knew the drivers were in the clutch of the mighty +air-brake; but the resistless momentum of the train was none the less +sweeping us down at deadly speed on the baby. Between the two tremendous +forces the locomotive shivered like a gigantic beast. I shrank back in +horror; but the little man at the throttle, throwing the last ounce of +air on the burning wheels, leaped from his box with a face transfigured. + +"Take her!" he cried, and, never shifting his eyes from the cut, he shot +through his open window and darted like a cat along the running-board to +the front. + +Not a hundred feet separated us from the crossing. I could see the +baby's curls blowing in the wind. The horse suddenly leaped from across +the track to the side of it; that left the buggy quartering with the +rails, but not twelve inches clear. The way the wheels were cramped a +single step ahead would throw the hind wheels into the train; a step +backward would shove the front wheels into it. It was appalling. + +Foley, clinging with one hand to a headlight bracket, dropped down on +the steam-chest and swung far out. As the cow-catcher shot past, Foley's +long arm dipped into the buggy like the sweep of a connecting-rod, and +caught the boy by the breeches. The impetus of our speed threw the child +high in the air, but Foley's grip was on the little overalls, and as the +youngster bounded back he caught it close. I saw the horse give a leap. +It sent the hind wheels into the corner of the baggage-car. There was a +crash like the report of a hundred rifles, and the buggy flew in the +air. The big horse was thrown fifty feet; but Foley, with a great light +in his eyes and the baby boy in his arm, crawled laughing into the cab. + +Thinking he would take the engine again, I tried to take the baby. Take +it? Well, I think not! + +"Hi! there, buster!" shouted the little engineer, wildly; "that's a +corking pair of breeches on you, son. I caught the kid right by the seat +of the pants," he called over to me, laughing hysterically. "Heavens! +little man, I wouldn't 've struck you for all the gold in Alaska. I've +got a chunk of a boy in Reading as much like him as a twin brother. What +were you doing all alone in that buggy? Whose kid do you suppose it is? +What's your name, son?" + +At his question I looked at the child again--and I started. I had +certainly seen him before; and, had I not, his father's features were +too well stamped on the childish face for me to be mistaken. + +"Foley," I cried, all amaze, "that's Cameron's boy--little Andy!" + +He tossed the baby the higher; he looked the happier; he shouted the +louder. + +"The deuce it is! Well, son, I'm mighty glad of it." And I certainly was +glad. + +In fact, mighty glad, as Foley expressed it, when we pulled up at the +depot, and I saw Andy Cameron with a wicked look pushing to the front +through the threatening crowd. With an ugly growl he made for Foley. + +"I've got business with you--you--" + +"I've got a little with you, son," retorted Foley, stepping leisurely +down from the cab. "I struck a buggy back here at the first cut, and I +hear it was yours." Cameron's eyes began to bulge. "I guess the outfit's +damaged some--all but the boy. Here, kid," he added, turning for me to +hand him the child, "here's your dad." + +The instant the youngster caught sight of his parent he set up a yell. +Foley, laughing, passed him into his astonished father's arms before the +latter could say a word. Just then a boy, running and squeezing through +the crowd, cried to Cameron that his horse had run away from the house +with the baby in the buggy, and that Mrs. Cameron was having a fit. + +Cameron stood like one daft--and the boy catching sight of the baby that +instant panted and stared in an idiotic state. + +"Andy," said I, getting down and laying a hand on his shoulder, "if +these fellows want to kill this man, let them do it alone--you'd better +keep out. Only this minute he has saved your boy's life." + +The sweat stood out on the big engineer's forehead like dew. I told the +story. Cameron tried to speak; but he tried again and again before he +could find his voice. + +"Mate," he stammered, "you've been through a strike yourself--you know +what it means, don't you? But if you've got a baby--" he gripped the boy +tighter to his shoulder. + +"I have, partner; three of 'em." + +"Then you know what this means," said Andy, huskily, putting out his +hand to Foley. He gripped the little man's fist hard, and, turning, +walked away through the crowd. + +Somehow it put a damper on the boys. Bat Nicholson was about the only +man left who looked as if he wanted to eat somebody; and Foley, slinging +his blouse over his shoulder, walked up to Bat and tapped him on the +shoulder. + +"Stranger," said he, gently, "could you oblige me with a chew of +tobacco?" + +Bat glared at him an instant; but Foley's nerve won. + +Flushing a bit, Bat stuck his hand into his pocket; took it out; felt +hurriedly in the other pocket, and, with some confusion, acknowledged he +was short. Felix Kennedy intervened with a slab, and the three men fell +at once to talking about the accident. + +A long time afterwards some of the striking engineers were taken back, +but none of those who had been guilty of actual violence. This barred +Andy Cameron, who, though not worse than many others, had been less +prudent; and while we all felt sorry for him after the other boys had +gone to work, Lancaster repeatedly and positively refused to reinstate +him. + +Several times, though, I saw Foley and Cameron in confab, and one day up +came Foley to the superintendent's office, leading little Andy, in his +overalls, by the hand. They went into Lancaster's office together, and +the door was shut a long time. + +When they came out little Andy had a piece of paper in his hand. + +"Hang on to it, son," cautioned Foley; "but you can show it to Mr. Reed +if you want to." + +The youngster handed me the paper. It was an order directing Andrew +Cameron to report to the master-mechanic for service in the morning. + + * * * * * + +I happened over at the round-house one day nearly a year later, when +Foley was showing Cameron a new engine, just in from the East. The two +men were become great cronies; that day they fell to talking over the +strike. + +"There was never but one thing I really laid up against this man," said +Cameron to me. + +"What's that?" asked Foley. + +"Why, the way you shoved that pistol into my face the first night you +took out No. 1." + +"I never shoved any pistol into your face." So saying, he stuck his hand +into his pocket with the identical motion he used that night of the +strike, and levelled at Andy, just as he had done then--a plug of +tobacco. "That's all I ever pulled on you, son; I never carried a pistol +in my life." + +Cameron looked at him, then he turned to me, with a tired expression: + +"I've seen a good many men, with a good many kinds of nerve, but I'll be +splintered if I ever saw any one man with all kinds of nerve till I +struck Foley." + + + + +Second Seventy-Seven + + +It is a bad grade yet. But before the new work was done on the river +division, Beverly Hill was a terror to trainmen. + +On rainy Sundays old switchmen in the Zanesville yards still tell in +their shanties of the night the Blackwood bridge went out and Cameron's +stock-train got away on the hill, with the Denver flyer caught at the +foot like a rat in a trap. + +Ben Buckley was only a big boy then, braking on freights; I was +dispatching under Alex Campbell on the West End. Ben was a tall, +loose-jointed fellow, but gentle as a kitten; legs as long as +pinch-bars, yet none too long, running for the Beverly switch that +night. His great chum in those days was Andy Cameron. Andy was the +youngest engineer on the line. The first time I ever saw them together, +Andy, short and chubby as a duck, was dancing around, half dressed, on +the roof of the bath-house, trying to get away from Ben, who had the +fire-hose below, playing on him with a two-inch stream of ice-water. +They were up to some sort of a prank all the time. + + * * * * * + +June was usually a rush month with us. From the coast we caught the new +crop Japan teas and the fall importations of China silks. California +still sent her fruits, and Colorado was beginning cattle shipments. From +Wyoming came sheep, and from Oregon steers; and all these not merely in +car-loads, but in solid trains. At times we were swamped. The overland +traffic alone was enough to keep us busy; on top of it came a great +movement of grain from Nebraska that summer, and to crown our troubles a +rate war sprang up. Every man, woman, and child east of the Mississippi +appeared to have but one object in life--that was to get to California, +and to go over our road. The passenger traffic burdened our resources to +the last degree. + +I was putting on new men every day then. We start them at braking on +freights; usually they work for years at that before they get a train. +But when a train-dispatcher is short on crews he must have them, and can +only press the best material within reach. Ben Buckley had not been +braking three months when I called him up one day and asked him if he +wanted a train. + +"Yes, sir, I'd like one first rate. But you know I haven't been braking +very long, Mr. Reed," said he, frankly. + +"How long have you been in the train service?" + +I spoke brusquely, though I knew, without even looking at my +service-card just how long it was. + +"Three months, Mr. Reed." + +It was right to a day. + +"I'll probably have to send you out on 77 this afternoon." I saw him +stiffen like a ramrod. "You know we're pretty short," I continued. + +"Yes, sir." + +"But do you know enough to keep your head on your shoulders and your +train on your orders?" + +Ben laughed a little. "I think I do. Will there be two sections +to-day?" + +"They're loading eighteen cars of stock at Ogalalla; if we get any hogs +off the Beaver there will be two big sections. I shall mark you up for +the first one, anyway, and send you out right behind the flyer. Get your +badge and your punch from Carpenter--and whatever you do, Buckley, don't +get rattled." + +"No, sir; thank you, Mr. Reed." + +But his "thank you" was so pleasant I couldn't altogether ignore it; I +compromised with a cough. Perfect courtesy, even in the hands of the +awkwardest boy that ever wore his trousers short, is a surprisingly +handy thing to disarm gruff people with. Ben was undeniably awkward; his +legs were too long, and his trousers decidedly out of touch with his +feet; but I turned away with the conviction that in spite of his +gawkiness there was something to the boy. That night proved it. + +When the flyer pulled in from the West in the afternoon it carried two +extra sleepers. In all, eight Pullmans, and every one of them loaded to +the ventilators. While the train was changing engines and crews, the +excursionists swarmed out of the hot cars to walk up and down the +platform. They were from New York, and had a band with them--as jolly a +crowd as we ever hauled--and I noticed many boys and girls sprinkled +among the grown folks. + +As the heavy train pulled slowly out the band played, the women waved +handkerchiefs, and the boys shouted themselves hoarse--it was like a +holiday, everybody seemed so happy. All I hoped, as I saw the smoke of +the engine turn to dust on the horizon, was that I could get them over +my division and their lives safely off my hands. For a week we had had +heavy rains, and the bridges and track gave us worry. + +Half an hour after the flyer left, 77, the fast stock-freight, wound +like a great snake around the bluff, after it. Ben Buckley, tall and +straight as a pine, stood on the caboose. It was his first train, and he +looked as if he felt it. + +In the evening I got reports of heavy rains east of us, and after 77 +reported "out" of Turner Junction and pulled over the divide towards +Beverly, it was storming hard all along the line. By the time they +reached the hill Ben had his men out setting brakes--tough work on that +kind of a night; but when the big engine struck the bluff the heavy +train was well in hand, and it rolled down the long grade as gently as a +curtain. + +Ben was none too careful, for half-way down the hill they exploded +torpedoes. Through the driving storm the tail-lights of the flyer were +presently seen. As they pulled carefully ahead, Ben made his way through +the mud and rain to the head end and found the passenger-train stalled. +Just before them was Blackwood Creek, bank full, and the bridge swinging +over the swollen stream like a grape-vine. + +At the foot of Beverly Hill there is a siding--a long siding, once used +as a sort of cut-off to the upper Zanesville yards. This side track +parallels the main track for half a mile, and on this siding Ben, as +soon as he saw the situation, drew in with his train so that it lay +beside the passenger-train and left the main line clear behind. It then +became his duty to guard the track to the rear, where the second section +of the stock-train would soon be due. + +It was pouring rain and as dark as a pocket. He started his hind-end +brakeman back on the run with red lights and torpedoes to warn the +second section well up the hill. Then walking across from his caboose, +he got under the lee of the hind Pullman sleeper to watch for the +expected headlight. + +The storm increased in violence. It was not the rain driving in +torrents, not the lightning blazing, nor the deafening crashes of +thunder, that worried him, but the wind--it blew a gale. In the blare of +the lightning he could see the oaks which crowned the bluffs whip like +willows in the storm. It swept quartering down the Beverly cut as if it +would tear the ties from under the steel. Suddenly he saw, far up in the +black sky, a star blazing; it was the headlight of Second Seventy-Seven. + +A whistle cut the wind; then another. It was the signal for brakes; the +second section was coming down the steep grade. He wondered how far back +his man had got with the bombs. Even as he wondered he saw a yellow +flash below the headlight; it was the first torpedo. The second section +was already well down the top of the hill. Could they hold it to the +bottom? + +Like an answer came shorter and sharper the whistle for brakes. Ben +thought he knew who was on that engine; thought he knew that +whistle--for engineers whistle as differently as they talk. He still +hoped and believed--knowing who was on the engine--that the brakes would +hold the heavy load; but he feared-- + +A man running up in the rain passed him. Ben shouted and held up his +lantern; it was his head brakeman. + +"Who's pulling Second Seventy-Seven?" he cried. + +"Andy Cameron." + +"How many air cars has he got?" + +"Six or eight," shouted Ben. "It's the wind, Daley--the wind. Andy can +hold her if anybody can. But the wind; did you ever see such a blow?" + +Even while he spoke the cry for brakes came a third time on the storm. + +A frightened Pullman porter opened the rear door of the sleeper. Five +hundred people lay in the excursion train, unconscious of this avalanche +rolling down upon them. + +The conductor of the flyer ran up to Ben in a panic. + +"Buckley, they'll telescope us." + +"Can you pull ahead any?" + +"The bridge is out." + +"Get out your passengers," said Ben's brakeman. + +"There's no time," cried the passenger conductor, wildly, running off. +He was panic-stricken. The porter tried to speak. He took hold of the +brakeman's arm, but his voice died in his throat; fear paralyzed him. +Down the wind came Cameron's whistle clamoring now in alarm. It meant +the worst, and Ben knew it. The stock-train was running away. + +There were plenty of things to do if there was only time; but there was +hardly time to think. The passenger crew were running about like men +distracted, trying to get the sleeping travellers out. Ben knew they +could not possibly reach a tenth of them. In the thought of what it +meant, an inspiration came like a flash. + +He seized his brakeman by the shoulder. For two weeks the man carried +the marks of his hand. + +"Daley!" he cried, in a voice like a pistol crack, "get those two +stockmen out of our caboose. Quick, man! I'm going to throw Cameron +into the cattle." + +It was a chance--single, desperate, but yet a chance--the only chance +that offered to save the helpless passengers in his charge. + +If he could reach the siding switch ahead of the runaway train, he could +throw the deadly catapult on the siding and into his own train, and so +save the unconscious travellers. Before the words were out of his mouth +he started up the track at topmost speed. + +The angry wind staggered him. It blew out his lantern, but he flung it +away, for he could throw the switch in the dark. A sharp gust tore half +his rain-coat from his back; ripping off the rest, he ran on. When the +wind took his breath he turned his back and fought for another. Blinding +sheets of rain poured on him; water streaming down the track caught his +feet; a slivered tie tripped him, and, falling headlong, the sharp +ballast cut his wrists and knees like broken glass. In desperate haste +he dashed ahead again; the headlight loomed before him like a mountain +of flame. There was light enough now through the sheets of rain that +swept down on him, and there ahead, the train almost on it, was the +switch. + +Could he make it? + +A cry from the sleeping children rose in his heart. Another breath, an +instant floundering, a slipping leap, and he had it. He pushed the key +into the lock, threw the switch and snapped it, and, to make deadly +sure, braced himself against the target-rod. Then he looked. + +No whistling now; it was past that. He knew the fireman would have +jumped. Cameron too? No, not Andy, not if the pit yawned in front of his +pilot. + +He saw streams of fire flying from many wheels--he felt the glare of a +dazzling light--and with a rattling crash the ponies shot into the +switch. The bar in his hands rattled as if it would jump from the +socket, and, lurching frightfully, the monster took the siding. A flare +of lightning lit the cab as it shot past, and he saw Cameron leaning +from the cab window, with face of stone, his eyes riveted on the +gigantic drivers that threw a sheet of fire from the sanded rails. + +"Jump!" screamed Ben, useless as he knew it was. What voice could live +in that hell of noise? What man escape from that cab now? + +One, two, three, four cars pounded over the split rails in half as many +seconds. Ben, running dizzily for life to the right, heard above the +roar of the storm and screech of the sliding wheels a ripping, tearing +crash, the harsh scrape of escaping steam, the hoarse cries of the +wounded cattle. And through the dreadful dark and the fury of the babel +the wind howled in a gale and the heavens poured a flood. + +Trembling from excitement and exhaustion, Ben staggered down the main +track. A man with a lantern ran against him; it was the brakeman who had +been back with the torpedoes; he was crying hysterically. + +They stumbled over a body. Seizing the lantern, Ben turned the prostrate +man over and wiped the mud from his face. Then he held the lantern +close, and gave a great cry. It was Andy Cameron--unconscious, true, but +soon very much alive, and no worse than badly bruised. How the good God +who watches over plucky engineers had thrown him out from the horrible +wreckage only He knew. But there Andy lay; and with a lighter heart Ben +headed a wrecking crew to begin the task of searching for any who might +by fatal chance have been caught in the crash. + +And while the trainmen of the freights worked at the wreck the +passenger-train was backed slowly--so slowly and so smoothly--up over +the switch and past, over the hill and past, and so to Turner Junction, +and around by Oxford to Zanesville. + +When the sun rose the earth glowed in the freshness of its June +shower-bath. The flyer, now many miles from Beverly Hill, was speeding +in towards Omaha, and mothers waking their little ones in the berths +told them how close death had passed while they slept. The little girls +did not quite understand it, though they tried very hard, and were very +grateful to That Man, whom they never saw and whom they would never see. +But the little boys--never mind the little boys--they understood it, to +the youngest urchin on the train, and fifty times their papas had to +tell them how far Ben ran and how fast to save their lives. And one +little boy--I wish I knew his name--went with his papa to the +depot-master at Omaha when the flyer stopped, and gave him his toy +watch, and asked him please to give it to That Man who had saved his +mamma's life by running so far in the rain, and please to tell him how +much obliged he was--if he would be so kind. + +So the little toy watch came to our superintendent, and so to me; and I, +sitting at Cameron's bedside, talking the wreck over with Ben, gave it +to him; and the big fellow looked as pleased as if it had been a +jewelled chronometer; indeed, that was the only medal Ben got. + +The truth is we had no gold medals to distribute out on the West End in +those days. We gave Ben the best we had, and that was a passenger run. +But he is a great fellow among the railroad men. And on stormy nights +switchmen in the Zanesville yards, smoking in their shanties, still tell +of that night, that storm, and how Ben Buckley threw Second +Seventy-Seven at the foot of Beverly Hill. + + + + +The Kid Engineer + + +When the big strike caught us at Zanesville we had one hundred and +eighty engineers and firemen on the pay-roll. One hundred and +seventy-nine of these men walked out. One fireman--just one--stayed with +the company; that was Dad Hamilton. + +"Yes," growled Dad, combating the protests of the strikers' committee, +"I know it. I belong to your lodge. But I'll tell you now--an' I've told +you afore--I ain't goin' to strike on the company so long as Neighbor is +master-mechanic on this division. Ain't a-goin' to do it, an' you might +as well quit. 'F you jaw here from now till Christmas 'twon't change my +mind nar a bit." + +And they didn't change it. Through the calm and through the storm--and +it stormed hard for a while--Dad Hamilton, whenever we could supply him +with an engineer, fired religiously. + +No other man in the service could have done it without getting killed; +but Dad was old enough to father any man among the strikers. Moreover, +he was a giant physically, and eccentric enough to move along through +the heat of the crisis indifferent to the abuse of the other men. His +gray hairs and his tremendous physical strength saved him from personal +violence. + +Our master-mechanic, "Neighbor," was another big man--six feet an inch +in his stockings, and strong as a draw-bar. Between Neighbor and the old +fireman there existed some sort of a bond--a liking, an affinity. Dad +Hamilton had fired on our division ten years. There was no promotion for +Dad; he could never be an engineer, though only Neighbor knew why. But +his job of firing on the river division was sure as long as Neighbor +signed the pay-rolls at the round-house. + +Hence there was no surprise when the superintendent offered him an +engine, just after the strike, that Dad refused to take it. + +"I'm a fireman, and Neighbor knows it. I ain't no engineer. I'll make +steam for any man you put in the cab with me, but I won't touch a +throttle for no man. I laid it down, and I'll never pinch it again--an' +no offence t' you, Neighbor, neither." + +Thus ended negotiations with Dad on that subject; threats and entreaties +were useless. Then, too, in spite of his professed willingness to throw +coal for any man we put on his engine, he was continually rowing about +the green runners we gave him. From the standpoint of a railroad man +they were a tough assortment; for a fellow may be a good painter, or a +handy man with a jack-plane, or an expert machinist, even, and yet a +failure as an engine-runner. + +After we got hold of Foley, Neighbor put him on awhile with Dad, and the +grizzled fireman quickly declared that Foley was the only man on the +pay-roll who knew how to move a train. + +The little chap proved such a remarkable find that I tried hard to get +some of his Eastern chums to come out and join him. After a good bit of +hustling we did get half a dozen more Reading boys for our new corps of +engine-men, but the East-End officials kept all but one of them on +their own divisions. That one we got because nobody on the East End +wanted him. + +"They've crimped the whole bunch, Foley," said I, answering his +inquiries. "There's just one fellow reported here--he came in on 5 this +morning. Neighbor's had a little talk with him; but he doesn't think +much of him. I guess we're out the transportation on that fellow." + +"What's his name?" asked Foley. "Is he off the Reading?" + +"Claims he is; his name is McNeal--" + +"McNeal?" echoed Foley, surprised. "Not Georgie McNeal?" + +"I don't know what his first name is; he's nothing but a boy." + +"Dark-complexioned fellow?" + +"Perhaps you'd call him that; sort of soft-spoken." + +"Georgie McNeal, sure's you're born. If you've got him you've got a +bird. He ran opposite me between New York and Philadelphia on the +limited. I want to see him, right off. If it's Georgie, you're all +right." + +Foley's talk went a good ways with me any time. When I told Neighbor +about it he pricked up his ears. While we were debating, in rushed +Foley with the young fellow--the kid--as he called him. Neighbor made +another survey of the ground in short order: run a new line, as Foley +would have said. The upshot of it was that McNeal was assigned to an +engine straightway. + +As luck would have it, Neighbor put the boy on the 244 with Dad +Hamilton; and Dad proceeded at once to make what Foley termed "a great +roar." + +"What's the matter?" demanded Neighbor, roughly, when the old fireman +complained. + +"If you're goin' to pull these trains with boys I guess it's time for me +to quit; I'm gettin' pretty old, anyhow." + +"What's the matter?" growled Neighbor, still surlier, knowing full well +that if the old fellow had a good reason he would have blurted it out at +the start. + +"Nothin's the matter; only I'd like my time." + +"You won't get it," said Neighbor, roughly. "Go back on your run. If +McNeal don't behave, report him to me, and he'll get his time." + +It was a favorite trick of Neighbor's. Whenever the old fireman got to +"bucking" about his engineer, the master-mechanic threatened to +discharge the engineer. That settled it; Dad Hamilton wouldn't for the +world be the cause of throwing another man out of a job, no matter how +little he liked him. + +The old fellow went back to work mollified; but it was evident that he +and McNeal didn't half get on together. The boy was not much of a +talker; yet he did his work well; and Neighbor said, next to Foley, he +was the best man we had. + +"What's the reason Hamilton and McNeal can't hit it off, Foley?" I asked +one night. + +"They'll get along all right after a while," predicted Foley. "You know +the old man's stubborn as a dun mule, ain't he? The injectors bother +Georgie some; they did me. He'll get used to things. But Dad thinks he's +green--that's what's the matter. The kid is high-spirited, and seeing +the old man's kind of got it in for him he won't ask him anything. Dad's +sore about that, too. Georgie won't knuckle to anybody that don't treat +him right." + +"You'd better tell McNeal to humor the old crank," I suggested; and I +believe Foley did so, but it didn't do any good. Sometimes those things +have to work themselves out without outside help. In the end this thing +did, but in a way none of us looked for. + +About a week later Foley came into the office one morning very much +excited. + +"Did you hear about the boy's getting pounded last night--Georgie +McNeal? It's a shame the way these fellows act. Three of the strikers +piled on him while he was going into the post-office, and thumped the +life out of him. The cowardly hounds, to jump on a man's back that way!" + +"Foley," said I, "that's the first time they've tackled one of Dad +Hamilton's engineers." + +"They'd never have done it if they thought there was any danger of Dad's +getting after them. They know he doesn't like the boy." + +"It's an outrage; but we can't do anything. You know that. Tell McNeal +to keep away from the post-office. We'll get his mail for him." + +"I told him that this morning. He's in bed, and looks pretty hard. But +he won't dodge those fellows. He claims it's a free country," grinned +Foley. "But I told him he'd get over that idea if he stuck out this +trouble." + +It was three days before McNeal was able to report for work, though he +received full time just the same. Even then he wasn't fit for duty, but +he begged Neighbor for his run until he got it. The strikers were +jubilant while the boy was laid up; but just what Dad thought no one +could find out. I wanted to tell the old growler what I thought of him, +but Foley said it wouldn't do any good, and might do harm, so I held my +peace. + +One might have thought that the injustice and brutality of the thing +would have roused him; but men who have repressed themselves till they +are gray-headed don't rise in a hurry to resent a wrong. Dad kept as +mute as the Sphinx. When McNeal was ready to go out the old fireman had +the 244 shining; but if the pale face of his engineer had any effect on +him, he kept it to himself. + +As they rattled down the line with a long stock-train that night neither +of them referred to the break in their run. Coming back next night the +same silence hung over the cab. The only words that passed over the +boiler-head were "strickly business," as Dad would say. + +At Oxford they were laid out by a Pullman special. It was three o'clock +in the morning and raining hard. Under such circumstances an hour seems +all night. At last Dad himself broke the unsupportable silence. + +"He'd have waited a good bit longer if he had waited for me to talk," +said the boy, telling Foley afterwards. + +"Heard you got licked," growled Dad, after tinkering with the fire for +the twentieth time. + +"I didn't get licked," retorted Georgie; "I got clubbed. I never had a +chance to fight." + +"These fellows hate to see a boy come out and take a man's job. Can't +blame 'em much, neither." + +"Whose job did I take?" demanded Georgie, angrily. "Was any one of +those cowards that jumped on me in the dark looking for work on this +engine?" + +There was nothing to say to that. Dad kept still. + +"You talk about men," continued the young fellow. "If I am not more of a +man than to slug a fellow from behind, the way they slugged me, I'll get +off this engine and stay off. If that's what you call men out here I +don't want to be a man. I'll go back to Pennsylvania." + +"Why didn't you stay there?" growled Dad. + +"Why didn't you?" + +Without attempting to return the shot, Dad pulled nervously at the +chain. + +"If I hadn't been fool enough to go out on a strike I might have been +running there yet," continued Georgie. + +"Ought to have kept away from the post-office," grumbled Dad, after a +pause. + +"I get a letter twice a week that I think more of than I do of this +whole road, and I propose to go to the post-office and get it without +asking anybody's permission." + +"They'll pound you again." + +Georgie looked out into the storm. "Well, why shouldn't they? I've got +no friends." + +"Got a girl back in Pennsylvania?" + +"Yes, I've got a girl there," replied the boy, as the rain tore at the +cab window. "I've had a girl there a good while. She's gray-headed and +sixty years old--that's my girl--and if she can write letters to me, I +can get them out of the post-office without a guardian." + +"There she comes," said Dad, as the headlight of the Pullman special +shone faint ahead through the mist. + +"I'm mighty glad of it," said Georgie, looking at his watch. "Give me +steam now, Dad, and I'll get you home in time for a nap before +breakfast." + +A minute later the special shot over the switch, and the young runner, +crowding the pistons a bit, started off the siding. When Dad, looking +back for the hind-end brakeman to lock the switch and swing on, called +all clear, Georgie pulled her out another notch, and the long train +slowly gathered headway up the slippery track. + +As the speed increased the young man and the old relapsed into their +usual silence. The 244 was always a free steamer, but Georgie put her +through her paces without any apology, and it took lots of coal to +square the account. + +In a few minutes they were pounding along up through the Narrows. The +track there follows the high bench between the bluffs, which sheer up on +one side, and the river-bed, thirty feet below the grade, on the other. + +It is not an inviting stretch at any time with a big string of gondolas +behind. But on a wet night it is the last place on the division where an +engineer would want a side-rod to go wrong; and just there and then +Georgie's rod went very wrong indeed. + +Half-way between centres the big steel bar on his side, dipping then so +fast you couldn't have seen it even in daylight, snapped like a stick of +licorice. The hind-end ripped up into the cab like the nose of a +sword-fish, tearing and smashing with appalling force and fury. + +Georgie McNeal's seat burst under him as if a stick of giant-powder had +exploded. He was jammed against the cab roof like a link-pin and fell +sprawling, while the monster steel flail threshed and tore through the +cab with every lightning revolution of the great driver from which it +swung. + +It was a frightful moment. Anything thought or done must be thought and +done at once. It was either to stop that train--and quickly--or to pound +along until the 244 jumped the track, and lit in the river, with thirty +cars of coal to cover it. + +Instantly--so Dad Hamilton afterwards told me--instantly the boy, +scrambling to his feet, reached for his throttle--reached for it through +a rain of iron blows, and staggered back with his right arm hanging like +a broken wing from his shoulder. And back again after it--after the +throttle with his left; slipping and creeping carefully this time up the +throttle lever until, straining and twisting and dodging, he caught the +latch and pushed it tightly home, Dad whistling vigorously the while for +brakes. + +Relieved of the tremendous head on the cylinder the old engine calmed +down enough to let the two men collect themselves. Rapidly as the brakes +could do it, the long train was brought up standing, and Georgie, helped +by his fireman, dropped out of the cab, and they set about +disconnecting--the engineer with his one arm--the formidable ends of the +broken rod. + +It was a slow, difficult piece of work to do. In spite of their most +active efforts the rain chilled them to the marrow. The train-crew gave +them as much help as willing hands could, which wasn't much; but by +every man doing something they got things fixed, called in their flagmen +just before daybreak, and started home. When the sun rose, Georgie, grim +and silent, the throttle in his left hand, was urging the old engine +along on a dog-trot across the Blackwood flats; and so, limping in on +one side, the kid brought his train into the Zanesville yards, with Dad +Hamilton unable to make himself helpful enough, unable to show his +appreciation of the skill and the grit that the night had disclosed in +the kid engineer. + +The hostler waiting in the yard sprang into the cab with amazement on +his face, and was just in time to lift a limp boy out of the old +fireman's arms and help Dad get him to the ground--for Georgie had +fainted. + +When the 244 reached the shops a few minutes later they photographed +that cab. It was the worst case of rod-smashing we had ever seen; and +the West-End shops have caught some pretty tough-looking cabs in their +day. + +The boy who stopped the cyclone and saved his train and crew lay +stretched on the lounge in my office waiting for the company surgeon. +And old Dad Hamilton--crabbed, irascible old Dad Hamilton--flew around +that boy exactly like an excited old rooster: first bringing ice, and +then water, and then hot coffee, and then fanning him with a time-table. +It was worth a small smash-up to see it. + +The one sweep of the rod which caught Georgie's arm had broken it in two +places, and he was off duty three months. But it was a novelty to see +that boy walk down to the post-office, and hear the strikers step up and +ask how his arm was; and to see old Dad Hamilton tag around Zanesville +after him was refreshing. The kid engineer had won his spurs. + + + + +The Sky-Scraper + + +We stood one Sunday morning in a group watching for her to speed around +the Narrows. Many locomotives as I have seen and ridden, a new one is +always a wonder to me; chokes me up, even, it means so much. I hear men +rave over horses, and marvel at it when I think of the iron horse. I +hear them chatter of distance, and my mind turns to the annihilator. I +hear them brag of ships, and I think of the ship that ploughs the +mountains and rivers and plains. And when they talk of speed--what can I +think of but her? + +As the new engine rolled into the yards my heart beat quicker. Her lines +were too imposing to call strong; they were massive, yet so simple you +could draw them, like the needle snout of a collie, to a very point. + +Every bearing looked precise, every joint looked supple, as she swept +magnificently up and checked herself, panting, in front of us. + +Foley was in the cab. He had been east on a lay-off, and so happened to +bring in the new monster, wild, from the river shops. + +She was built in Pennsylvania, but the fellows on the Missouri end of +our line thought nothing could ever safely be put into our hands until +they had stopped it _en route_ and looked it over. + +"How does she run, Foley?" asked Neighbor, gloating silently over the +toy. + +"Cool as an ice-box," said Foley, swinging down. "She's a regular summer +resort. Little stiff on the hills yet." + +"We'll take that out of her," mused Neighbor, climbing into the cab to +look her over. "Boys, this is up in a balloon," he added, pushing his +big head through the cab-window and peering down at the ninety-inch +drivers under him. + +"I grew dizzy once or twice looking for the ponies," declared Foley, +biting off a piece of tobacco as he hitched at his overalls. "She looms +like a sky-scraper. Say, Neighbor, I'm to get her myself, ain't I?" +asked Foley, with his usual nerve. + +"When McNeal gets through with her, yes," returned Neighbor, gruffly, +giving her a thimble of steam and trying the air. + +"What!" cried Foley, affecting surprise. "You going to give her to the +kid?" + +"I am," returned the master-mechanic unfeelingly, and he kept his word. + +Georgie McNeal, just reporting for work after the session in his cab +with the loose end of a connecting-rod, was invited to take out the +Sky-Scraper--488, Class H--as she was listed, and Dad Hamilton of course +took the scoop to fire her. + +"They get everything good that's going," grumbled Foley. + +"They are good people," retorted Neighbor. He also assigned a helper to +the old fireman. It was a new thing with us then, a fellow with a +slice-bar to tickle the grate, and Dad, of course, kicked. He always +kicked. If they had raised his salary he would have kicked. Neighbor +wasted no words. He simply sent the helper back to wiping until the old +fireman should cry enough. + +Very likely you know that a new engine must be regularly broken, as a +horse is broken, before it is ready for steady hard work. And as +Georgie McNeal was not very strong yet, he was appointed to do the +breaking. + +For two months it was a picnic. Light runs and easy lay-overs. After the +smash at the Narrows, Hamilton had sort of taken the kid engineer under +his wing; and it was pretty generally understood that any one who +elbowed Georgie McNeal must reckon with his doughty old fireman. So the +two used to march up and down street together, as much like chums as a +very young engineer and a very old fireman possibly could be. They +talked together, walked together, and ate together. Foley was as jealous +as a cat of Hamilton, because he had brought Georgie out West, and felt +a sort of guardian interest in that quarter himself. Really, anybody +would love Georgie McNeal; old Dad Hamilton was proof enough of that. + +One evening, just after pay-day, I saw the pair in the post-office lobby +getting their checks cashed. Presently the two stepped over to the +money-order window; a moment later each came away with a money-order. + +"Is that where you leave your wealth, Georgie?" I asked, as he came up +to speak to me. + +"Part of it goes there every month, Mr. Reed," he smiled. "Checks are +running light, too, now--eh, Dad?" + +"A young fellow like you ought to be putting money away in the bank," +said I. + +"Well, you see I have a bank back in Pennsylvania--a bank that is now +sixty years old, and getting gray-headed. I haven't sent her much since +I've been on the relief, so I'm trying to make up a little now for my +old mammie." + +"Where does yours go, Dad?" I asked. + +"Me?" answered the old man, evasively, "I've got a boy back East; +getting to be a big one, too. He's in school. When are you going to give +us a passenger run with the Sky-Scraper, Neighbor?" asked Hamilton, +turning to the master-mechanic. + +"Soon as we get this wheat, up on the high line, out of the way," +replied Neighbor. "We haven't half engines enough to move it, and I get +a wire about every six hours to move it faster. Every siding's blocked, +clear to Belgrade. How many of those sixty-thousand-pound cars can you +take over Beverly Hill with your Sky-Scraper?" + +He was asking both men. The engineer looked at his chum. + +"I reckon maybe thirty-five or forty," said McNeal. "Eh, Dad?" + +"Maybe, son," growled Hamilton; "and break my back doing it?" + +"I gave you a helper once and you kicked him off the tender," retorted +Neighbor. + +"Don't want anybody raking ashes for me--not while I'm drawing full +time," Dad frowned. + +But the upshot of it was that we put the Sky-Scraper at hauling wheat, +and within a week she was doing the work of a double-header. + +It was May, and a thousand miles east of us, in Chicago, there was +trouble in the wheat-pit on the Board of Trade. You would hardly suspect +what queer things that wheat scramble gave rise to, affecting Georgie +McNeal and old man Hamilton and a lot of other fellows away out on a +railroad division on the Western plains; but this was the way of it: + +A man sitting in a little office on La Salle Street wrote a few words on +a very ordinary-looking sheet of paper, and touched a button. That +brought a colored boy, and he took the paper out to a young man who sat +at the eastern end of a private wire. + +The next thing we knew, orders began to come in hot from the president's +office--the president of the road, if you please--to get that wheat on +the high line into Chicago, and to get it there quickly. + +Trainmen, elevator-men, superintendents of motive power, were spurred +with special orders and special bulletins. Farmers, startled by the +great prices offering, hauled night and day. Every old tub we had in the +shops and on the scrap was overhauled and hustled into the service. The +division danced with excitement. Every bushel of wheat on it must be in +Chicago by the morning of May 31st. + +For two weeks we worked everything to the limit; the Sky-Scraper led any +two engines on the line. Even Dad Hamilton was glad to cry enough, and +take a helper. We doubled them every day, and the way the wheat flew +over the line towards the lower end of Lake Michigan was appalling to +speculators. It was a battle between two commercial giants--and a battle +to the death. It shook not alone the country, it shook the world; but +that was nothing to us; our orders were simply to move the wheat. And +the wheat moved. + +The last week found us pretty well cleaned up; but the high price +brought grain out of cellars and wells, the buyers said--at least, it +brought all the hoarded wheat, and much of the seed wheat, and the 28th +day of the month found fifty cars of wheat still in the Zanesville +yards. I was at Harvard working on a time-card when the word came, and +behind it a special from the general manager, stating there was a +thousand dollars premium in it for the company, besides tariff, if we +got that wheat into Chicago by Saturday morning. + +The train end of it didn't bother me any; it was the motive power that +kept us studying. However, we figured that by running McNeal with the +Sky-Scraper back wild we could put all the wheat behind her in one +train. As it happened, Neighbor was at Harvard, too. + +"Can they ever get over Beverly with fifty, Neighbor?" I asked, +doubtfully. + +"We'll never know till they try it," growled Neighbor. "There's a +thousand for the company if they do, that's all. How'll you run them? +Give them plenty of sea-room; they'll have to gallop to make it." + +Cool and reckless planning, taking the daring chances, straining the +flesh and blood, driving the steel loaded to the snapping-point; that +was what it meant. But the company wanted results; wanted the prestige, +and the premium, too. To gain them we were expected to stretch our +little resources to the uttermost. + +I studied a minute, then turned to the dispatcher. + +"Tell Norman to send them out as second 4; that gives the right of way +over every wheel against them. If they can't make it on that kind of +schedule, it isn't in the track." + +It was extraordinary business, rather, sending a train of wheat through +on a passenger schedule, practically, as the second section of our +east-bound flyer; but we took hair-lifting chances on the plains. + +It was noon when the orders were flashed. At three o'clock No. 4 was due +to leave Zanesville. For three hours I kept the wires busy warning all +operators and trainmen, even switch-engines and yard-masters, of the +wheat special--second 4. + +The Flyer, the first section and regular passenger-train, was checked +out of Zanesville on time. Second 4, which meant Georgie McNeal, Dad, +the Sky-Scraper, and fifty loads of wheat, reported out at 3.10. While +we worked on our time-card, Neighbor, in the dispatcher's office across +the hall, figured out that the wheat-train would enrich the company just +eleven thousand dollars, tolls and premium. "If it doesn't break in two +on Beverly Hill," growled Neighbor, with a qualm. + +On the dispatcher's sheet, which is a sort of panorama, I watched the +big train whirl past station after station, drawing steadily nearer to +us, and doing it, the marvel, on full passenger time. It was a great +feat, and Georgie McNeal, whose nerve and brain were guiding the +tremendous load, was breaking records with every mile-stone. + +They were due in Harvard at nine o'clock. The first 4, our Flyer, +pulled in and out on time, meeting 55, the west-bound overland freight, +at the second station east of Harvard--Redbud. + +Neighbor and I sat with the dispatchers, up in their office, smoking. +The wheat-train was now due from the west, and, looking at my watch, I +stepped to the western window. Almost immediately I heard the long +peculiarly hollow blast of the Sky-Scraper whistling for the upper yard. + +"She's coming," I exclaimed. + +The boys crowded to the window; but Neighbor happened to glance to the +east. + +"What's that coming in from the junction, Bailey?" he exclaimed, turning +to the local dispatcher. We looked and saw a headlight in the east. + +"That's 55." + +"Where do they meet?" + +"55 takes the long siding in from the junction"--which was two miles +east--"and she ought to be on it right now," added the dispatcher, +anxiously, looking over the master-mechanic's shoulder. + +Neighbor jumped as if a bullet had struck him. "She'll never take a +siding to-night. She's coming down the main track. What's her orders?" +he demanded, furiously. + +"Meeting orders for first 4 at Redbud, second 4 here, 78 at Glencoe. +Great Jupiter!" cried the dispatcher, and his face went sick and scared, +"they've forgotten second 4." + +"They'll think of her a long time dead," roared the master-mechanic, +savagely, jumping to the west window. "Throw your red lights! There's +the Sky-Scraper now!" + +Her head shot that instant around the coal chutes, less than a mile +away, and 55 going dead against her. I stood like one palsied, my eyes +glued on the burning eye of the big engine. As she whipped past a street +arc-light I caught a glimpse of Georgie McNeal's head out of the cab +window. He always rode bare-headed if the night was warm, and I knew it +was he; but suddenly, like a flash, his head went in. I knew why as well +as if my eyes were his eyes and my thoughts his thoughts. He had seen +red signals where he had every right to look for white. + +But red signals now--to stop _her_--to pull her flat on her haunches +like a bronco? Shake a weather flag at a cyclone! + +I saw the fire stream from her drivers; I knew they were churning in the +sand; I knew he had twenty air cars behind him sliding. What of it? + +Two thousand tons were sweeping forward like an avalanche. What did +brains or pluck count for now with 55 dancing along like a school-girl +right into the teeth of it? + +I don't know how the other men felt. As for me, my breath choked in my +throat, my knees shook, and a deadly nausea seized me. Unable to avert +the horrible blunder, I saw its hideous results. + +Darkness hid the worst of the sight; it was the sound that appalled. +Children asleep in sod shanties miles from where the two engines reared +in awful shock jumped in their cribs at that crash. 55's little engine +barely checked the Sky-Scraper. She split it like a banana. She bucked +like a frantic horse, and leaped fearfully ahead. There was a blinding +explosion, a sudden awful burst of steam; the windows crashed about our +ears, and we were dashed to the wall and floor like lead-pencils. A +baggage-truck, whipped up from the platform below, came through the +heavy sash and down on the dispatcher's table like a brickbat, and as we +scrambled to our feet a shower of wheat suffocated us. The floor heaved; +freight-cars slid into the depot like battering-rams. In the height of +the confusion an oil-tank in the yard took fire and threw a yellow glare +on the ghastly scene. + +I saw men get up and fall again to their knees; I was shivering, and wet +with sweat. The stairway was crushed into kindling-wood. I climbed out a +back window, down on the roof of the freight platform, and so to the +ground. There was a running to and fro, useless and aimless; men were +beside themselves. They plunged through wheat up to their knees at every +step. All at once, above the frantic hissing of the buried Sky-Scraper +and the wild calling of the car tinks, I heard the stentorian tones of +Neighbor, mounted on a twisted truck, organizing the men at hand into a +wrecking-gang. Soon people began running up the yard to where the +Sky-Scraper lay, like another Samson, prostrate in the midst of the +destruction it had wrought. Foremost among the excited men, covered +with dirt and blood, staggered Dad Hamilton. + +"Where's McNeal?" cried Neighbor. + +Hamilton pointed to the wreck. + +"Why didn't he jump?" yelled Neighbor. + +Hamilton pointed at the twisted signal-tower; the red light still burned +in it. + +"You changed the signals on him," he cried, savagely. "What does it +mean? We had rights against everything. What does it mean?" he raved, in +a frenzy. + +Neighbor answered him never a word; he only put his hand on Dad's +shoulder. + +"Find him first! Find him!" he repeated, with a strain in his voice I +never heard till then; and the two giants hurried away together. When I +reached the Sky-Scraper, buried in the thick of the smash, roaring like +a volcano, the pair were already into the jam like a brace of ferrets, +hunting for the engine crews. It seemed an hour, though it was much +less, before they found any one; then they brought out 55's fireman. +Neighbor found him. But his back was broken. Back again they wormed +through twisted trucks, under splintered beams--in and around and +over--choked with heat, blinded by steam, shouting as they groped, +listening for word or cry or gasp. + +Soon we heard Dad's voice in a different cry--one that meant everything; +and the wreckers, turning like beavers through a dozen blind trails, +gathered all close to the big fireman. He was under a great piece of the +cab where none could follow, and he was crying for a bar. They passed +him a bar; other men, careless of life and limb, tried to crawl under +and in to him, but he warned them back. Who but a man baked twenty years +in an engine cab could stand the steam that poured on him where he lay? + +Neighbor, just outside, flashing a light, heard the labored strain of +his breathing, saw him getting half up, bend to the bar, and saw the +iron give like lead in his hands as he pried mightily. + +Neighbor heard, and told me long afterwards, how the old man flung the +bar away with an imprecation, and cried for one to help him; for a +minute meant a life now--the boy lying pinned under the shattered cab +was roasting in a jet of live steam. The master-mechanic crept in. + +By signs Dad told him what to do, and then, getting on his knees, +crawled straight into the dash of the white jet--crawled into it, and +got the cab on his shoulders. + +Crouching an instant, the giant muscles of his back set in a tremendous +effort. The wreckage snapped and groaned, the knotted legs slowly and +painfully straightened, the cab for a passing instant rose in the air, +and in that instant Neighbor dragged Georgie McNeal from out the vise of +death, and passed him, like a pinch-bar, to the men waiting next behind. +Then Neighbor pulled Dad back, blind now and senseless. When they got +the old fireman out he made a pitiful struggle to pull himself together. +He tried to stand up, but the sweat broke over him and he sank in a heap +at Neighbor's feet. + +[Illustration: "THE CAB FOR A PASSING INSTANT ROSE IN THE AIR"] + +That was the saving of Georgie McNeal, and out there they will still +tell you about that lift of Dad Hamilton's. + +We put him on the cot at the hospital next to his engineer. Georgie, +dreadfully bruised and scalded, came on fast in spite of his hurts. But +the doctor said Dad had wrenched a tendon in that frightful effort, and +he lay there a very sick and very old man long after the young engineer +was up and around telling of his experience. + +"When we cleared the chutes I saw white signals, I thought," he said to +me at Dad's bedside. "I knew we had the right of way over everything. It +was a hustle, anyway, on that schedule, Mr. Reed; you know that; an +awful hustle, with our load. I never choked her a notch to run the +yards; didn't mean to do it with the Junction grade to climb just ahead +of us. But I looked out again, and, by hokey! I thought I'd gone crazy, +got color-blind--red signals! Of course I thought I must have been wrong +the first time I looked. I choked her, I threw the air, I dumped the +gravel. Heavens! she never felt it! I couldn't figure how we were wrong, +but there was the red light. I yelled, 'Jump, Dad!' and he yelled, +'Jump, son!' Didn't you, Dad? + +"He jumped; but I wasn't ever going to jump and my engine going full +against a red lamp. Not much. + +"I kind of dodged down behind the head; when she struck it was biff, and +she jumped about twenty feet up straight. She didn't? Well, it seemed +like it. Then it was biff, biff, biff, one after another. With that +train behind her she'd have gone through Beverly Hill. Did you ever buck +snow with a rotary, Mr. Reed? Well, that was about it, even to the +rolling and heaving. Dad, want to lie down? Le' me get another pillow +behind you. Isn't that better? Poor Musgrave!" he added, speaking of the +engineer of 55, who was instantly killed. "He and the fireman both. Hard +lines; but I'd rather have it that way, I guess, if I was wrong. Eh, +Dad?" + +Even after Georgie went to work, Dad lay in the hospital. We knew he +would never shovel coal again. It cost him his good back to lift Georgie +loose, so the surgeon told us; and I could believe it, for when they got +the jacks under the cab next morning, and Neighbor told the +wrecking-gang that Hamilton alone had lifted it six inches the night +before, on his back, the wrecking-boss fairly snorted at the statement; +but Hamilton did, just the same. + +"Son," muttered Dad, one night to Georgie, sitting with him, "I want you +to write a letter for me." + +"Sure." + +"I've been sending money to my boy back East," explained Dad, feebly. "I +told you he's in school." + +"I know, Dad." + +"I haven't been able to send any since I've been by, but I'm going to +send some when I get my relief. Not so much as I used to send. I want +you to kind of explain why." + +"What's his first name, Dad, and where does he live?" + +"It's a lawyer that looks after him--a man that 'tends to my business +back there." + +"Well, what's his name?" + +"Scaylor--Ephraim Scaylor." + +"Scaylor?" echoed Georgie, in amazement. + +"Yes. Why, do you know him?" + +"Why, that's the man mother and I had so much trouble with. I wouldn't +write to that man. He's a rascal, Dad." + +"What did he ever do to you and your mother?" + +"I'll tell you, Dad; though it's a matter I don't talk about much. My +father had trouble back there fifteen or sixteen years ago. He was +running an engine, and had a wreck; there were some passengers killed. +The dispatcher managed to throw the blame on father, and they indicted +him for man-slaughter. He pretty near went crazy, and all of a sudden he +disappeared, and we never heard of him from that day to this. But this +man Scaylor, mother stuck to it, knew something about where father was; +only he always denied it." + +Trembling like a leaf, Dad raised up on his elbow. "What's your mother's +name, son? What's your name?" + +Georgie looked confused. "I'll tell you, Dad; there's nothing to be +ashamed of. I was foolish enough, I told you once, to go out on a strike +with the engineers down there. I was only a kid, and we were all +black-listed. So I used my middle name, McNeal; my full name is George +McNeal Sinclair." + +The old fireman made a painful effort to sit up, to speak, but he +choked. His face contracted, and Georgie rose frightened. With a +herculean effort the old man raised himself up and grasped Georgie's +hands. + +"Son," he gasped to the astonished boy, "don't you know me?" + +"Of course I know you, Dad. What's the matter with you? Lie down." + +"Boy, I'm your own father. My name is David Hamilton Sinclair. I had the +trouble--Georgie." He choked up like a child, and Georgie McNeal went +white and scared; then he grasped the gray-haired man in his arms. + +When I dropped in an hour later they were talking hysterically. Dad was +explaining how he had been sending money to Scaylor every month, and +Georgie was contending that neither he nor his mother had ever seen a +cent of it. But one great fact overshadowed all the villany that night: +father and son were united and happy, and a message had already gone +back to the old home from Georgie to his mother, telling her the good +news. + +"And that indictment was wiped out long ago against father," said +Georgie to me; "but that rascal Scaylor kept writing him for money to +fight it with and to pay for my schooling--and this was the kind of +schooling I was getting all the time. Wouldn't that kill you?" + +I couldn't sleep till I had hunted up Neighbor and told him about it; +and next morning we wired transportation back for Mrs. Sinclair to come +out on. + +Less than a week afterwards a gentle little old woman stepped off the +Flyer at Zanesville, and into the arms of Georgie Sinclair. A smart rig +was in waiting, to which her son hurried her, and they were driven +rapidly to the hospital. When they entered the old fireman's room +together the nurse softly closed the door behind them. + +But when they sent for Neighbor and me, I suppose we were the two +biggest fools in the hospital, trying to look unconscious of all we saw +in the faces of the group at Dad's bed. + +He never got his old strength back, yet Neighbor fixed him out, for all +that. The Sky-Scraper, once our pride, was so badly stove that we gave +up hope of restoring her for a passenger run. So Neighbor built her over +into a sort of a dub engine for short runs, stubs, and so on; and though +Dad had vowed long ago, when unjustly condemned, that he would never +more touch a throttle, we got him to take the Sky-Scraper and the Acton +run. + +And when Georgie, who takes the Flyer every other day, is off duty, he +climbs into Dad's cab, shoves the old gentleman aside, and shoots around +the yard in the rejuvenated Sky-Scraper at a hair-raising rate of speed. + +After a while the old engine got so full of alkali that Georgie gave her +a new name--Soda-Water Sal--and it hangs to her yet. We thought the best +of her had gone in the Harvard wreck; but there came a time when Dad and +Soda-Water Sal showed us we were very much mistaken. + + + + +Soda-Water Sal + + +When the great engine which we called the Sky-Scraper came out of the +Zanesville shops, she was rebuilt from pilot to tender. + +Our master-mechanic, Neighbor, had an idea, after her terrific +collision, that she could not stand heavy main-line passenger runs, so +he put her on the Acton cut-off. It was what railroad men call a +jerk-water run, whatever that may be; a little jaunt of ten miles across +the divide connecting the northern division with the Denver stem. It was +just about like running a trolley, and the run was given to Dad +Sinclair, for after that lift at Oxford his back was never strong enough +to shovel coal, and he had to take an engine or quit railroading. + +Thus it happened that after many years he took the throttle once more +and ran over, twice a day, as he does yet, from Acton to Willow Creek. + +His boy, Georgie Sinclair, the kid engineer, took the run on the Flyer +opposite Foley, just as soon as he got well. + +Georgie, who was never happy unless he had eight or ten Pullmans behind +him, and the right of way over everything between Omaha and Denver, made +great sport of his father's little smoking-car and day-coach behind the +big engine. + +Foley made sport of the remodelled engine. He used to stand by while the +old engineer was oiling and ask him whether he thought she could catch a +jack-rabbit. "I mean," Foley would say, "if the rabbit was feeling +well." + +Dad Sinclair took it all grimly and quietly; he had railroaded too long +to care for anybody's chaff. But one day, after the Sky-Scraper had +gotten her flues pretty well chalked up with alkali, Foley insisted that +she must be renamed. + +"I have the only genuine sky-scraper on the West End now myself," +declared Foley. He did have a new class H engine, and she was +awe-inspiring, in truth. "I don't propose," he continued, "to have her +confused with your old tub any longer, Dad." + +Dad, oiling his old tub affectionately, answered never a word. + +"She's full of soda, isn't she, father?" asked Georgie, standing by. + +"Reckon she is, son." + +"Full of water, I suppose?" + +"Try to keep her that way, son." + +"Sal-soda, isn't it, Dad?" + +"Now I can't say. As to that--I can't say." + +"We'll call her Sal Soda, Georgie," suggested Foley. + +"No," interposed Georgie; "stop a bit. I have it. Not Sal Soda, at +all--make it Soda-Water Sal." + +Then they laughed uproariously; and in the teeth of Dad Sinclair's +protests--for he objected at once and vigorously--the queer name stuck +to the engine, and sticks yet. + +To have seen the great hulking machine you would never have suspected +there could be another story left in her. Yet one there was; a story of +the wind. As she stood, too, when old man Sinclair took her on the Acton +run, she was the best illustration I have ever seen of the adage that +one can never tell from the looks of a frog how far it will jump. + +Have you ever felt the wind? Not, I think, unless you have lived on the +seas or on the plains. People everywhere think the wind blows; but it +really blows only on the ocean and on the prairies. + +The summer that Dad took the Acton run, it blew for a month steadily. +All of one August--hot, dry, merciless; the despair of the farmer and +the terror of trainmen. + +It was on an August evening, with the gale still sweeping up from the +southwest, that Dad came lumbering into Acton with his little trolley +train. He had barely pulled up at the platform to unload his passengers +when the station-agent, Morris Reynolds, coatless and hatless, rushed up +to the engine ahead of the hostler and sprang into the cab. Reynolds was +one of the quietest fellows in the service. To see him without coat or +hat didn't count for much in such weather; but to see him sallow with +fright and almost speechless was enough to stir even old Dad Sinclair. + +It was not Dad's habit to ask questions, but he looked at the man in +questioning amazement. Reynolds choked and caught at his breath, as he +seized the engineer's arm and pointed down the line. + +"Dad," he gasped, "three cars of coal standing over there on the second +spur blew loose a few minutes ago." + +"Where are they?" + +"Where are they? Blown through the switch and down the line, forty miles +an hour." + +The old man grasped the frightened man by the shoulder. "What do you +mean? How long ago? When is 1 due? Talk quick, man! What's the matter +with you?" + +"Not five minutes ago. No. 1 is due here in less than thirty minutes; +they'll go into her sure. Dad," cried Reynolds, all in a fright, +"what'll I do? For Heaven's sake do something. I called up Riverton and +tried to catch 1, but she'd passed. I was too late. There'll be a wreck, +and I'm booked for the penitentiary. What can I do?" + +All the while the station-agent, panic-stricken, rattled on Sinclair was +looking at his watch--casting it up--charting it all under his thick, +gray, grizzled wool, fast as thought could compass. + +No. 1 headed for Acton, and her pace was a hustle every mile of the way; +three cars of coal blowing down on her, how fast he dared not think; and +through it all he was asking himself what day it was. Thursday? Up! Yes, +Georgie, his boy, was on the Flyer No. 1. It was his day up. If they met +on a curve-- + +"Uncouple her!" roared Dad Sinclair, in a giant tone. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Burns," thundered Dad to his fireman, "give her steam, and quick, boy! +Dump in grease, waste, oil, everything! Are you clear there?" he cried, +opening the throttle as he looked back. + +The old engine, pulling clear of her coaches, quivered as she gathered +herself under the steam. She leaped ahead with a swish. The drivers +churned in the sand, bit into it with gritting tires, and forged ahead +with a suck and a hiss and a roar. Before Reynolds had fairly gathered +his wits, Sinclair, leaving his train on the main track in front of the +depot, was clattering over the switch after the runaways. The wind was a +terror, and they had too good a start. But the way Soda-Water Sal took +the gait when she once felt her feet under her made the wrinkled +engineer at her throttle set his mouth with the grimness of a gamester. +It meant the runaways--and catch them--or the ditch for Soda-Water Sal; +and the throbbing old machine seemed to know it, for her nose hung to +the steel like the snout of a pointer. + +He was a man of a hundred even then--Burns; but nobody knew it, then. We +hadn't thought much about Burns before. He was a tall, lank Irish boy, +with an open face and a morning smile. Dad Sinclair took him on because +nobody else would have him. Burns was so green that Foley said you +couldn't set his name afire. He would, so Foley said, put out a hot box +just by blinking at it. + +But every man's turn comes once, and it had come for Burns. It was Dick +Burns's chance now to show what manner of stuff was bred in his long +Irish bones. It was his task to make the steam--if he could--faster than +Dad Sinclair could burn it. What use to grip the throttle and scheme if +Burns didn't furnish the power, put the life into her heels as she raced +the wind--the merciless, restless gale sweeping over the prairie faster +than horse could fly before it? + +Working smoothly and swiftly into a dizzy whirl, the monstrous drivers +took the steel in leaps and bounds. Dad Sinclair, leaning from the cab +window, gloatingly watched their gathering speed, pulled the bar up +notch after notch, and fed Burns's fire into the old engine's arteries +fast and faster than she could throw it into her steel hoofs. + +That was the night the West End knew that a greenhorn had cast his +chrysalis and stood out a man. Knew that the honor-roll of our frontier +division wanted one more name, and that it was big Dick Burns's. +Sinclair hung silently desperate to the throttle, his eyes straining +into the night ahead, and the face of the long Irish boy, streaked with +smut and channelled with sweat, lit every minute with the glare of the +furnace as he fed the white-hot blast that leaped and curled and foamed +under the crown-sheet of Soda-Water Sal. + +There he stooped and sweat and swung, as she slewed and lurched and +jerked across the fish-plates. Carefully, nursingly, ceaselessly he +pushed the steam-pointer higher, higher, higher on the dial--and that +despite the tremendous draughts of Dad's throttle. + +Never a glance to the right or the left, to the track or the engineer. +From the coal to the fire, the fire to the water, the water to the +gauge, the gauge to the stack, and back again to the coal--that was +Burns. Neither eyes nor ears nor muscles for anything but steam. + +Such a firing as the West End never saw till that night; such a firing +as the old engine never felt in her choking flues till that night; such +a firing as Dad Sinclair, king of all West and East End firemen, lifted +his hat to--that was Burns's firing that night on Soda-Water Sal; the +night she chased the Acton runaways down the line to save Georgie +Sinclair and No. 1. + +[Illustration: "THAT WAS BURNS'S FIRING THAT NIGHT"] + +It was a frightful pace--how frightful no one ever knew; neither old man +Sinclair nor Dick Burns ever cared. Only, the crew of a freight, +side-tracked for the approaching Flyer, saw an engine flying light; knew +the hunter and the quarry, for they had seen the runaways shoot by--saw +then, a minute after, a star and a streak and a trail of rotten smoke +fly down the wind, and she had come and passed and gone. + +It was just east of that siding, so Burns and Sinclair always +maintained--but it measured ten thousand feet east--that they caught +them. + +A shout from Dad brought the dripping fireman up standing, and looking +ahead he saw in the blaze of their own headlight the string of coalers +standing still ahead of them. So it seemed to him, their own speed was +so great, and the runaways were almost equalling it. They were making +forty miles an hour when they dashed past the paralyzed freight crew. + +Without waiting for orders--what orders did such a man need?--without a +word, Burns crawled out of his window with a pin, and ran forward on the +foot-board, clinging the best he could, as the engine dipped and +lurched, climbed down on the cow-catcher, and lifted the pilot-bar to +couple. It was a crazy thing to attempt; he was much likelier to get +under the pilot than to succeed; yet he tried it. + +Then it was that the fine hand of Dad Sinclair came into play. To temper +the speed enough, and just enough; to push her nose just enough, and far +enough for Burns to make the draw-bar of the runaway--that was the +nicety of the big seamed hands on the throttle and on the air; the very +magic of touch which, on a slender bar of steel, could push a hundred +tons of flying metal up, and hold it steady in a play of six inches on +the teeth of the gale that tore down behind him. + +Again and again Burns tried to couple and failed. Sinclair, straining +anxiously ahead, caught sight of the headlight of No. 1 rounding +O'Fallon's bluffs. + +He cried to Burns, and, incredible though it seems, the fireman heard. +Above all the infernal din, the tearing of the flanges and the roaring +of the wind, Burns heard the cry; it nerved him to a supreme effort. He +slipped the eye once more into the draw, and managed to drop his pin. Up +went his hand in signal. + +Choking the steam, Sinclair threw the brake-shoes flaming against the +big drivers. The sand poured on the rails, and with Burns up on the +coalers setting brakes, the three great runaways were brought to with a +jerk that would have astounded the most reckless scapegraces in the +world. + +While the plucky fireman crept along the top of the freight-cars to keep +from being blown bodily through the air, Sinclair, with every resource +that brain and nerve and power could exert, was struggling to overcome +the terrible headway of pursuer and pursued, driving now frightfully +into the beaming head of No. 1. + +With the Johnson bar over and the drivers dancing a gallop backward; +with the sand striking fire, and the rails burning under it; with the +old Sky-Scraper shivering again in a terrific struggle, and Burns +twisting the heads off the brake-rods; with every trick of old +Sinclair's cunning, and his boy duplicating every one of them in the cab +of No. 1--still they came together. It was too fearful a momentum to +overcome, when minutes mean miles and tons are reckoned by thousands. + +They came together; but instead of an appalling wreck--destruction and +death--it was only a bump. No. 1 had the speed when they met; and it was +a car of coal dumped a bit sudden and a nose on Georgie's engine like a +full-back's after a centre rush. The pilot doubled back into the ponies, +and the headlight was scoured with nut, pea, and slack; but the stack +was hardly bruised. + +The minute they struck, Georgie Sinclair, making fast, and, leaping from +his cab, ran forward in the dark, panting with rage and excitement. +Burns, torch in hand, was himself just jumping down to get forward. His +face wore its usual grin, even when Georgie assailed him with a torrent +of abuse. + +"What do you mean, you red-headed lubber?" he shouted, with much the +lungs of his father. "What are you doing switching coal here on the main +line?" + +In fact, Georgie called the astonished fireman everything he could think +of, until his father, who was blundering forward on his side of the +engine, hearing the voice, turned, and ran around behind the tender to +take a hand himself. + +"Mean?" he roared above the blow of his safety. "Mean?" he bellowed in +the teeth of the wind. "Mean? Why, you impudent, empty-headed, +ungrateful rapscallion, what do you mean coming around here to abuse a +man that's saved you and your train from the scrap?" + +And big Dick Burns, standing by with his torch, burst into an Irish +laugh, fairly doubled up before the nonplussed boy, and listened with +great relish to the excited father and excited son. It was not hard to +understand Georgie's amazement and anger at finding Soda-Water Sal +behind three cars of coal half-way between stations on the main line and +on his time--and that the fastest time on the division. But what amused +Burns most was to see the imperturbable old Dad pitching into his boy +with as much spirit as the young man himself showed. + +It was because both men were scared out of their wits; scared over their +narrow escape from a frightful wreck; from having each killed the other, +maybe--the son the father, and the father the son. + +For brave men do get scared; don't believe anything else. But between +the fright of a coward and the fright of a brave man there is this +difference: the coward's scare is apparent before the danger, that of +the brave man after it has passed; and Burns laughed with a tremendous +mirth, "at th' two o' thim a-jawin'," as he expressed it. + +No man on the West End could turn on his pins quicker than Georgie +Sinclair, though, if his hastiness misled him. When it all came clear he +climbed into the old cab--the cab he himself had once gone against death +in--and with stumbling words tried to thank the tall Irishman, who still +laughed in the excitement of having won. + +And when Neighbor next day, thoughtful and taciturn, heard it all, he +very carefully looked Soda-Water Sal all over again. + +"Dad," said he, when the boys got through telling it for the last time, +"she's a better machine than I thought she was." + +"There isn't a better pulling your coaches," maintained Dad Sinclair, +stoutly. + +"I'll put her on the main line, Dad, and give you the 168 for the +cut-off. Hm?" + +"The 168 will suit me, Neighbor; any old tub--eh, Foley?" said Dad, +turning to the cheeky engineer, who had come up in time to hear most of +the talk. The old fellow had not forgotten Foley's sneer at Soda-Water +Sal when he rechristened her. But Foley, too, had changed his mind, and +was ready to give in. + +"That's quite right, Dad," he acknowledged. "You can get more out of any +old tub on the division than the rest of us fellows can get out of a +Baldwin consolidated. I mean it, too. It's the best thing I ever heard +of. What are you going to do for Burns, Neighbor?" asked Foley, with his +usual assurance. + +"I was thinking I would give him Soda-Water Sal, and put him on the +right side of the cab for a freight run. I reckon he earned it last +night." + +In a few minutes Foley started off to hunt up Burns. + +"See here, Irish," said he, in his off-hand way, "next time you catch a +string of runaways just remember to climb up the ladder and set your +brakes before you couple; it will save a good deal of wear and tear on +the pilot-bar--see? I hear you're going to get a run; don't fall out +the window when you get over on the right." + +And that's how Burns was made an engineer, and how Soda-Water Sal was +rescued from the disgrace of running on the trolley. + + + + +The McWilliams Special + + +It belongs to the Stories That Never Were Told, this of the McWilliams +Special. But it happened years ago, and for that matter McWilliams is +dead. It wasn't grief that killed him, either; though at one time his +grief came uncommonly near killing us. + +It is an odd sort of a yarn, too; because one part of it never got to +headquarters, and another part of it never got from headquarters. + +How, for instance, the mysterious car was ever started from Chicago on +such a delirious schedule, how many men in the service know that even +yet? + +How, for another instance, Sinclair and Francis took the ratty old car +reeling into Denver with the glass shrivelled, the paint blistered, the +hose burned, and a tire sprung on one of the Five-Nine's drivers--how +many headquarters slaves know that? + +Our end of the story never went in at all. Never went in because it was +not deemed--well, essential to the getting up of the annual report. We +could have raised their hair; they could have raised our salaries; but +they didn't; we didn't. + +In telling this story I would not be misunderstood; ours is not the only +line between Chicago and Denver: there are others, I admit it. But there +is only one line (all the same) that could have taken the McWilliams +Special, as we did, out of Chicago at four in the evening and put it in +Denver long before noon the next day. + +A communication came from a great La Salle Street banker to the +president of our road. Next, the second vice-president heard of it; but +in this way: + +"Why have you turned down Peter McWilliams's request for a special to +Denver this afternoon?" asked the president. + +"He wants too much," came back over the private wire. "We can't do it." + +After satisfying himself on this point the president called up La Salle +Street. + +"Our folks say, Mr. McWilliams, we simply can't do it." + +"You must do it." + +"When will the car be ready?" + +"At three o'clock." + +"When must it be in Denver?" + +"Ten o'clock to-morrow morning." + +The president nearly jumped the wire. + +"McWilliams, you're crazy. What on earth do you mean?" + +The talk came back so low that the wires hardly caught it. There were +occasional outbursts such as, "situation is extremely critical," "grave +danger," "acute distress," "must help me out." + +But none of this would ever have moved the president had not Peter +McWilliams been a bigger man than most corporations; and a personal +request from Peter, if he stuck for it, could hardly be refused; and for +this he most decidedly stuck. + +"I tell you it will turn us upside-down," stormed the president. + +"Do you recollect," asked Peter McWilliams, "when your infernal old pot +of a road was busted eight years ago--you were turned inside out then, +weren't you? and hung up to dry, weren't you?" + +The president did recollect; he could not decently help recollecting. +And he recollected how, about that same time, Peter McWilliams had one +week taken up for him a matter of two millions floating, with a personal +check; and carried it eighteen months without security, when money could +not be had in Wall Street on government bonds. + +Do you--that is, have you heretofore supposed that a railroad belongs to +the stockholders? Not so; it belongs to men like Mr. McWilliams, who own +it when they need it. At other times they let the stockholders carry +it--until they want it again. + +"We'll do what we can, Peter," replied the president, desperately +amiable. "Good-bye." + +I am giving you only an inkling of how it started. Not a word as to how +countless orders were issued, and countless schedules were cancelled. +Not a paragraph about numberless trains abandoned _in toto_, and +numberless others pulled and hauled and held and annulled. The +McWilliams Special in a twinkle tore a great system into great +splinters. + +It set master-mechanics by the ears and made reckless falsifiers of +previously conservative trainmen. It made undying enemies of rival +superintendents, and incipient paretics of jolly train-dispatchers. It +shivered us from end to end and stem to stern, but it covered 1026 miles +of the best steel in the world in rather better than twenty hours and a +blaze of glory. + +"My word is out," said the president in his message to all +superintendents, thirty minutes later. "You will get your division +schedule in a few moments. Send no reasons for inability to make it; +simply deliver the goods. With your time-report, which comes by Ry. M. +S., I want the names and records of every member of every train-crew and +every engine-crew that haul the McWilliams car." Then followed +particular injunctions of secrecy; above all, the newspapers must not +get it. + +But where newspapers are, secrecy can only be hoped for--never attained. +In spite of the most elaborate precautions to preserve Peter +McWilliams's secret--would you believe it?--the evening papers had half +a column--practically the whole thing. Of course they had to guess at +some of it, but for a newspaper-story it was pretty correct, just the +same. They had, to a minute, the time of the start from Chicago, and +hinted broadly that the schedule was a hair-raiser; something to make +previous very fast records previous very slow records. And--here in a +scoop was the secret--the train was to convey a prominent Chicago +capitalist to the bedside of his dying son, Philip McWilliams, in +Denver. Further, that hourly bulletins were being wired to the +distressed father, and that every effort of science would be put forth +to keep the unhappy boy alive until his father could reach Denver on the +Special. Lastly, it was hoped by all the evening papers (to fill out the +half first column scare) that sunrise would see the anxious parent well +on towards the gateway of the Rockies. + +Of course the morning papers from the Atlantic to the Pacific had the +story repeated--scare-headed, in fact--and the public were laughing at +our people's dogged refusal to confirm the report or to be interviewed +at all on the subject. The papers had the story, anyway. What did they +care for our efforts to screen a private distress which insisted on so +paralyzing a time-card for 1026 miles? + +When our own, the West End of the schedule, came over the wires there +was a universal, a vociferous, kick. Dispatchers, superintendent of +motive-power, train-master, everybody, protested. We were given about +seven hours to cover 400 miles--the fastest percentage, by-the-way, on +the whole run. + +"This may be grief for young McWilliams, and for his dad," grumbled the +chief dispatcher that evening, as he cribbed the press dispatches going +over the wires about the Special, "but the grief is not theirs alone." + +Then he made a protest to Chicago. What the answer was none but himself +ever knew. It came personal, and he took it personally; but the manner +in which he went to work clearing track and making a card for the +McWilliams Special showed better speed than the train itself ever +attempted--and he kicked no more. + +After all the row, it seems incredible, but they never got ready to +leave Chicago till four o'clock; and when the McWilliams Special lit +into our train system, it was like dropping a mountain-lion into a bunch +of steers. + +Freights and extras, local passenger-trains even, were used to being +side-tracked; but when it came to laying out the Flyers and (I whisper +this) the White Mail, and the Manila express, the oil began to sizzle in +the journal-boxes. The freight business, the passenger traffic--the +mail-schedules of a whole railway system were actually knocked by the +McWilliams Special into a cocked hat. + +From the minute it cleared Western Avenue it was the only thing talked +of. Divisional headquarters and car tink shanties alike were bursting +with excitement. + +On the West End we had all night to prepare, and at five o'clock next +morning every man in the operating department was on edge. At precisely +3.58 A.M. the McWilliams Special stuck its nose into our division, and +Foley--pulled off No. 1 with the 466--was heading her dizzy for +McCloud. Already the McWilliams had made up thirty-one minutes on the +one hour delay in Chicago, and Lincoln threw her into our hands with a +sort of "There, now! You fellows--are you any good at all on the West +End?" And we thought we were. + +Sitting in the dispatcher's office, we tagged her down the line like a +swallow. Harvard, Oxford, Zanesville, Ashton--and a thousand people at +the McCloud station waited for six o'clock and for Foley's muddy cap to +pop through the Blackwood bluffs; watched him stain the valley maples +with a stream of white and black, scream at the junction switches, tear +and crash through the yards, and slide hissing and panting up under our +nose, swing out of his cab, and look at nobody at all but his watch. + +We made it 5.59 A.M. Central Time. The miles, 136; the minutes, 121. The +schedule was beaten--and that with the 136 miles the fastest on the +whole 1026. Everybody in town yelled except Foley; he asked for a chew +of tobacco, and not getting one handily, bit into his own piece. + +While Foley melted his weed George Sinclair stepped out of the +superintendent's office--he was done in a black silk shirt, with a blue +four-in-hand streaming over his front--stepped out to shake hands with +Foley, as one hostler got the 466 out of the way, and another backed +down with a new Sky-Scraper, the 509. + +But nobody paid much attention to all this. The mob had swarmed around +the ratty, old, blind-eyed baggage-car which, with an ordinary way-car, +constituted the McWilliams Special. + +"Now what does a man with McWilliams's money want to travel special in +an old photograph-gallery like that for?" asked Andy Cameron, who was +the least bit huffed because he hadn't been marked up for the run +himself. "You better take him in a cup of hot coffee, Sinkers," +suggested Andy to the lunch-counter boy. "You might get a ten-dollar +bill if the old man isn't feeling too badly. What do you hear from +Denver, Neighbor?" he asked, turning to the superintendent of motive +power. "Is the boy holding out?" + +"I'm not worrying about the boy holding out; it's whether the Five-Nine +will hold out." + +"Aren't you going to change engines and crews at Arickaree?" + +"Not to-day," said Neighbor, grimly; "we haven't time." + +Just then Sinkers rushed at the baggage-car with a cup of hot coffee for +Mr. McWilliams. Everybody, hoping to get a peep at the capitalist, made +way. Sinkers climbed over the train chests which were lashed to the +platforms and pounded on the door. He pounded hard, for he hoped and +believed that there was something in it. But he might have pounded till +his coffee froze for all the impression it made on the sleepy +McWilliams. + +"Hasn't the man trouble enough without tackling your chiccory?" sang out +Felix Kennedy, and the laugh so discouraged Sinkers that he gave over +and sneaked away. + +At that moment the editor of the local paper came around the depot +corner on the run. He was out for an interview, and, as usual, just a +trifle late. However, he insisted on boarding the baggage-car to tender +his sympathy to McWilliams. + +The barricades bothered him, but he mounted them all, and began an +emergency pound on the forbidding blind door. Imagine his feelings when +the door was gently opened by a sad-eyed man, who opened the ball by +shoving a rifle as big as a pinch-bar under the editorial nose. + +"My grief, Mr. McWilliams," protested the interviewer, in a trembling +voice, "don't imagine I want to hold you up. Our citizens are all +peaceable--" + +"Get out!" + +"Why, man, I'm not even asking for a subscription; I simply want to +ten--" + +"Get out!" snapped the man with the gun; and in a foam the newsman +climbed down. A curious crowd gathered close to hear an editorial +version of the ten commandments revised on the spur of the moment. Felix +Kennedy said it was worth going miles to hear. "That's the coldest deal +I ever struck on the plains, boys," declared the editor. "Talk about +your bereaved parents. If the boy doesn't have a chill when that man +reaches him, I miss my guess. He acts to me as if he was afraid his +grief would get away before he got to Denver." + +Meantime Georgie Sinclair was tying a silk handkerchief around his +neck, while Neighbor gave him parting injunctions. As he put up his foot +to swing into the cab the boy looked for all the world like a jockey toe +in stirrup. Neighbor glanced at his watch. + +"Can you make it by eleven o'clock?" he growled. + +"Make what?" + +"Denver." + +"Denver or the ditch, Neighbor," laughed Georgie, testing the air. "Are +you right back there, Pat?" he called, as Conductor Francis strode +forward to compare the Mountain Time. + +"Right and tight, and I call it five-two-thirty now. What have you, +Georgie?" + +"Five-two-thirty-two," answered Sinclair, leaning from the cab window. +"And we're ready." + +"Then go!" cried Pat Francis, raising two fingers. + +"Go!" echoed Sinclair, and waved a backward smile to the crowd, as the +pistons took the push and the escapes wheezed. + +A roar went up. The little engineer shook his cap, and with a flirting, +snaking slide, the McWilliams Special drew slipping away between the +shining rails for the Rockies. + +Just how McWilliams felt we had no means of knowing; but we knew our +hearts would not beat freely until his infernal Special should slide +safely over the last of the 266 miles which still lay between the +distressed man and his unfortunate child. + +From McCloud to Ogalalla there is a good bit of twisting and slewing; +but looking east from Athens a marble dropped between the rails might +roll clear into the Ogalalla yards. It is a sixty-mile grade, the +ballast of slag, and the sweetest, springiest bed under steel. + +To cover those sixty miles in better than fifty minutes was like picking +them off the ponies; and the Five-Nine breasted the Morgan divide, +fretting for more hills to climb. + +The Five-Nine--for that matter any of the Sky-Scrapers are built to +balance ten or a dozen sleepers, and when you run them light they have a +fashion of rooting their noses into the track. A modest up-grade just +about counters this tendency; but on a slump and a stiff clip and no +tail to speak of, you feel as if the drivers were going to buck up on +the ponies every once in a while. However, they never do, and Georgie +whistled for Scarboro' junction, and 180 miles and two waters, in 198 +minutes out of McCloud; and, looking happy, cussed Mr. McWilliams a +little, and gave her another hatful of steam. + +It is getting down a hill, like the hills of the Mattaback Valley, at +such a pace that pounds the track out of shape. The Five-Nine lurched at +the curves like a mad woman, shook free with very fury, and if the +baggage-car had not been fairly loaded down with the grief of +McWilliams, it must have jumped the rails a dozen times in as many +minutes. + +Indeed, the fireman--it was Jerry MacElroy--twisting and shifting +between the tender and the furnace, looked for the first time grave, and +stole a questioning glance from the steam-gauge towards Georgie. + +But yet he didn't expect to see the boy, his face set ahead and down the +track, straighten so suddenly up, sink in the lever, and close at the +instant on the air. Jerry felt her stumble under his feet--caught up +like a girl in a skipping-rope--and grabbing a brace looked, like a wise +stoker, for his answer out of his window. There far ahead it rose in hot +curling clouds of smoke down among the alfalfa meadows and over the +sweep of willows along the Mattaback River. The Mattaback bridge was on +fire, with the McWilliams Special on one side and Denver on the other. + +Jerry MacElroy yelled--the engineer didn't even look around; only +whistled an alarm back to Pat Francis, eased her down the grade a bit, +like a man reflecting, and watched the smoke and flames that rose to bar +the McWilliams Special out of Denver. + +The Five-Nine skimmed across the meadows without a break, and pulled up +a hundred feet from the burning bridge. It was an old Howe truss, and +snapped like popcorn as the flames bit into the rotten shed. + +Pat Francis and his brakeman ran forward. Across the river they could +see half a dozen section-men chasing wildly about throwing impotent +buckets of water on the burning truss. + +"We're up against it, Georgie," cried Francis. + +"Not if we can get across before the bridge tumbles into the river," +returned Sinclair. + +"You don't mean you'd try it?" + +"Would I? Wouldn't I? You know the orders. That bridge is good for an +hour yet. Pat, if you're game, I'll run it." + +"Holy smoke," mused Pat Francis, who would have run the river without +any bridge at all if so ordered. "They told us to deliver the goods, +didn't they?" + +"We might as well be starting, Pat," suggested Jerry MacElroy, who +deprecated losing good time. "There'll be plenty of time to talk after +we get into Denver, or the Mattaback." + +"Think quick, Pat," urged Sinclair; his safety was popping murder. + +"Back her up, then, and let her go," cried Francis; "I'd just as lief +have that baggage-car at the bottom of the river as on my hands any +longer." + +There was some sharp tooting, then the McWilliams Special backed; backed +away across the meadow, halted, and screamed hard enough to wake the +dead. Georgie was trying to warn the section-men. At that instant the +door of the baggage-car opened and a sharp-featured young man peered +out. + +"What's the row--what's all this screeching about, conductor?" he asked, +as Francis passed. + +"Bridge burning ahead there." + +"Bridge burning!" he cried, looking nervously forward. "Well, that's a +deal. What you going to do about it?" + +"Run it. Are you McWilliams?" + +"McWilliams? I wish I was for just one minute. I'm one of his clerks." + +"Where is he?" + +"I left him on La Salle Street yesterday afternoon." + +"What's your name?" + +"Just plain Ferguson." + +"Well, Ferguson, it's none of my business, but as long as we're going to +put you into Denver or into the river in about a minute, I'm curious to +know what the blazes you're hustling along this way for." + +"Me? I've got twelve hundred thousand dollars in gold coin in this car +for the Sierra Leone National Bank--that's all. Didn't you know that +five big banks there closed their doors yesterday? Worst panic in the +United States. That's what I'm here for, and five huskies with me eating +and sleeping in this car," continued Ferguson, looking ahead. "You're +not going to tackle that bridge, are you?" + +"We are, and right off. If there's any of your huskies want to drop out, +now's their chance," said Pat Francis, as Sinclair slowed up for his +run. + +Ferguson called his men. The five with their rifles came cautiously +forward. + +"Boys," said Ferguson, briefly. "There's a bridge afire ahead. These +guys are going to try to run it. It's not in your contract, that kind of +a chance. Do you want to get off? I stay with the specie, myself. You +can do exactly as you please. Murray, what do you say?" he asked, +addressing the leader of the force, who appeared to weigh about two +hundred and sixty. + +"What do I say?" echoed Murray, with decision, as he looked for a soft +place to alight alongside the track. "I say I'll drop out right here. I +don't mind train robbers, but I don't tackle a burning bridge--not if I +know it," and he jumped off. + +"Well, Peaters," asked Ferguson, of the second man, coolly, "do you want +to stay?" + +"Me?" echoed Peaters, looking ahead at the mass of flame leaping +upward--"me stay? Well, not in a thousand years. You can have my gun, +Mr. Ferguson, and send my check to 439 Milwaukee Avenue, if you please. +Gentlemen, good-day." And off went Peaters. + +And off went every last man of the valorous detectives except one lame +fellow, who said he would just as lief be dead as alive anyway, and +declared he would stay with Ferguson and die rich! + +Sinclair, thinking he might never get another chance, was whistling +sharply for orders. Francis, breathless with the news, ran forward. + +[Illustration: "SINCLAIR WAS WHISTLING SHARPLY FOR ORDERS"] + +"Coin? How much? Twelve hundred thousand. Whew!" cried Sinclair. "Swing +up, Pat. We're off." + +The Five-Nine gathered herself with a spring. Even the engineer's heart +quailed as they got headway. He knew his business, and he knew that if +only the rails hadn't buckled they were perfectly safe, for the heavy +truss would stand a lot of burning before giving way under a swiftly +moving train. Only, as they flew nearer, the blaze rolling up in dense +volume looked horribly threatening. After all it was foolhardy, and he +felt it; but he was past the stopping now, and he pulled the choker to +the limit. It seemed as if she never covered steel so fast. Under the +head she now had the crackling bridge was less than five hundred--four +hundred--three hundred--two hundred feet, and there was no longer time +to think. With a stare, Sinclair shut off. He wanted no push or pull on +the track. The McWilliams Special was just a tremendous arrow, shooting +through a truss of fire, and half a dozen speechless men on either side +of the river waiting for the catastrophe. + +Jerry MacElroy crouched low under the gauges. Sinclair jumped from his +box and stood with a hand on the throttle and a hand on the air, the +glass crashing around his head like hail. A blast of fiery air and +flying cinders burned and choked him. The engine, alive with danger, +flew like a great monkey along the writhing steel. So quick, so black, +so hot the blast, and so terrific the leap, she stuck her nose into +clean air before the men in the cab could rise to it. + +There was a heave in the middle like the lurch of a sea-sick steamer, +and with it the Five-Nine got her paws on cool iron and solid ground, +and the Mattaback and the blaze--all except a dozen tongues which licked +the cab and the roof of the baggage-car a minute--were behind. Georgie +Sinclair, shaking the hot glass out of his hair, looked ahead through +his frizzled eyelids and gave her a full head for the western bluffs of +the valley; then looked at his watch. + +It was the hundred and ninetieth mile-post just at her nose, and the +dial read eight o'clock and fifty-five minutes to a second. There was an +hour to the good and seventy-six miles and a water to cover; but they +were seventy-six of the prettiest miles under ballast anywhere, and the +Five-Nine reeled them off like a cylinder-press. Seventy-nine minutes +later Sinclair whistled for the Denver yards. + +There was a tremendous commotion among the waiting engines. If there was +one there were fifty big locomotives waiting to charivari the McWilliams +Special. The wires had told the story in Denver long before, and as the +Five-Nine sailed ponderously up the gridiron every mogul, every +consolidated, every ten-wheeler, every hog, every switch-bumper, every +air-hose screamed an uproarious welcome to Georgie Sinclair and the +Sky-Scraper. + +They had broken every record from McCloud to Denver, and all knew it; +but as the McWilliams Special drew swiftly past, every last man in the +yards stared at her cracked, peeled, blistered, haggard looks. + +"What the deuce have you bit into?" cried the depot-master, as the +Five-Nine swept splendidly up and stopped with her battered eye hard on +the depot clock. + +"Mattaback bridge is burned; had to crawl over on the stringers," +answered Sinclair, coughing up a cinder. + +"Where's McWilliams?" + +"Back there sitting on his grief, I reckon." + +While the crew went up to register, two big four-horse trucks backed up +to the baggage-car, and in a minute a dozen men were rolling specie-kegs +out of the door, which was smashed in, as being quicker than to tear +open the barricades. + +Sinclair, MacElroy, and Francis with his brakeman were surrounded by a +crowd of railroad men. As they stood answering questions, a big +prosperous-looking banker, with black rings under his eyes, pushed in +towards them, accompanied by the lame fellow, who had missed the chance +of a lifetime to die rich, and by Ferguson, who had told the story. + +The banker shook hands with each one of the crews. "You've saved us, +boys. We needed it. There's a mob of five thousand of the worst-scared +people in America clamoring at the doors; and, by the eternal, now we're +fixed for every one of them. Come up to the bank. I want you to ride +right up with the coin, all of you." + +It was an uncommonly queer occasion, but an uncommonly enthusiastic one. +Fifty policemen made the escort and cleared the way for the trucks to +pull up across the sidewalk, so the porters could lug the kegs of gold +into the bank before the very eyes of the rattled depositors. + +In an hour the run was broken. But when the four railroad men left the +bank, after all sorts of hugging by excited directors, they carried not +only the blessings of the officials, but each in his vest pocket a +check, every one of which discounted the biggest voucher ever drawn on +the West End for a month's pay; though I violate no confidence in +stating that Georgie Sinclair's was bigger than any two of the others. +And this is how it happens that there hangs in the directors' room of +the Sierra Leone National a very creditable portrait of the kid +engineer. + +Besides paying tariff on the specie, the bank paid for a new coat of +paint for the McWilliams Special from caboose to pilot. She was the last +train across the Mattaback for two weeks. + + + + +The Million-Dollar Freight-Train + + +It was the second month of the strike, and not a pound of freight had +been moved; things looked smoky on the West End. + +The general superintendent happened to be with us when the news came. + +"You can't handle it, boys," said he, nervously. "What you'd better do +is to turn it over to the Columbian Pacific." + +Our contracting freight agent on the coast at that time was a fellow so +erratic that he was nicknamed Crazyhorse. Right in the midst of the +strike Crazyhorse wired that he had secured a big silk shipment for New +York. We were paralyzed. + +We had no engineers, no firemen, and no motive power to speak of. The +strikers were pounding our men, wrecking our trains, and giving us the +worst of it generally; that is, when we couldn't give it to them. Why +the fellow displayed his activity at that particular juncture still +remains a mystery. Perhaps he had a grudge against the road; if so, he +took an artful revenge. Everybody on the system with ordinary railroad +sense knew that our struggle was to keep clear of freight business until +we got rid of our strike. Anything valuable or perishable was especially +unwelcome. + +But the stuff was docked and loaded and consigned in our care before we +knew it. After that, a refusal to carry it would be like hoisting the +white flag; and that is something which never yet flew on the West End. + +"Turn it over to the Columbian," said the general superintendent; but +the general superintendent was not looked up to on our division. He +hadn't enough sand. Our head was a fighter, and he gave tone to every +man under him. + +"No," he thundered, bringing down his fist, "not in a thousand years! +We'll move it ourselves. Wire Montgomery, the general manager, that we +will take care of it. And wire him to fire Crazyhorse--and to do it +right off." And before the silk was turned over to us Crazyhorse was +looking for another job. It is the only case on record where a freight +hustler was discharged for getting business. + +There were twelve car-loads; it was insured for eighty-five thousand +dollars a car; you can figure how far the title is wrong, but you never +can estimate the worry that stuff gave us. It looked as big as twelve +million dollars' worth. In fact, one scrub-car tink, with the glory of +the West End at heart, had a fight over the amount with a sceptical +hostler. He maintained that the actual money value was a hundred and +twenty millions; but I give you the figures just as they went over the +wire, and they are right. + +What bothered us most was that the strikers had the tip almost as soon +as we had it. Having friends on every road in the country, they knew as +much about our business as we ourselves. The minute it was announced +that we should move the silk they were after us. It was a defiance; a +last one. If we could move freight--for we were already moving +passengers after a fashion--the strike might be well accounted beaten. + +Stewart, the leader of the local contingent, together with his +followers, got after me at once. + +"You don't show much sense, Reed," said he. "You fellows here are +breaking your necks to get things moving, and when this strike's over if +our boys ask for your discharge they'll get it. This road can't run +without our engineers. We're going to beat you. If you dare try to move +this stuff we'll have your scalp when it's over. You'll never get your +silk to Zanesville, I'll promise you that. And if you ditch it and make +a million dollar loss, you'll get let out anyway, my buck." + +"I'm here to obey orders, Stewart," I retorted. What was the use of +more? I felt uncomfortable; but we had determined to move the silk: +there was nothing more to be said. + +When I went over to the round-house and told Neighbor the decision he +said never a word, but he looked a great deal. Neighbor's task was to +supply the motive power. All that we had, uncrippled, was in the +passenger service, because passengers must be moved--must be taken care +of first of all. In order to win a strike you must have public opinion +on your side. + +"Nevertheless, Neighbor," said I, after we had talked a while, "we must +move the silk also." + +Neighbor studied; then he roared at his foreman. + +"Send Bartholomew Mullen here." He spoke with a decision that made me +think the business was done. I had never happened, it is true, to hear +of Bartholomew Mullen in the department of motive power; but the +impression the name gave me was of a monstrous fellow; big as Neighbor, +or old man Sankey, or Dad Hamilton. + +"I'll put Bartholomew ahead of it," muttered Neighbor, tightly. A boy +walked into the office. + +"Mr. Garten said you wanted to see me, sir," said he, addressing the +master mechanic. + +"I do, Bartholomew," responded Neighbor. + +The figure in my mind's eye shrunk in a twinkling. Then it occurred to +me that it must be this boy's father who was wanted. + +"You have been begging for a chance to take out an engine, Bartholomew," +began Neighbor, coldly; and I knew it was on. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You want to get killed, Bartholomew." + +Bartholomew smiled, as if the idea was not altogether displeasing. + +"How would you like to go pilot to-morrow for McCurdy? You to take the +44 and run as first Seventy-eight. McCurdy will run as second +Seventy-eight." + +"I know I could run an engine all right," ventured Bartholomew, as if +Neighbor were the only one taking the chances in giving him an engine. +"I know the track from here to Zanesville. I helped McNeff fire one +week." + +"Then go home, and go to bed, and be over here at six o'clock to-morrow +morning. And sleep sound; for it may be your last chance." + +It was plain that the master-mechanic hated to do it; it was simply +sheer necessity. + +"He's a wiper," mused Neighbor, as Bartholomew walked springily away. "I +took him in here sweeping two years ago. He ought to be firing now, but +the union held him back; that's why he hates them. He knows more about +an engine now than half the lodge. They'd better have let him in," said +the master-mechanic, grimly. "He may be the means of breaking their +backs yet. If I give him an engine and he runs it, I'll never take him +off, union or no union, strike or no strike." + +"How old is that boy?" I asked. + +"Eighteen; and never a kith or a kin that I know of. Bartholomew +Mullen," mused Neighbor, as the slight figure moved across the flat, +"big name--small boy. Well, Bartholomew, you'll know something more by +to-morrow night about running an engine, or a whole lot less; that's as +it happens. If he gets killed, it's your fault, Reed." + +He meant that I was calling on him for men when he absolutely couldn't +produce them. + +"I heard once," he went on, "about a fellow named Bartholomew being +mixed up in a massacree. But I take it he must have been an older man +than our Bartholomew--nor his other name wasn't Mullen, neither. I +disremember just what it was; but it wasn't Mullen." + +"Well, don't say I want to get the boy killed, Neighbor," I protested. +"I've plenty to answer for. I'm here to run trains--when there are any +to run; that's murder enough for me. You needn't send Bartholomew out on +my account." + +"Give him a slow schedule and I'll give him orders to jump early; that's +all we can do. If the strikers don't ditch him, he'll get through, +somehow." + +It stuck in my crop--the idea of putting the boy on a pilot engine to +take all the dangers ahead of that particular train; but I had a good +deal else to think of besides. From the minute the silk got into the +McCloud yards we posted double guards around. About twelve o'clock that +night we held a council of war, which ended in our running the train +into the out freight-house. The result was that by morning we had a new +train made up. It consisted of fourteen refrigerator-cars loaded with +oranges, which had come in mysteriously the night before. It was +announced that the silk would be held for the present and the oranges +rushed through. Bright and early the refrigerator-train was run down to +the ice-houses and twenty men were put to work icing the oranges. At +seven o'clock McCurdy pulled in the local passenger with engine 105. Our +plan was to cancel the local and run him right out with the oranges. +When he got in he reported the 105 had sprung a tire; it knocked our +scheme into a cocked hat. + +There was a lantern-jawed conference in the round-house. + +"What can you do?" asked the superintendent, in desperation. + +"There's only one thing I can do. Put Bartholomew Mullen on it with the +44, and put McCurdy to bed for No. 2 to-night," responded Neighbor. + +We were running first in, first out; but we took care to always have +somebody for 1 and 2 who at least knew an injector from an air-pump. + +It was eight o'clock. I looked into the locomotive stalls. The +first--the only--man in sight was Bartholomew Mullen. He was very busy +polishing the 44. He had good steam on her, and the old tub was +wheezing as if she had the asthma. The 44 was old; she was homely; she +was rickety; but Bartholomew Mullen wiped her battered nose as +deferentially as if she had been a spick-span, spider-driver, tail-truck +mail-racer. + +She wasn't much--the 44. But in those days Bartholomew wasn't much; and +the 44 was Bartholomew's. + +"How is she steaming, Bartholomew?" I sung out; he was right in the +middle of her. Looking up, he fingered his waste modestly and blushed +through a dab of crude petroleum over his eye. + +"Hundred and thirty, sir. She's a terrible free steamer, the old 44; I'm +all ready to run her out." + +"Who's marked up to fire for you, Bartholomew?" + +Bartholomew Mullen looked at me fraternally. + +"Neighbor couldn't give me anybody but a wiper," said Bartholomew, in a +sort of a wouldn't-that-kill-you tone. + +The unconscious arrogance of the boy quite knocked me, so soon had +honors changed his point of view. Last night a despised wiper; at +daybreak, an engineer; and his nose in the air at the idea of taking on +a wiper for fireman. And all so innocent. + +"Would you object, Bartholomew," I suggested, gently, "to a train-master +for fireman?" + +"I don't--think so, sir." + +"Thank you; because I am going down to Zanesville this morning myself +and I thought I'd ride with you. Is it all right?" + +"Oh yes, sir--if Neighbor doesn't care." + +I smiled. He didn't know who Neighbor took orders from; but he thought, +evidently, not from me. + +"Then run her down to the oranges, Bartholomew, and couple on, and we'll +order ourselves out. See?" + +The 44 really looked like a baby-carriage when we got her in front of +the refrigerators. However, after the necessary preliminaries, we gave a +very sporty toot and pulled out; in a few minutes we were sailing down +the valley. + +For fifty miles we bobbed along with our cargo of iced silk as easy as +old shoes; for I need hardly explain that we had packed the silk into +the refrigerators to confuse the strikers. The great risk was that they +would try to ditch us. + +I was watching the track as a mouse would a cat, looking every minute +for trouble. We cleared the gumbo cut west of the Beaver at a pretty +good clip, in order to make the grade on the other side. The bridge +there is hidden in summer by a grove of hackberrys. I had just pulled +open to cool her a bit when I noticed how high the backwater was on each +side of the track. Suddenly I felt the fill going soft under the +drivers--felt the 44 wobble and slew. Bartholomew shut off hard and +threw the air as I sprang to the window. The peaceful little creek ahead +looked as angry as the Platte in April water, and the bottoms were a +lake. + +Somewhere up the valley there had been a cloudburst, for overhead the +sun was bright. The Beaver was roaring over its banks and the bridge was +out. Bartholomew screamed for brakes; it looked as we were against +it--and hard. + +A soft track to stop on, a torrent of storm water ahead, and ten +hundred thousand dollars' worth of silk behind--not to mention +equipment. + +I yelled at Bartholomew and motioned for him to jump; my conscience is +clear on that point. The 44 was stumbling along, trying, like a drunken +man, to hang to the rotten track. + +"Bartholomew!" I yelled; but he was head out and looking back at his +train, while he jerked frantically at the air lever. I understood: the +air wouldn't work; it never will on those old tubs when you need it. The +sweat pushed out on me. I was thinking of how much the silk would bring +us after a bath in the Beaver. Bartholomew stuck to his levers like a +man in a signal-tower, but every second brought us closer to open water. +Watching him, intent only on saving his first train--heedless of saving +his life--I was really a bit ashamed to jump. While I hesitated, he +somehow got the brakes to set; the old 44 bucked like a bronco. + +It wasn't too soon. She checked her train nobly at the last, but I saw +nothing could keep her from the drink. I caught Bartholomew a terrific +slap and again I yelled; then, turning to the gangway, I dropped into +the soft mud on my side. The 44 hung low, and it was easy lighting. + +Bartholomew sprang from his seat a second later, but his blouse caught +in the teeth of the quadrant. He stooped quick as thought, and peeled +the thing over his head. But then he was caught with his hands in the +wristbands, and the ponies of 44 tipped over the broken abutment. + +Pull as he would, he couldn't get free. The pilot dipped into the +torrent slowly; but, losing her balance, the 44 kicked her heels into +the air like lightning, and shot with a frightened wheeze plump into the +creek, dragging her engineer after her. + +The head car stopped on the brink. Running across the track, I looked +for Bartholomew. He wasn't there; I knew he must have gone down with his +engine. + +Throwing off my gloves, I dove just as I stood, close to the tender, +which hung half submerged. I am a good bit of a fish under water, but no +self-respecting fish would be caught in that yellow mud. I realized, +too, the instant I struck the water that I should have dived on the +up-stream side. The current took me away whirling; when I came up for +air I was fifty feet below the pier. I felt it was all up with +Bartholomew as I scrambled out; but to my amazement, as I shook my eyes +open, the train crew were running forward, and there stood Bartholomew +on the track above me looking at the refrigerators. When I got to him he +explained to me how he was dragged in and had to tear the sleeves out of +his blouse under water to get free. + +The surprise is, how little fuss men make about such things when they +are busy. It took only five minutes for the conductor to hunt up a coil +of wire and a sounder for me, and by the time he got forward with it +Bartholomew was half-way up a telegraph-pole to help me cut in on a live +wire. Fast as I could I rigged a pony, and began calling the McCloud +dispatcher. It was a rocky send, but after no end of pounding I got him, +and gave orders for the wrecking-gang and for one more of Neighbor's +rapidly decreasing supply of locomotives. + +Bartholomew, sitting on a strip of fence which still rose above water, +looked forlorn. To lose the first engine he ever handled, in the +Beaver, was tough, and he was evidently speculating on his chances of +ever getting another. If there weren't tears in his eyes, there was +storm water certainly. But after the relief-engine had pulled what was +left of us back six miles to a siding, I made it my first business to +explain to Neighbor, nearly beside himself, that Bartholomew was not +only not at fault, but that he had actually saved the train by his +nerve. + +"I'll tell you, Neighbor," I suggested, when we got straightened around, +"give us the 109 to go ahead as pilot, and run the stuff around the +river division with Foley and the 216." + +"What'll you do with No. 6?" growled Neighbor. Six was the local +passenger, west. + +"Annul it west of McCloud," said I, instantly. "We've got this silk on +our hands now, and I'd move it if it tied up every passenger-train on +the division. If we can get the infernal stuff through, it will +practically beat the strike. If we fail, it will beat the company." + +By the time we backed to Newhall Junction, Neighbor had made up his mind +my way. Mullen and I climbed into the 109, and Foley with the 216, and +none too good a grace, coupled on to the silk, and, flying red signals, +we started again for Zanesville over the river division. + +Foley was always full of mischief. He had a better engine than ours, +anyway, and he took satisfaction the rest of the afternoon in crowding +us. Every mile of the way he was on our heels. I was throwing the coal +and distinctly remember. + +It was after dark when we reached the Beverly Hill, and we took it at a +lively pace. The strikers were not on our minds then; it was Foley who +bothered. + +When the long parallel steel lines of the upper yards spread before us, +flashing under the arc-lights, we were away above yard speed. Running a +locomotive into one of those big yards is like shooting a rapid in a +canoe. There is a bewildering maze of tracks lighted by red and green +lamps to be watched the closest. The hazards are multiplied the minute +you pass the throat, and a yard wreck is a dreadful tangle: it makes +everybody from road-master to flagmen furious, and not even Bartholomew +wanted to face an inquiry on a yard wreck. On the other hand, he +couldn't afford to be caught by Foley, who was chasing him out of pure +caprice. + +I saw the boy holding the throttle at a half and fingering the air +anxiously as we jumped through the frogs; but the roughest riding on +track so far beats the ties as a cushion that when the 109 suddenly +stuck her paws through an open switch we bounced against the roof of the +cab like footballs. I grabbed a brace with one hand and with the other +reached instinctively across to Bartholomew's side to seize the throttle +he held. But as I tried to shut him off he jerked it wide open in spite +of me, and turned with lightning in his eye. + +"No!" he cried, and his voice rang hard. The 109 took the tremendous +shove at her back and leaped like a frightened horse. Away we went +across the yard, through the cinders, and over the ties. My teeth have +never been the same since. I don't belong on an engine, anyway, and +since then I have kept off. At the moment I was convinced that the +strain had been too much--that Bartholomew was stark crazy. He sat +bouncing clear to the roof and clinging to his levers like a lobster. + +But his strategy was dawning on me; in fact, he was pounding it into me. +Even the shock and scare of leaving the track and tearing up the yard +had not driven from Bartholomew's noddle the most important feature of +our situation, which was, above everything, to _keep out of the way of +the silk-train_. + +I felt every moment more mortified at my attempt to shut him off. I had +done the trick of the woman who grabs the reins. It was even better to +tear up the yard than to stop for Foley to smash into and scatter the +silk over the coal-chutes. Bartholomew's decision was one of the traits +which make the runner: instant perception coupled to instant resolve. +The ordinary dub thinks what he should have done to avoid disaster after +it is all over; Bartholomew thought before. + +On we bumped, across frogs, through switches, over splits, and into +target rods, when--and this is the miracle of it all--the 109 got her +fore-feet on a split switch, made a contact, and, after a slew or two +like a bogged horse, she swung up sweet on the rails again, tender and +all. Bartholomew shut off with an under cut that brought us up double +and nailed her feet, with the air, right where she stood. + +We had left the track, ploughed a hundred feet across the yards, and +jumped on to another track. It is the only time I ever heard of its +happening anywhere, but I was on the engine with Bartholomew Mullen when +it was done. + +Foley choked his train the instant he saw our hind lights bobbing. We +climbed down and ran back. He had stopped just where we should have +stood if I had shut off. Bartholomew ran to the switch to examine it. +The contact light, green, still burned like a false beacon; and lucky it +did, for it showed the switch had been tampered with and exonerated +Bartholomew Mullen completely. The attempt of the strikers to spill the +silk right in the yards had only made the reputation of a new engineer. +Thirty minutes later the million-dollar train was turned over to the +eastern division to wrestle with, and we breathed, all of us, a good +bit easier. + +Bartholomew Mullen, now a passenger runner, who ranks with Kennedy and +Jack Moore and Foley and George Sinclair himself, got a personal letter +from the general manager complimenting him on his pretty wit; and he was +good enough to say nothing whatever about mine. + +We registered that night and went to supper together--Foley, Jackson, +Bartholomew, and I. Afterwards we dropped into the dispatcher's office. +Something was coming from McCloud, but the operators, to save their +lives, couldn't catch it. I listened a minute; it was Neighbor. Now +Neighbor isn't great on dispatching trains. He can make himself +understood over the poles, but his sending is like a boy's sawing +wood--sort of uneven. + +However, though I am not much on running yards, I claim to be able to +take the wildest ball that was ever thrown along the wire, and the chair +was tendered me at once to catch Neighbor's extraordinary passes at the +McCloud key. They came something like this: + + _To Opr._: + + Tell Massacree [_that was the word that stuck them all, and I + could perceive Neighbor was talking emphatically; he had + apparently forgotten Bartholomew's last name and was trying to + connect with the one he had disremembered the night + before_]--tell Massacree [_repeated Neighbor_] that he is + al-l-l right. Tell hi-m I give 'im double mileage for to-day + all the way through. And to-morrow he gets the 109 to keep. + + NEIGHB-B-OR. + + + + +Bucks + + +"I see a good deal of stuff in print about the engineer," said Callahan, +dejectedly. "What's the matter with the dispatcher? What's the matter +with the man who tells the engineer what to do--and just what to do? How +to do it--and exactly how to do it? With the man who sits shut in brick +walls and hung in Chinese puzzles, his ear glued to a receiver, and his +finger fast to a key, and his eye riveted on a train chart? The man who +orders and annuls and stops and starts everything within five hundred +miles of him, and holds under his thumb more lives every minute than a +brigadier does in a lifetime? For instance," asked Callahan, in his +tired way, "what's the matter with Bucks?" + + * * * * * + +Now, I myself never knew Bucks. He left the West End before I went on. +Bucks is second vice-president--which means the boss--of a +transcontinental line now, and a very great swell. But no man from the +West End who calls on Bucks has to wait for an audience, though bigger +men do. They talk of him out there yet. Not of General Superintendent +Bucks, which he came to be, nor of General Manager Bucks. On the West +End he is just plain Bucks; but Bucks on the West End means a whole lot. + +"He saved the company $300,000 that night the Ogalalla train ran away," +mused Callahan. Callahan himself is assistant superintendent now. + +"Three hundred thousand dollars is a good deal of money, Callahan," I +objected. + +"Figure it out yourself. To begin with, fifty passengers' lives--that's +$5000 apiece, isn't it?" Callahan had a cold-blooded way of figuring a +passenger's life from the company standpoint. "It would have killed +over fifty passengers if the runaway had ever struck 59. There wouldn't +have been enough left of 59 to make a decent funeral. Then the +equipment, at least $50,000. But there was a whole lot more than +$300,000 in it for Bucks." + +"How so?" + +"He told me once that if he hadn't saved 59 that night he would never +have signed another order anywhere on any road." + +"Why?" + +"Why? Because, after it was all over, he found out that his own mother +was aboard 59. Didn't you ever hear that? Well, sir, it was Christmas +Eve, and the year was 1884." + + * * * * * + +Christmas Eve everywhere; but on the West End it was just plain December +24th. + +"High winds will prevail for ensuing twenty-four hours. Station agents +will use extra care to secure cars on sidings; brakemen must use care to +avoid being blown from moving trains." + +That is about all Bucks said in his bulletins that evening; not a word +about Christmas or Merry Christmas. In fact, if Christmas had come to +McCloud that night they couldn't have held it twenty-four minutes, much +less twenty-four hours; the wind was too high. All the week, all the +day, all the night it had blown--a December wind; dry as an August noon, +bitter as powdered ice. It was in the early days of our Western +railroading, when we had only one fast train on the schedule--the St. +Louis-California Express; and only one fast engine on the division--the +101; and only one man on the whole West End--Bucks. + +Bucks was assistant superintendent and master-mechanic and train-master +and chief dispatcher and storekeeper--and a bully good fellow. There +were some boys in the service; among them, Callahan. Callahan was +seventeen, with hair like a sunset, and a mind quick as an air-brake. It +was his first year at the key, and he had a night trick under Bucks. + +Callahan claims it blew so hard that night that it blew most of the +color out of his hair. Sod houses had sprung up like dog-towns in the +buffalo grass during the fall. But that day homesteaders crept into +dugouts and smothered over buffalo chip fires. Horses and cattle huddled +into friendly pockets a little out of the worst of it, or froze mutely +in pitiless fence corners on the divides. Sand drove gritting down from +the Cheyenne hills like a storm of snow. Streets of the raw prairie +towns stared deserted at the sky. Even cowboys kept their ranches, and +through the gloom of noon the sun cast a coward shadow. It was a +wretched day, and the sun went down with the wind tuning into a gale, +and all the boys in bad humor--except Bucks. Not that Bucks couldn't get +mad; but it took more than a cyclone to start him. + +No. 59, the California Express, was late that night. All the way up the +valley the wind caught her quartering. Really the marvel is that out +there on the plains such storms didn't blow our toy engines clear off +the rails; for that matter they might as well have taken the rails, too, +for none of them went over sixty pounds. 59 was due at eleven o'clock; +it was half-past twelve when she pulled in and on Callahan's trick. But +Bucks hung around the office until she staggered up under the streaked +moonlight, as frowsy a looking train as ever choked on alkali. + +There was always a crowd down at the station to meet 59; she was the big +arrival of the day at McCloud, even if she didn't get in until eleven +o'clock at night. She brought the mail and the express and the +landseekers and the travelling men and the strangers generally; so the +McCloud livery men and hotel runners and prominent citizens and +prominent loafers and the city marshal usually came down to meet her. +But it was not so that night. The platform was bare. Not even the hardy +chief of police, who was town watch and city marshal all combined, +ventured out. + +The engineer swung out of his cab with the silence of an abused man. His +eyes were full of soda, his ears full of sand, his mustache full of +burrs, and his whiskers full of tumble-weeds. The conductor and the +brakemen climbed sullenly down, and the baggage-man shoved open his door +and slammed a trunk out on the platform without a pretence of sympathy. +Then the outgoing crew climbed aboard, and in a hurry. The +conductor-elect ran down-stairs from the register, and pulled his cap +down hard before he pushed ahead against the wind to give the engineer +his copy of the orders as the new engine was coupled up. The fireman +pulled the canvas jealously around the cab end. The brakeman ran +hurriedly back to examine the air connections, and gave his signal to +the conductor; the conductor gave his to the engineer. There were two +short, choppy snorts from the 101, and 59 moved out stealthily, evenly, +resistlessly into the teeth of the night. In another minute, only her +red lamps gleamed up the yard. One man still on the platform watched +them recede; it was Bucks. + +He came up to the dispatcher's office and sat down. Callahan wondered +why he didn't go home and to bed; but Callahan was too good a railroad +man to ask questions of a superior. Bucks might have stood on his head +on the stove, and it red-hot, without being pursued with inquiries from +Callahan. If Bucks chose to sit up out there on the frozen prairies, in +a flimsy barn of a station, and with the wind howling murder at twelve +o'clock past, and that on Chri--the twenty-fourth of December, it was +Bucks's own business. + +"I kind of looked for my mother to-night," said he, after Callahan got +his orders out of the way for a minute. "Wrote she was coming out pretty +soon for a little visit." + +"Where does your mother live?" + +"Chicago. I sent her transportation two weeks ago. Reckon she thought +she'd better stay home for Christmas. Back in God's country they have +Christmas just about this time of year. Watch out to-night, Jim. I'm +going home. It's a wind for your life." + +Callahan was making a meeting-point for two freights when the door +closed behind Bucks; he didn't even sing out "Good-night." And as for +Merry Chri--well, that had no place on the West End anyhow. + +"D-i, D-i, D-i, D-i," came clicking into the room. Callahan wasn't +asleep. Once he did sleep over the key. When he told Bucks, he made sure +of his time; only he thought Bucks ought to know. + +Bucks shook his head pretty hard that time. "It's awful business, Jim. +It's murder, you know. It's the penitentiary, if they should convict +you. But it's worse than that. If anything happened because you went to +sleep over the key, you'd have them on your mind all your life, don't +you know--forever. Men--and--and children. That's what I always think +about--the children. Maimed and scalded and burned. Jim, if it ever +happens again, quit dispatching; get into commercial work; mistakes +don't cost life there; don't try to handle trains. If it ever happens +with you, you'll kill yourself." + +That was all he said; it was enough. And no wonder Callahan loved him. + +The wind tore frantically around the station; but everything else was so +still. It was one o'clock now, and not a soul about but Callahan. D-i, +D-i, J, clicked sharp and fast. "Twelve or fourteen cars passed +here--just--now east--running a-a-a-" Callahan sprang up like a +flash--listened. What? R-u-n-n-i-n-g a-w-a-y? + +It was the Jackson operator calling; Callahan jumped to the key. "What's +that?" he asked, quick as lightning could dash it. + +"Twelve or fourteen cars coal passed here, fully forty miles an hour, +headed east, driven by the wi--" + +That was all J could send, for Ogalalla broke in. Ogalalla is the +station just west of Jackson. And with Callahan's copper hair raising +higher at every letter, this came from Ogalalla: "Heavy gust caught +twelve coal cars on side track, sent them out on main line off down the +grade." + +They were already past Jackson, eight miles away, headed east, and +running down hill. Callahan's eyes turned like hares to the train sheet. +59, going west, was due _that minute_ to leave Callendar. From Callendar +to Griffin is a twenty-miles' run. There is a station between, but in +those days no night operator. The runaway coal-train was then less than +thirty miles west of Griffin, coming down a forty-mile grade like a +cannon ball. If 59 could be stopped at Callendar, she could be laid by +in five minutes, out of the way of the certain destruction ahead of her +on the main line. Callahan seized the key, and began calling "Cn." He +pounded until the call burned into his fingers. It was an age before +Callendar answered; then Callahan's order flew: + +"Hold 59. Answer quick." + +And Callendar answered: "59 just pulling out of upper yard. Too late to +stop her. What's the matter?" + +Callahan struck the table with his clinched fist, looked wildly about +him, then sprang from the chair, ran to the window, and threw up the +sash. The moon shone a bit through the storm of sand, but there was not +a soul in sight. There were lights in the round-house a hundred yards +across the track. He pulled a revolver--every railroad man out there +carried one those days--and, covering one of the round-house windows, +began firing. It was a risk. There was one chance, maybe, to a thousand +of his killing a night man. But there were a thousand chances to one +that a whole train-load of men and women would be killed inside of +thirty minutes if he couldn't get help. He chose a window in the +machinists' section, where he knew no one usually went at night. He +poured bullets into the unlucky casement as fast as powder could carry +them. Reloading rapidly, he watched the round-house door; and, sure +enough, almost at once, it was cautiously opened. Then he fired into +the air--one, two, three, four, five, six--and he saw a man start for +the station on the dead run. He knew, too, by the tremendous sweep of +his legs that it was Ole Anderson, the night foreman, the man of all +others he wanted. + +"Ole," cried the dispatcher, waving his arms frantically as the giant +Swede leaped across the track and looked up from the platform below, "go +get Bucks. I've got a runaway train going against 59. For your life, +Ole, run!" + +The big fellow was into the wind with the word. Bucks boarded four +blocks away. Callahan, slamming down the window, took the key, and began +calling Rowe. Rowe is the first station east of Jackson; it was now the +first point at which the runaway coal-train could be headed. + +"R-o R-o," he rattled. The operator must have been sitting on the wire, +for he answered at once. As fast as Callahan's fingers could talk, he +told Rowe the story and gave him orders to get the night agent, who, he +knew, must be down to sell tickets for 59, and pile all the ties they +could gather across the track to derail the runaway train. Then he +began thumping for Kolar, the next station east of Rowe, and the second +ahead of the runaways. He pounded and he pounded, and when the man at +Kolar answered, Callahan could have sworn he had been asleep--just from +the way he talked. Does it seem strange? There are many strange things +about a dispatcher's senses. "Send your night man to west switch +house-track, and open for runaway train. Set brakes hard on your empties +on siding, to spill runaways if possible. Do anything and everything to +keep them from getting by you. Work quick." + +Behind Kolar's O.K. came a frantic call from Rowe. "Runaways passed here +like a streak. Knocked the ties into toothpicks. Couldn't head them." + +Callahan didn't wait to hear any more. He only wiped the sweat from his +face. It seemed forever before Kolar spoke again. Then it was only to +say: "Runaways went by here before night man could get to switch and +open it." + +Would Bucks never come? And if he did come, what on earth could stop the +runaway train now? They were heading into the worst grade on the West +End. It averages one per cent. from Kolar to Griffin, and there we get +down off the Cheyenne Hills with a long reverse curve, and drop into the +cañon of the Blackwood with a three per cent. grade. Callahan, almost +beside himself, threw open a north window to look for Bucks. Two men +were flying down Main Street towards the station. He knew them; it was +Ole and Bucks. + +But Bucks! Never before or since was seen on a street of McCloud such a +figure as Bucks, in his trousers and slippers, with his night-shirt free +as he sailed down the wind. In another instant he was bounding up the +stairs. Callahan told him. + +"What have you done?" he panted, throwing himself into the chair. +Callahan told him. Bucks held his head in his hands while the boy +talked. He turned to the sheet--asked quick for 59. + +"She's out of Callendar. I tried hard to stop her. I didn't lose a +second; she was gone." + +Barely an instant Bucks studied the sheet. Routed out of a sound sleep +after an eight-hour trick, and on such a night, by such a message--the +marvel was he could think at all, much less set a trap which should save +59. In twenty minutes from the time Bucks took the key the two trains +would be together--could he save the passenger? Callahan didn't believe +it. + +A sharp, quick call brought Griffin. We had one of the brightest lads on +the whole division at Griffin. Callahan, listening, heard Griffin +answer. Bucks rattled a question. How the heart hangs on the faint, +uncertain tick of a sounder when human lives hang on it! + +"Where are your section men?" asked Bucks. + +"In bed at the section house." + +"Who's with you?" + +"Night agent. Sheriff with two cowboy prisoners waiting to take 59." + +Before the last word came, Bucks was back at him: + + _To Opr._: + + Ask Sheriff release his prisoners to save passenger-train. Go + together to west switch house-track, open, and set it. Smash in + section tool-house, get tools. Go to point of house-track + curve, cut the rails, and point them to send runaway train from + Ogalalla over the bluff into the river. + + BUCKS. + +The words flew off his fingers like sparks, and another message crowded +the wire behind it: + + _To Agt._: + + Go to east switch, open, and set for passing-track. Flag 59, + and run her on siding. If can't get 59 into the clear, ditch + the runaways. + + BUCKS. + +They look old now. The ink is faded, and the paper is smoked with the +fire of fifteen winters and bleached with the sun of fifteen summers. +But to this day they hang there in their walnut frames, the original +orders, just as Bucks scratched them off. They hang there in the +dispatchers' offices in the new depot. But in their present swell +surroundings Bucks wouldn't know them. It was Harvey Reynolds who took +them off the other end of the wire--a boy in a thousand for that night +and that minute. The instant the words flashed into the room he +instructed the agent, grabbed an axe, and dashed out into the +waiting-room, where the sheriff, Ed Banks, sat with his prisoners, the +cowboys. + +"Ed," cried Harvey, "there's a runaway train from Ogalalla coming down +the line in the wind. If we can't trap it here, it'll knock 59 into +kindling-wood. Turn the boys loose, Ed, and save the passenger-train. +Boys, show the man and square yourselves right now. I don't know what +you're here for; but I believe it's to save 59. Will you help?" + +The three men sprang to their feet; Ed + +Banks slipped the handcuffs off in a trice. "Never mind the rest of it. +Save the passenger-train first," he roared. Everybody from Ogalalla to +Omaha knew Ed Banks. + +"Which way? How?" cried the cowboys, in a lather of excitement. + +Harvey Reynolds, beckoning as he ran, rushed out the door and up the +track, his posse at his heels, stumbling into the gale like lunatics. + +"Smash in the tool-house door," panted Harvey as they neared it. + +Ed Banks seized the axe from his hands and took command as naturally as +Dewey. + +"Pick up that tie and ram her," he cried, pointing to the door. "All +together--now." + +Harvey and the cowboys splintered the panel in a twinkling, and Banks, +with a few clean strokes, cut an opening. The cowboys, jumping +together, ran in and began fishing for tools in the dark. One got hold +of a wrench; the other, a pick. Harvey caught up a clawbar, and Banks +grabbed a spike-maul. In a bunch they ran for the point of the curve on +the house-track. It lies there close to the verge of a limestone bluff +that looms up fifty feet above the river. + +But it is one thing to order a contact opened, and another and very +different thing to open it, at two in the morning on December +twenty-fifth, by men who know no more about track-cutting than about +logarithms. Side by side and shoulder to shoulder the man of the law and +the men out of the law, the rough-riders and the railroad boy, pried and +wrenched and clawed and struggled with the steel. While Harvey and Banks +clawed at the spikes the cowboys wrestled with the nuts on the bolts of +the fish-plates. It was a baffle. The nuts wouldn't twist, the spikes +stuck like piles, sweat covered the assailants, Harvey went into a +frenzy. "Boys, we must work faster," he cried, tugging at the frosty +spikes; but flesh and blood could do no more. + +"There they come--there's the runaway train--do you hear it? I'm going +to open the switch, anyhow," Harvey shouted, starting up the track. +"Save yourselves." + +Heedless of the warning, Banks struggled with the plate-bolts in a +silent fury. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "Give me the maul!" he +cried. + +Raising the heavy tool like a tack-hammer he landed heavily on the bolt +nuts; once, and again; and they flew in a stream like bullets over the +bluff. The taller cowboy, bending close on his knees, raised a yell. The +plates had given. Springing to the other rail, Banks stripped the bolts +even after the mad train had shot into the gorge above them. They drove +the pick under the loosened steel, and with a pry that bent the clawbar +and a yell that reached Harvey, trembling at the switch, they tore away +the stubborn contact, and pointed the rails over the precipice. + +The shriek of a locomotive whistle cut the wind. Looking east, Harvey +had been watching 59's headlight. She was pulling in on the siding. He +still held the switch open to send the runaways into the trap Bucks had +set, if the passenger-train failed to get into the clear; but there was +a minute yet--a bare sixty seconds--and Harvey had no idea of dumping +ten thousand dollars' worth of equipment into the river unless he had +to. + +Suddenly, up went the safety signals from the east end. The 101 was +coughing noisily up the passing-track--the line was clear. Banks and the +cowboys, waiting breathless, saw Harvey with a determined lurch close +the main-line contact. + +In the next breath the coalers, with the sweep of the gale in their +frightful velocity, smashed over the switch and on. A rattling whirl of +ballast and a dizzy clatter of noise, and before the frightened crew of +59 could see what was against them, the runaway train was passed--gone! + +"I wasn't going to stop here to-night," muttered the engineer, as he +stood with the conductor over Harvey's shoulder at the operator's desk a +minute later and wiped the chill from his forehead with a piece of +waste. "We'd have met them in the cañon." + +Harvey was reporting to Bucks. Callahan heard it coming: "Rails cut, but +59 safe. Runaways went by here fully seventy miles an hour." + +It was easy after that. Griffin is the foot of the grade; from there on, +the runaway train had a hill to climb. Bucks had held 250, the local +passenger, side-tracked at Davis, thirty miles farther east. Sped by the +wind, the runaways passed Davis, though not at half their highest speed. +An instant later, 250's engine was cut loose, and started after them +like a scared collie. Three miles east of Davis they were overhauled by +the light engine. The fireman, Donahue, crawled out of the cab window, +along the foot-rail, and down on the pilot, caught the ladder of the +first car, and, running up, crept along to the leader and began setting +brakes. Ten minutes later they were brought back in triumph to Davis. + +When the multitude of orders was out of the way, Bucks wired Ed Banks to +bring his cowboys down to McCloud on 60. 60 was the east-bound passenger +due at McCloud at 5.30 A.M. It turned out that the cowboys had been +arrested for lassoing a Norwegian homesteader who had cut their wire. It +was not a heinous offence, and after it was straightened out by the +intervention of Bucks--who was the whole thing then--they were given +jobs lassoing sugar barrels in the train service. One of them, the tall +fellow, is a passenger conductor on the high line yet. + +It was three o'clock that morning--the twenty-fifth of December in small +letters, on the West End--before they got things decently straightened +out: there was so much to do--orders to make and reports to take. Bucks, +still on the key in his flowing robes and tumbling hair, sent and took +them all. Then he turned the seat over to Callahan, and getting up for +the first time in two hours, dropped into another chair. + +The very first thing Callahan received was a personal from Pat Francis, +at Ogalalla, conductor of 59. It was for Bucks: + + Your mother is aboard 59. She was carried by McCloud in the + Denver sleeper. Sending her back to you on 60. Merry Christmas. + +It came off the wire fast. Callahan, taking it, didn't think Bucks +heard; though it's probable he did hear. Anyway, Callahan threw the clip +over towards him with a laugh. + +"Look there, old man. There's your mother coming, after all your +kicking--carried by on 59." + +As the boy turned he saw the big dispatcher's head sink between his arms +on the table. Callahan sprang to his side; but Bucks had fainted. + + + + +Sankey's Double Header + + +The oldest man in the train service didn't pretend to say how long +Sankey had worked for the company. + +Pat Francis was a very old conductor; but old man Sankey was a veteran +when Pat Francis began braking. Sankey ran a passenger-train when Jimmie +Brady was running--and Jimmie afterwards enlisted and was killed in the +Custer fight. + +There was an odd tradition about Sankey's name. He was a tall, swarthy +fellow, and carried the blood of a Sioux chief in his veins. It was in +the time of the Black Hills excitement, when railroad men struck by the +gold fever were abandoning their trains, even at way-stations, and +striking across the divide for Clark's crossing. Men to run the trains +were hard to get, and Tom Porter, train-master, was putting in every man +he could pick up, without reference to age or color. + +Porter--he died at Julesburg afterwards--was a great jollier, and he +wasn't afraid of anybody on earth. + +One day a war-party of Sioux clattered into town. They tore around like +a storm, and threatened to scalp everything, even to the local tickets. +The head braves dashed in on Tom Porter, sitting in the dispatcher's +office up-stairs. The dispatcher was hiding under a loose plank in the +baggage-room floor; Tom, being bald as a sand-hill, considered himself +exempt from scalping-parties. He was working a game of solitaire when +they bore down on him, and interested them at once. That led to a +parley, which ended in Porter's hiring the whole band to brake on +freight-trains. Old man Sankey is said to have been one of that original +war-party. + +Now this is merely a caboose story--told on winter nights when trainmen +get stalled in the snow drifting down from the Sioux country. But what +follows is better attested. + +Sankey, to start with, had a peculiar name. An unpronounceable, +unspellable, unmanageable name. I never heard it; so I can't give it. It +was as hard to catch as an Indian cur, and that name made more trouble +on the pay-rolls than all the other names put together. Nobody at +headquarters could handle it; it was never turned in twice alike, and +they were always writing Tom Porter about the thing. Tom explained +several times that it was Sitting Bull's ambassador who was drawing that +money, and that he usually signed the pay-roll with a tomahawk. But +nobody at Omaha ever knew how to take a joke. + +The first time Tom went down he was called in very solemnly to explain +again about the name; and being in a hurry, and very tired of the whole +business, Tom spluttered: + +"Hang it, don't bother me any more about that name. If you can't read +it, make it Sankey, and be done with it." + +They took Tom at his word. They actually did make it Sankey; and that's +how our oldest conductor came to bear the name of the famous singer. And +more I may say: good name as it was--and is--the Sioux never disgraced +it. + +Probably every old traveller on the system knew Sankey. He was not only +always ready to answer questions, but, what is much more, always ready +to answer the same question twice: it is that which makes conductors +gray-headed and spoils their chances for heaven--answering the same +questions over and over again. Children were apt to be a bit startled at +first sight of Sankey--he was so dark. But he had a very quiet smile, +that always made them friends after the second trip through the +sleepers, and they sometimes ran about asking for him after he had left +the train. + +Of late years--and it is this that hurts--these very same children, +grown ever so much bigger, and riding again to or from California or +Japan or Australia, will ask when they reach the West End about the +Indian conductor. + +But the conductors who now run the overland trains pause at the +question, checking over the date limits on the margins of the coupon +tickets, and, handing the envelopes back, will look at the children and +say, slowly, "He isn't running any more." + + * * * * * + +If you have ever gone over our line to the mountains or to the coast you +may remember at McCloud, where they change engines and set the diner in +or out, the pretty little green park to the east of the depot with a row +of catalpa-trees along the platform line. It looks like a glass of +spring water. + +If it happened to be Sankey's run and a regular West End day, sunny and +delightful, you would be sure to see standing under the catalpas a shy, +dark-skinned girl of fourteen or fifteen years, silently watching the +preparations for the departure of the Overland. + +And after the new engine had been backed, champing down, and harnessed +to its long string of vestibuled sleepers; after the air hose had been +connected and the air valves examined; after the engineer had swung out +of his cab, filled his cups, and swung in again; after the fireman and +his helper had disposed of their slice-bar and shovel, and given the +tender a final sprinkle, and the conductor had walked leisurely +forward, compared time with the engineer, and cried, "All Abo-o-o-ard!" + +Then, as your coach moved slowly ahead, you might notice under the +receding catalpas the little girl waving a parasol, or a handkerchief, +at the outgoing train--that is, at conductor Sankey; for she was his +daughter, Neeta Sankey. Her mother was Spanish, and died when Neeta was +a wee bit. Neeta and the Limited were Sankey's whole world. + +When Georgie Sinclair began pulling the Limited, running west opposite +Foley, he struck up a great friendship with Sankey. Sankey, though he +was hard to start, was full of early-day stories. Georgie, it seemed, +had the faculty of getting him to talk; perhaps because when he was +pulling Sankey's train he made extraordinary efforts to keep on +time--time was a hobby with Sankey. Foley said he was so careful of it +that when he was off duty he let his watch stop just to save time. + +Sankey loved to breast the winds and the floods and the snows, and if he +could get home pretty near on schedule, with everybody else late, he was +happy; and in respect of that, as Sankey used to say, Georgie Sinclair +could come nearer gratifying Sankey's ambition than any runner we had. + +Even the firemen used to observe that the young engineer, always neat, +looked still neater the days that he took out Sankey's train. By-and-by +there was an introduction under the catalpas; after that it was noticed +that Georgie began wearing gloves on the engine--not kid gloves, but +yellow dogskin--and black silk shirts; he bought them in Denver. + +Then--an odd way engineers have of paying compliments--when Georgie +pulled into town on No. 2, if it was Sankey's train, the big sky-scraper +would give a short, hoarse scream, a most peculiar note, just as they +drew past Sankey's house, which stood on the brow of the hill west of +the yards. Then Neeta would know that No. 2 and her father, and +naturally Mr. Sinclair, were in again, and all safe and sound. + +When the railway trainmen held their division fair at McCloud, there was +a lantern to be voted to the most popular conductor--a gold-plated +lantern with a green curtain in the globe. Cal Stewart and Ben Doton, +who were very swell conductors, and great rivals, were the favorites, +and had the town divided over their chances for winning it. + +But during the last moments Georgia Sinclair stepped up to the booth and +cast a storm of votes for old man Sankey. Doton's friends and Stewart's +laughed at first, but Sankey's votes kept pouring in amazingly. The +favorites grew frightened; they pooled their issues by throwing +Stewart's vote to Doton; but it wouldn't do. Georgie Sinclair, with a +crowd of engineers--Cameron, Moore, Foley, Bat Mullen, and Burns--came +back at them with such a swing that in the final round up they fairly +swamped Doton. Sankey took the lantern by a thousand votes, but I +understood it cost Georgie and his friends a pot of money. + +Sankey said all the time he didn't want the lantern, but, just the same, +he always carried that particular lantern, with his full name, Sylvester +Sankey, ground into the glass just below the green mantle. Pretty +soon--Neeta being then eighteen--it was rumored that Sinclair was +engaged to Miss Sankey--was going to marry her. And marry her he did; +though that was not until after the wreck in the Blackwood gorge, the +time of the Big Snow. + +It goes yet by just that name on the West End; for never was such a +winter and such a snow known on the plains and in the mountains. One +train on the northern division was stalled six weeks that winter, and +one whole coach was chopped up for kindling-wood. + +But the great and desperate effort of the company was to hold open the +main line, the artery which connected the two coasts. It was a hard +winter on trainmen. Week after week the snow kept falling and blowing. +The trick was not to clear the line; it was to keep it clear. Every day +we sent out trains with the fear we should not see them again for a +week. + +Freight we didn't pretend to move; local passenger business had to be +abandoned. Coal, to keep our engines and our towns supplied, we were +obliged to carry, and after that all the brains and the muscle and the +motive-power were centred on keeping 1 and 2, our through +passenger-trains, running. + +Our trainmen worked like Americans; there were no cowards on our rolls. +But after too long a strain men become exhausted, benumbed, +indifferent--reckless even. The nerves give out, and will power seems to +halt on indecision--but decision is the life of the fast train. + +None of our conductors stood the hopeless fight like Sankey. Sankey was +patient, taciturn, untiring, and, in a conflict with the elements, +ferocious. All the fighting-blood of his ancestors seemed to course +again in that struggle with the winter king. I can see him yet, on +bitter days, standing alongside the track, in a heavy pea-jacket and +Napoleon boots, a sealskin cap drawn snugly over his straight, black +hair, watching, ordering, signalling, while No. 1, with its frost-bitten +sleepers behind a rotary, struggled to buck through the ten and twenty +foot cuts, which lay bankful of snow west of McCloud. + +Not until April did it begin to look as if we should win out. A dozen +times the line was all but choked on us. And then, when snow-ploughs +were disabled and train crews desperate, there came a storm that +discounted the worst blizzard of the winter. As the reports rolled in on +the morning of the 5th, growing worse as they grew thicker, Neighbor, +dragged out, played out, mentally and physically, threw up his hands. +The 6th it snowed all day, and on Saturday morning the section men +reported thirty feet in the Blackwood cañon. + +It was six o'clock when we got the word, and daylight before we got the +rotary against it. They bucked away till noon with discouraging results, +and came in with their gear smashed and a driving-rod fractured. It +looked as if we were beaten. + +No. 1 got into McCloud eighteen hours late; it was Sankey's and +Sinclair's run west. + +There was a long council in the round-house. The rotary was knocked out; +coal was running low in the chutes. If the line wasn't kept open for the +coal from the mountains it was plain we should be tied until we could +ship it from Iowa or Missouri. West of Medicine Pole there was another +big rotary working east, with plenty of coal behind her, but she was +reported stuck fast in the Cheyenne Hills. + +Foley made suggestions and Dad Sinclair made suggestions. Everybody had +a suggestion left; the trouble was, Neighbor said, they didn't amount to +anything, or were impossible. + +"It's a dead block, boys," announced Neighbor, sullenly, after everybody +had done. "We are beaten unless we can get No. 1 through to-day. Look +there; by the holy poker it's snowing again!" + +The air was dark in a minute with whirling clouds. Men turned to the +windows and quit talking; every fellow felt the same--at least, all but +one. Sankey, sitting back of the stove, was making tracings on his +overalls with a piece of chalk. + +"You might as well unload your passengers, Sankey," said Neighbor. +"You'll never get 'em through this winter." + +And it was then that Sankey proposed his Double Header. + +He devised a snow-plough which combined in one monster ram about all the +good material we had left, and submitted the scheme to Neighbor. +Neighbor studied it and hacked at it all he could, and brought it over +to the office. It was like staking everything on the last cast of the +dice, but we were in the state of mind which precedes a desperate +venture. It was talked over for an hour, and orders were finally given +by the superintendent to rig up the Double Header and get against the +snow as quick as it could be made ready. + +All that day and most of the night Neighbor worked twenty men on +Sankey's device. By Sunday morning it was in such shape that we began to +take heart. + +"If she don't get through she'll get back again, and that's what most of +'em don't do," growled Neighbor, as he and Sankey showed the new ram to +the engineers. + +They had taken the 566, George Sinclair's engine, for one head, and +Burns's 497 for the other. Behind these were Kennedy with the 314 and +Cameron with the 296. The engines were set in pairs, headed each way, +and buckled up like pack-mules. Over the pilots and stacks of the head +engines rose the tremendous ploughs which were to tackle the toughest +drifts ever recorded, before or since, on the West End. The ram was +designed to work both ways. Under the coal each tender was loaded with +pig-iron. + +The beleaguered passengers on No. 1, side-tracked in the yards, watched +the preparations Sankey was making to clear the line. Every amateur on +the train had his camera snapping at the ram. The town, gathered in a +single great mob, looked silently on, and listened to the frosty notes +of the sky-scrapers as they went through their preliminary manoeuvres. +Just as the final word was given by Sankey, in charge, the sun burst +through the fleecy clouds, and a wild cheer followed the ram out of the +western yard--it was good-luck to see the sun again. + +Little Neeta, up on the hill, must have seen them as they pulled out; +surely she heard the choppy, ice-bitten screech of the 566; that was +never forgotten whether the service was special or regular. Besides, the +head cab of the ram carried this time not only Georgie Sinclair but her +father as well. Sankey could handle a slice-bar as well as a punch, and +rode on the head engine, where, if anywhere, the big chances hovered. +What he was not capable of in the train service we never knew, because +he was stronger than any emergency that ever confronted him. + +Bucking snow is principally brute force; there is little coaxing. Just +west of the bluffs, like code signals between a fleet of cruisers, there +was a volley of sharp tooting, and in a minute the four ponderous +engines, two of them in the back motion, fires white and throats +bursting, steamed wildly into the cañon. + +Six hundred feet from the first cut Sinclair's whistle signalled again; +Burns and Cameron and Kennedy answered, and then, literally turning the +monster ram loose against the dazzling mountain, the crews settled +themselves for the shock. + +At such a moment there is nothing to be done. If anything goes wrong +eternity is too close to consider. There comes a muffled drumming on the +steam-chests--a stagger and a terrific impact--and then the recoil like +the stroke of a trip-hammer. The snow shoots into the air fifty feet, +and the wind carries a cloud of fleecy confusion over the ram and out of +the cut. The cabs were buried in white, and the great steel frames of +the engines sprung like knitting-needles under the frightful blow. + +Pausing for hardly a breath, the signalling again began. Then the +backing; up and up and up the line; and again the massive machines were +hurled screaming into the cut. + +"You're getting there, Georgie," exclaimed Sankey, when the rolling and +lurching had stopped. No one else could tell a thing about it, for it +was snow and snow and snow; above and behind, and ahead and beneath. +Sinclair coughed the flakes out of his eyes and nose and mouth like a +baffled collie. He looked doubtful of the claim until the mist had blown +clear and the quivering monsters were again recalled for a dash. Then it +was plain that Sankey's instinct was right; they were gaining. + +Again they went in, lifting a very avalanche over the stacks, packing +the banks of the cut with walls hard as ice. Again as the drivers stuck +they raced in a frenzy, and into the shriek of the wind went the +unearthly scrape of the overloaded safeties. + +Slowly and sullenly the machines were backed again. + +"She's doing the work, Georgie," cried Sankey. "For that kind of a cut +she's as good as a rotary. Look everything over now while I go back and +see how the boys are standing it. Then we'll give her one more, and give +it the hardest kind." + +And they did give her one more--and another. Men at Santiago put up no +stouter fight than they made that Sunday morning in the cañon of the +Blackwood. Once and twice more they went in. And the second time the +bumping drummed more deeply; the drivers held, pushed, panted, and +gained against the white wall--heaved and stumbled ahead--and with a +yell from Sinclair and Sankey and the fireman, the Double Header shot +her nose into the clear over the Blackwood gorge. As engine after engine +flew past the divided walls, each cab took up the cry--it was the +wildest shout that ever crowned victory. + +Through they went and half-way across the bridge before they could check +their monster catapult. Then at a half-full they shot it back at the +cut--it worked as well one way as the other. + +"The thing is done," declared Sankey. Then they got into position up the +line for a final shoot to clean the eastern cut and to get the head for +a dash across the bridge into the west end of the cañon, where lay +another mountain of snow to split. + +"Look the machines over close, boys," said Sankey to the engineers. "If +nothing's sprung we'll take a full head across the gorge--the bridge +will carry anything--and buck the west cut. Then after we get No. 1 +through this afternoon Neighbor can get his baby cabs in here and keep +'em chasing all night; but it's done snowing," he added, looking into +the leaden sky. + +He had everything figured out for the master-mechanic--the shrewd, +kindly old man. There's no man on earth like a good Indian; and for that +matter none like a bad one. Sankey knew by a military instinct just what +had to be done and how to do it. If he had lived he was to have been +assistant superintendent. That was the word which leaked from +headquarters after he got killed. + +And with a volley of jokes between the cabs, and a laughing and a +yelling between toots, down went Sankey's Double Header again into the +Blackwood gorge. + +At the same moment, by an awful misunderstanding of orders, down came +the big rotary from the West End with a dozen cars of coal behind it. +Mile after mile it had wormed east towards Sankey's ram, burrowed +through the western cut of the Blackwood, crashed through the drift +Sankey was aiming for, and whirled then out into the open, dead against +him, at forty miles an hour. Each train, in order to make the grade and +the blockade, was straining the cylinders. + +Through the swirling snow which half hid the bridge and swept between +the rushing ploughs Sinclair saw them coming--he yelled. Sankey saw them +a fraction of a second later, and while Sinclair struggled with the +throttle and the air, Sankey gave the alarm through the whistle to the +poor fellows in the blind pockets behind. But the track was at the +worst. Where there was no snow there were whiskers; oil itself couldn't +have been worse to stop on. It was the old and deadly peril of fighting +blockades from both ends on a single track. + +The great rams of steel and fire had done their work, and with their +common enemy overcome they dashed at each other frenzied across the +Blackwood gorge. + +The fireman at the first cry shot out the side. Sankey yelled at +Sinclair to jump. But George shook his head: he never would jump. +Without hesitating an instant, Sankey caught him in his arms, tore him +from the levers, planted a mighty foot, and hurled Sinclair like a block +of coal through the gangway out into the gorge. The other cabs were +already emptied; but the instant's delay in front cost Sankey's life. +Before he could turn the rotary crashed into the 566. They reared like +mountain lions, and pitched headlong into the gorge; Sankey went under +them. + +He could have saved himself; he chose to save George. There wasn't time +to do both; he had to choose and he chose instinctively. Did he, maybe, +think in that flash of Neeta and of whom she needed most--of a young and +a stalwart protector better than an old and a failing one? I do not +know; I know only what he did. + +Every one who jumped got clear. Sinclair lit in twenty feet of snow, and +they pulled him out with a rope; he wasn't scratched; even the bridge +was not badly strained. No. 1 pulled over it next day. Sankey was +right: there was no more snow; not enough to hide the dead engines on +the rocks: the line was open. + +There never was a funeral in McCloud like Sankey's. George Sinclair and +Neeta followed together; and of mourners there were as many as there +were people. Every engine on the division carried black for thirty days. + +His contrivance for fighting snow has never yet been beaten on the high +line. It is perilous to go against a drift behind it--something has to +give. + +But it gets there--as Sankey got there--always; and in time of blockade +and desperation on the West End they still send out Sankey's Double +Header; though Sankey--so the conductors tell the children, travelling +east or travelling west--Sankey isn't running any more. + + + + +Siclone Clark + + +"There goes a fellow that walks like Siclone Clark," exclaimed Duck +Middleton. Duck was sitting in the train-master's office with a group of +engineers. He was one of the black-listed strikers, and runs an engine +now down on the Santa Fé. But at long intervals Duck gets back to +revisit the scenes of his early triumphs. The men who surrounded him +were once at deadly odds with Duck and his chums, though now the ancient +enmities seem forgotten, and Duck--the once ferocious Duck--sits +occasionally among the new men and gossips about early days on the West +End. + +"Do you remember Siclone, Reed?" asked Duck, calling to me in the +private office. + +"Remember him?" I echoed. "Did anybody who ever knew Siclone forget +him?" + +"I fired passenger for Siclone twenty years ago," resumed Duck. "He +walked just like that fellow; only he was quicker. I reckon you fellows +don't know what a snap you have here now," he continued, addressing the +men around him. "Track fenced; ninety-pound rails; steel bridges; stone +culverts; slag ballast; sky-scrapers. No wonder you get chances to haul +such nobs as Lilioukalani and Schley and Dewey, and cut out ninety miles +an hour on tangents. + +"When I was firing for Siclone the road-bed was just off the scrapers; +the dumps were soft; pile bridges; paper culverts; fifty-six-pound +rails; not a fence west of Buffalo gap, and the plains black with Texas +steers. We never closed our cylinder cocks; the hiss of the steam +frightened the cattle worse than the whistle, and we never knew when we +were going to find a bunch of critters on the track. + +"The first winter I came out was great for snow, and I was a tenderfoot. +The cuts made good wind-breaks, and whenever there was a norther they +were chuck full of cattle. Every time a train ploughed through the snow +it made a path on the track. Whenever the steers wanted to move they +would take the middle of the track single file, and string out mile +after mile. Talk about fast schedules and ninety miles an hour. You had +to poke along with your cylinders spitting, and just whistle and +yell--sort of blow them off into the snow-drifts. + +"One day Siclone and I were going west on 59, and we were late; for that +matter we were always late. Simpson coming against us on 60 had caught a +bunch of cattle in the rock-cut, just west of the Sappie, and killed a +couple. When we got there there must have been a thousand head of steers +mousing around the dead ones. Siclone--he used to be a cowboy, you +know--Siclone said they were holding a wake. At any rate, they were +still coming from every direction and as far as you could see. + +"'Hold on, Siclone, and I'll chase them out,' I said. + +"'That's the stuff, Duck,' says he. 'Get after them and see what you can +do.' He looked kind of queer, but I never thought anything. I picked up +a jack-bar and started up the track. + +"The first fellow I tackled looked lazy, but he started full quick when +I hit him. Then he turned around to inspect me, and I noticed his horns +were the broad-gauge variety. While I whacked another the first one put +his head down and began to snort and paw the ties; then they all began +to bellow at once; it looked smoky. I dropped the jack-bar and started +for the engine, and about fifty of them started for me. + +"I never had an idea steers could run so; you could have played checkers +on my heels all the way back. If Siclone hadn't come out and jollied +them, I'd never have got back in the world. I just jumped the pilot and +went clear over against the boiler-head. Siclone claimed I tried to +climb the smoke-stack; but he was excited. Anyway, he stood out there +with a shovel and kept the whole bunch off me. I thought they would kill +him; but I never tried to chase range steers on foot again. + +"In the spring we got the rains; not like you get now, but cloud-bursts. +The section men were good fellows, only sometimes we would get into a +storm miles from a section gang and strike a place where we couldn't see +a thing. + +"Then Siclone would stop the train, take a bar, and get down ahead and +sound the road-bed. Many and many a wash-out he struck that way which +would have wrecked our train and wound up our ball of yarn in a minute. +Often and often Siclone would go into his division without a dry thread +on him. + +"Those were different days," mused the grizzled striker. "The old boys +are scattered now all over this broad land. The strike did it; and you +fellows have the snap. But what I wonder, often and often, is whether +Siclone is really alive or not." + + +I + +Siclone Clark was one of the two cowboys who helped Harvey Reynolds and +Ed Banks save 59 at Griffin the night the coal-train ran down from +Ogalalla. They were both taken into the service; Siclone, after a while, +went to wiping. + +When Bucks asked his name, Siclone answered, "S. Clark." + +"What's your full name?" asked Bucks. + +"S. Clark." + +"But what does S. stand for?" persisted Bucks. + +"Stands for Cyclone, I reckon; don't it?" retorted the cowboy, with some +annoyance. + +It was not usual in those days on the plains to press a man too closely +about his name. There might be reasons why it would not be esteemed +courteous. + +"I reckon it do," replied Bucks, dropping into Siclone's grammar; and +without a quiver he registered the new man as Siclone Clark; and his +checks always read that way. The name seemed to fit; he adopted it +without any objection; and, after everybody came to know him, it fitted +so well that Bucks was believed to have second sight when he named the +hair-brained fireman. He could get up a storm quicker than any man on +the division, and, if he felt so disposed, stop one quicker. + +In spite of his eccentricities, which were many, and his headstrong way +of doing some things, Siclone Clark was a good engineer, and deserved a +better fate than the one that befell him. Though--who can tell?--it may +have been just to his liking. + +The strike was the worst thing that ever happened to Siclone. He was one +of those big-hearted, violent fellows who went into it loaded with +enthusiasm. He had nothing to gain by it; at least, nothing to speak of. +But the idea that somebody on the East End needed their help led men +like Siclone in; and they thought it a cinch that the company would have +to take them all back. + +The consequence was that, when we staggered along without them, men like +Siclone, easily aroused, naturally of violent passions, and with no +self-restraint, stopped at nothing to cripple the service. And they +looked on the men who took their places as entitled neither to liberty +nor life. + +When our new men began coming from the Reading to replace the strikers, +every one wondered who would get Siclone Clark's engine, the 313. +Siclone had gently sworn to kill the first man who took out the 313--and +bar nobody. + +Whatever others thought of Siclone's vaporings, they counted for a good +deal on the West End; nobody wanted trouble with him. + +Even Neighbor, who feared no man, sort of let the 313 lay in her stall +as long as possible, after the trouble began. + +Nothing was said about it. Threats cannot be taken cognizance of +officially; we were bombarded with threats all the time; they had long +since ceased to move us. Yet Siclone's engine stayed in the round-house. + +Then, after Foley and McTerza and Sinclair, came Fitzpatrick from the +East. McTerza was put on the mails, and, coming down one day on the +White Flyer, he blew a cylinder-head out of the 416. + +Fitzpatrick was waiting to take her out when she came stumping in on one +pair of drivers--for we were using engines worse than horseflesh then. +But of course the 416 was put out. The only gig left in the house was +the 313. + +I imagine Neighbor felt the finger of fate in it. The mail had to go. +The time had come for the 313; he ordered her fired. + +"The man that ran this engine swore he would kill the man that took her +out," said Neighbor, sort of incidentally, as Fitz stood by waiting for +her to steam. + +"I suppose that means me," said Fitzpatrick. + +"I suppose it does." + +"Whose engine is it?" + +"Siclone Clark's." + +Fitzpatrick shifted to the other leg. + +"Did he say what I would be doing while this was going on?" + +Something in Fitzpatrick's manner made Neighbor laugh. Other things +crowded in and no more was said. + +No more was thought in fact. The 313 rolled as kindly for Fitzpatrick as +for Siclone, and the new engineer, a quiet fellow like Foley, only a +good bit heavier, went on and off her with never a word for anybody. + +One day Fitzpatrick dropped into a barber shop to get shaved. In the +next chair lay Siclone Clark. Siclone got through first, and, stepping +over to the table to get his hat, picked up Fitzpatrick's, by mistake, +and walked out with it. He discovered his change just as Fitz got out of +his chair. Siclone came back, replaced the hat on the table--it had +Fitzpatrick's name pasted in the crown--took up his own hat, and, as +Fitz reached for his, looked at him. + +Everyone in the shop caught their breaths. + +"Is your name Fitzpatrick?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Mine is Clark." + +Fitzpatrick put on his hat. + +"You're running the 313, I believe?" continued Siclone. + +"Yes, sir." + +"That's my engine." + +"I thought it belonged to the company." + +"Maybe it does; but I've agreed to kill the man that takes her out +before this trouble is settled," said Siclone, amiably. + +Fitzpatrick met him steadily. "If you'll let me know when it takes +place, I'll try and be there." + +"I don't jump on any man without fair warning; any of the boys will tell +you that," continued Siclone. "Maybe you didn't know my word was out?" + +Fitzpatrick hesitated. "I'm not looking for trouble with any man," he +replied, guardedly. "But since you're disposed to be fair about notice, +it's only fair to you to say that I did know your word was out." + +"Still you took her?" + +"It was my orders." + +"My word is out; the boys know it is good. I don't jump any man without +fair warning. I know you now, Fitzpatrick, and the next time I see you, +look out," and without more ado Siclone walked out of the shop greatly +to the relief of the barber, if not of Fitz. + +Fitzpatrick may have wiped a little sweat from his face; but he said +nothing--only walked down to the round-house and took out the 313 as +usual for his run. + +A week passed before the two men met again. One night Siclone with a +crowd of the strikers ran into half a dozen of the new men, Fitzpatrick +among them, and there was a riot. It was Siclone's time to carry out his +intention, for Fitzpatrick would have scorned to try to get away. No +tree ever breasted a tornado more sturdily than the Irish engineer +withstood Siclone; but when Ed Banks got there with his wrecking crew +and straightened things out, Fitzpatrick was picked up for dead. That +night Siclone disappeared. + +Warrants were gotten out and searchers put after him; yet nobody could +or would apprehend him. It was generally understood that the sudden +disappearance was one of Siclone's freaks. If the ex-cowboy had so +determined he would not have hidden to keep out of anybody's way. I have +sometimes pondered whether shame hadn't something to do with it. His +tremendous physical strength was fit for so much better things than +beating other men that maybe he, himself, sort of realized it after the +storm had passed. + +Down east of the depot grounds at McCloud stands, or stood, a great +barnlike hotel, built in boom days, and long a favorite resting-place +for invalids and travellers en route to California by easy stages. It +was nicknamed the barracks. Many railroad men boarded there, and the new +engineers liked it because it was close to the round-house and away from +the strikers. + +Fitzpatrick, without a whine or a complaint, was put to bed in the +barracks, and Holmes Kay, one of our staff surgeons, was given charge of +the case; a trained nurse was provided besides. Nobody thought the +injured man would live. But after every care was given him, we turned +our attention to the troublesome task of operating the road. + +The 313, whether it happened so, or whether Neighbor thought it well to +drop the disputed machine temporarily, was not taken out again for three +weeks. She was looked on as a hoodoo, and nobody wanted her. Foley +refused point-blank one day to take her, claiming that he had troubles +of his own. Then, one day, something happened to McTerza's engine; we +were stranded for a locomotive, and the 313 was brought out for McTerza; +he didn't like it a bit. + +Meantime nothing had been seen or heard of Siclone. That, in fact, was +the reason Neighbor urged for using his engine; but it seemed as if +every time the 313 went out it brought out Siclone, not to speak of +worse things. + +That morning about three o'clock the unlucky engine was coupled on to +the White Flyer. The night boy at the barracks always got up a hot lunch +for the incoming and outgoing crews on the mail run, and that morning +when he was through he forgot to turn off the lamp under his +coffee-tank. It overheated the counter, and in a few minutes the +wood-work was ablaze. If the frightened boy had emptied the coffee on +the counter he could have put the fire out; but instead he ran out to +give the alarm, and started up-stairs to arouse the guests. + +There were at least fifty people asleep in the house, travelling and +railway men. Being a wooden building it was a quick prey, and in an +incredibly short time the flames were leaping through the second-story +windows. + +When I got down men were jumping in every direction from the burning +hotel. Railroaders swarmed around, busy with schemes for getting the +people out, for none are more quick-witted in time of panic. Short as +the opportunity was there were many pretty rescues, until the flames, +shooting up, cut off the stairs, and left the helpers nothing for it but +to stand and watch the destruction of the long, rambling building. Half +a dozen of us looked from the dispatchers' offices in the second story +of the depot. We had agreed that the people were all out, when Foley +below gave a cry and pointed to the south gable. Away up under the eaves +at the third-story window we saw a face--it was Fitzpatrick. + +Everybody had forgotten Fitzpatrick and his nurse. Behind, as the flames +lighted the opening, we could see the nurse struggling to get him to the +window. It was plain that the engineer was in no condition to help +himself; the two men were in deadly peril; a great cry went up. + +The crowd swarmed like ants around to the south end; a dozen men called +for ladders; but there were no ladders. They called for volunteers to go +in after the two men; but the stairs were long since a furnace. There +were men in plenty to take any kind of chance, however slight, but no +chance offered. + +The nurse ran to and from the window, seeking a loop-hole for escape. +Fitzpatrick dragged himself higher on the casement to get out of the +smoke which rolled over him in choking bursts, and looked down on the +crowd. They begged him to jump--held out their arms frantically. The two +men again side by side waved a hand; it looked like a farewell. There +was no calling from them, no appeal. The nurse would not desert his +charge, and we saw it all. + +Suddenly there was a cry below, keener than the confused shouting of +the crowd, and one running forward parted the men at the front and, +clearing the fence, jumped into the yard under the burning gable. + +Before people recognized him a lariat was swinging over his head--it was +Siclone Clark. The rope left his arm like a slung-shot and flew straight +at Fitzpatrick. Not seeing, or confused, he missed it, and the rope, +with a groan from the crowd, settled back. The agile cowboy caught it +again into a loop and shot it upward, that time fairly over +Fitzpatrick's head. + +"Make fast!" roared Siclone. Fitzpatrick shouted back, and the two men +above drew taut. Hand over hand Siclone Clark crept up, like a monkey, +bracing his feet against the smoking clapboards, edging away from the +vomiting windows, swinging on the single strand of horse-hair, and +followed by a hundred prayers unsaid. + +Men who didn't know what tears were tried to cry out to keep the choking +from their throats. It seemed an age before he covered the last five +feet, and the men above caught frantically at his hands. + +Drawing himself over the casement, he was lost with them a moment; +then, from behind a burst of smoke, they saw him rigging a maverick +saddle on Fitzpatrick; saw Fitzpatrick lifted by Clark and the nurse +over the sill, lowered like a wooden tie, whirling and swinging, down +into twenty arms below. Before the trainmen had got the engineer loose, +the nurse, following, slid like a cat down the incline; but not an +instant too soon. A tongue of flame lit the gable from below and licked +the horse-hair up into a curling, frizzling thread; and Siclone stood +alone in the upper casement. + +It seemed for the moment he stood there the crowd would go mad. The +shock and the shouting seemed to confuse him; it may have been the hot +air took his breath. They yelled to him to jump; but he swayed +uncertainly. Once, an instant after that, he was seen to look down; then +he drew back from the casement. I never saw him again. + +The flames wrapped the building in a yellow fury; by daylight the big +barracks were a smouldering pile of ruins. So little water was thrown +that it was nearly nightfall before we could get into the wreck. The +tragedy had blotted out the feud between the strikers and the new men. +Side by side they worked, as side by side Siclone and Fitzpatrick had +stood in the morning, striving to uncover the mystery of the missing +man. Next day twice as many men were in the ruins. + +Fitzpatrick, while we were searching, called continually for Siclone +Clark. We didn't tell him the truth; indeed, we didn't know it; nor do +we yet know it. Every brace, every beam, every brick was taken from the +charred pile. Every foot of cinders, every handful of ashes sifted; but +of a human being the searchers found never a trace. Not a bone, not a +key, not a knife, not a button which could be identified as his. Like +the smoke which swallowed him up, he had disappeared completely and +forever. + + * * * * * + +Is he alive? I cannot tell. + +But this I know. + +Years afterwards Sidney Blair, head of our engineering department, was +running a line, looking then, as we are looking yet, for a coast outlet. + +He took only a flying camp with him, travelling in the lightest kind of +order, camping often with the cattlemen he ran across. + +One night, away down in the Panhandle, they fell in with an outfit +driving a bunch of steers up the Yellow Grass trail. Blair noted that +the foreman was a character. A man of few words, but of great muscular +strength; and, moreover, frightfully scarred. + +He was silent and inclined to be morose at first, but after he learned +Blair was from McCloud he unbent a bit, and after a time began asking +questions which indicated a surprising familiarity with the northern +country and with our road. In particular, this man asked what had become +of Bucks, and, when told what a big railroad man he had grown, asserted, +with a sudden bitterness and without in any way leading up to it, that +with Bucks on the West End there never would have been a strike. + +Sitting at their camp-fire while their crews mingled, Blair noticed in +the flicker of the blaze how seamed the throat and breast of the +cattleman were; even his sinewy forearms were drawn out of shape. He +asked, too, whether Blair recollected the night the barracks burned; but +Blair at that time was east of the river, and so explained, though he +related to the cowboy incidents of the fire which he had heard, among +others the story of Fitzpatrick and Siclone Clark. + +"And Fitzpatrick is alive and Siclone is dead," said Blair, in +conclusion. But the cowboy disputed him. + +"You mean Clark is alive and Fitzpatrick is dead," said he. + +"No," contended Sidney, "Fitzpatrick is running an engine up there now. +I saw him within three months." But the cowboy was loath to conviction. + +Next morning their trails forked. The foreman seemed disinclined to part +from the surveyors, and while the bunch was starting he rode a long way +with Blair, talking in a random way. Then, suddenly wheeling, he waved a +good-bye with his heavy Stetson and, galloping hard, was soon lost to +the north in the ruts of the Yellow Grass. + +When Blair came in he told Neighbor and me about it. Blair had never +seen Siclone Clark, and so was no judge as to his identity; but Neighbor +believes yet that Blair camped that night way down in the Panhandle +with no other than the cowboy engineer. + +Once again, that only two years ago, something came back to us. + +Holmes Kay, one of our staff of surgeons, the man, in fact, who took +care of Fitzpatrick, enlisted in Illinois and went with the First to +Cuba. They got in front of Santiago just after the hard fighting of July +1st, and Holmes was detailed for hospital work among Roosevelt's men, +who had suffered severely the day before. + +One of the wounded, a sergeant, had sustained a gunshot wound in the +jaw, and in the confusion had received scant attention. Kay took hold of +him. He was a cowboy, like most of the rough-riders, and after his jaw +was dressed Kay made some remark about the hot fire they had been +through before the block-house. + +"I've been through a hotter before I ever saw Cuba," answered the +rough-rider, as well as he could through his bandages. The remark +directed Kay's attention to the condition of his breast and neck, which +were a mass of scars. + +"Where are you from?" asked Holmes. + +"Everywhere." + +"Where did you get burned that way?" + +"Out on the plains." + +"How?" + +But the poor fellow went off into a delirium, and to the surgeon's +amazement began repeating train orders. Kay was paralyzed at the way he +talked our lingo--and a cowboy. When he left the wounded man for the +night he resolved to question him more closely the next day; but the +next day orders came to rejoin his regiment at the trenches. The +surrender shifted things about, and Kay, though he made repeated +inquiry, never saw the man again. + +Neighbor, when he heard the story, was only confirmed in his belief that +the rough-rider was Siclone Clark. I give you the tales as they came to +me, and for what you may make of them. + +I myself believe that if Siclone Clark is still alive he will one day +yet come back to where he was best known and, in spite of his faults, +best liked. They talk of him out there as they do of old man Sankey. + +I say I believe if he lives he will one day come back. The day he does +will be a great day in McCloud. On that day Fitzpatrick will have to +take down the little tablet which he placed in the brick façade of the +hotel which now stands on the site of the old barracks. For, as that +tablet now stands, it is sacred to the memory of Siclone Clark. + + +THE END + + + + +BY FREDERIC REMINGTON + + +SUNDOWN LEFLARE. + +Short Stories. Illustrations by the Author. + +Sundown Leflare is not idealized in Mr. Remington's handling of him. He +is presented just as he is, with his good-humor and shrewdness and +indomitable pluck, and also with all his superstition and his knavery. +But he is a very realistic, very human character, and one whom we would +see and read more of hereafter.--_Boston Journal._ + + +CROOKED TRAILS. + +Illustrated by the Author. + +Mr. Remington as author and artist presents a perfect +combination.--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ + +Picture and text go to form a whole which the reader could not well +grasp were it not for the supplementary quality of each in its bearing +upon the other.--_Albany Journal._ + + +PONY TRACKS. + +Illustrated by the Author. + +This is a spicy account of real experiences among Indians and cowboys on +the plains and in the mountains, and will be read with a great deal of +interest by all who are fond of an adventurous life. No better +illustrated book of frontier adventure has been published.--_Boston +Journal._ + + + + +BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS + + +A YEAR FROM A REPORTER'S NOTE-BOOK. + +Illustrated by R. CATON WOODVILLE, T. de THULSTRUP, and FREDERIC +REMINGTON, and from Photographs taken by the Author. + +THREE GRINGOS IN VENEZUELA AND CENTRAL AMERICA. + +Illustrated. + + +ABOUT PARIS. + +Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON. + + +THE PRINCESS ALINE. + +Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON. + + +THE EXILES, AND OTHER STORIES. + +Illustrated. + + +VAN BIBBER, AND OTHERS. + +Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON + + +THE WEST FROM A CAR-WINDOW. + +Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON. + +OUR ENGLISH COUSINS. + +Illustrated. + + +THE RULERS OF THE MEDITERRANEAN. + +Illustrated. + +Mr. Davis has eyes to see, is not a bit afraid to tell what he sees, and +is essentially good natured.... Mr. Davis's faculty of appreciation and +enjoyment is fresh and strong: he makes vivid pictures.--_Outlook_, N. +Y. + +Richard Harding Davis never writes a short story that he does not prove +himself a master of the art.--_Chicago Times._ + + + + +BY JOHN FOX, Jr. + + +A MOUNTAIN EUROPA. + +With Portrait. + + The story is well worth careful reading for its literary art + and its truth to a phase of little-known American life.--_Omaha + Bee_. + + +THE KENTUCKIANS. + +A Novel. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. + + This, Mr. Fox's first long story, sets him well in view, and + distinguishes him as at once original and sound. He takes the + right view of the story-writer's function and the wholesale + view of what the art of fiction can rightfully + attempt.--_Independent_, N. Y. + + +"HELL FER SARTAIN," and Other Stories. + + Mr. Fox has made a great success of his pictures of the rude + life and primitive passions of the people of the mountains of + West Virginia and Kentucky. His sketches are short but graphic; + he paints his scenes and his hill people in terse and simple + phrases and makes them genuinely picturesque, giving us + glimpses of life that are distinctively American.--_Detroit + Free Press_. + + +A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA, and Other Stories. + +Illustrated. + + These stories are tempestuously alive, and sweep the + heart-strings with a master-hand.--_Watchman_, Boston. + + + + +BY FRANK R. STOCKTON + + +THE ASSOCIATE HERMITS. + +A Novel. Illustrated by A. B. FROST. + + If there is a more droll or more delightful writer now living + than Mr. Frank R. Stockton we should be slow to make his + acquaintance, on the ground that the limit of safety might be + passed.... Mr. Stockton's humor asserts itself admirably, and + the story is altogether enjoyable.--_Independent_, N. Y. + + The interest never flags, and there is nothing intermittent + about the sparkling humor.--_Philadelphia Press_. + + +THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS. + +A Novel. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. + + The scene of Mr. Stockton's novel is laid in the twentieth + century, which is imagined as the culmination of our era of + science and invention. The main episodes are a journey to the + centre of the earth by means of a pit bored by an automatic + cartridge, and a journey to the North Pole beneath the ice of + the Polar Seas. These adventures Mr. Stockton describes with + such simplicity and conviction that the reader is apt to take + the story in all seriousness until he suddenly runs into some + gigantic pleasantry of the kind that was unknown before Mr. + Stockton began writing, and realizes that the novel is a grave + and elaborate bit of fooling, based upon the scientific fads of + the day. The book is richly illustrated by Peter Newell, the + one artist of modern times who is suited to interpret Mr. + Stockton's characters and situations. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nerve of Foley, by Frank H. 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Spearman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Nerve of Foley + And Other Railroad Stories + +Author: Frank H. Spearman + +Release Date: October 4, 2010 [EBook #33947] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NERVE OF FOLEY *** + + + + +Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h1>THE NERVE OF FOLEY</h1> + +<h2>AND OTHER RAILROAD STORIES</h2> + +<h2>BY FRANK H. SPEARMAN</h2> + + +<h3>ILLUSTRATED</h3> + +<h3>NEW YORK AND LONDON</h3> + +<h3>HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> +1900</h3> + +<h3>Copyright, 1900, by <span class="smcap">Frank H. Spearman</span>.</h3> + +<h3><i>All rights reserved.</i></h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3>TO<br /> +MY BROTHER</h3> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="front" id="front"></a> +<img src="images/front.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"FOLEY DROPPED DOWN ON THE STEAM-CHEST AND SWUNG FAR OUT"</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#The_Nerve_of_Foley">The Nerve of Foley</a><br /> +<a href="#Second_Seventy-Seven">Second Seventy-Seven</a><br /> +<a href="#The_Kid_Engineer">The Kid Engineer</a><br /> +<a href="#The_Sky-Scraper">The Sky-Scraper</a><br /> +<a href="#Soda-Water_Sal">Soda-Water Sal</a><br /> +<a href="#The_McWilliams_Special">The McWilliams Special</a><br /> +<a href="#The_Million-Dollar_Freight-Train">The Million-Dollar Freight-Train</a><br /> +<a href="#Bucks">Bucks</a><br /> +<a href="#Sankeys_Double_Header">Sankey's Double Header</a><br /> +<a href="#Siclone_Clark">Siclone Clark</a><br /><br /> +<a href="#BY_FREDERIC_REMINGTON">BY FREDERIC REMINGTON</a><br /> +<a href="#BY_RICHARD_HARDING_DAVIS">BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS</a><br /> +<a href="#BY_JOHN_FOX_Jr">BY JOHN FOX, Jr.</a><br /> +<a href="#BY_FRANK_R_STOCKTON">BY FRANK R. STOCKTON</a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> + + +<p><a href="#front">"FOLEY DROPPED DOWN ON THE STEAM-CHEST AND SWUNG FAR OUT"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus1">"THE CAB FOR A PASSING INSTANT ROSE IN THE AIR</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus2">"THAT WAS BURNS'S FIRING THAT NIGHT"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#illus3">"SINCLAIR WAS WHISTLING SHARPLY FOR ORDERS"</a></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Nerve_of_Foley" id="The_Nerve_of_Foley"></a>The Nerve of Foley</h2> + + +<p>There had been rumors all winter that the engineers were going to +strike. Certainly we of the operating department had warning enough. Yet +in the railroad life there is always friction in some quarter; the +railroad man sleeps like the soldier, with an ear alert—but just the +same he sleeps, for with waking comes duty.</p> + +<p>Our engineers were good fellows. If they had faults, they were American +faults—rashness, a liberality bordering on extravagance, and a +headstrong, violent way of reaching conclusions—traits born of ability +and self-confidence and developed by prosperity.</p> + +<p>One of the best men we had on a locomotive was Andrew Cameron; at the +same time he was one of the hardest to manage, because he was young and +headstrong. Andy, a big, powerful fellow, ran opposite Felix Kennedy on +the Flyer. The fast runs require young men. If you will notice, you will +rarely see an old engineer on a fast passenger run; even a young man can +stand only a few years of that kind of work. High speed on a locomotive +is a question of nerve and endurance—to put it bluntly, a question of +flesh and blood.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>"You don't think much of this strike, do you, Mr. Reed?" said Andy to me +one night.</p> + +<p>"Don't think there's going to be any, Andy."</p> + +<p>He laughed knowingly.</p> + +<p>"What actual grievance have the boys?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"The trouble's on the East End," he replied, evasively.</p> + +<p>"Is that any reason for calling a thousand men out on this end?"</p> + +<p>"If one goes out, they all go."</p> + +<p>"Would you go out?"</p> + +<p>"Would I? You bet!"</p> + +<p>"A man with a home and a wife and a baby boy like yours ought to have +more sense."</p> + +<p>Getting up to leave, he laughed again confidently. "That's all right. +We'll bring you fellows to terms."</p> + +<p>"Maybe," I retorted, as he closed the door. But I hadn't the slightest +idea they would begin the attempt that night. I was at home and sound +asleep when the caller tapped on my window. I threw up the sash; it was +pouring rain and dark as a pocket.</p> + +<p>"What is it, Barney? A wreck?" I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>"Worse than that. Everything's tied up."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>"The engineers have struck."</p> + +<p>"Struck? What time is it?"</p> + +<p>"Half-past three. They went out at three o'clock." Throwing on my +clothes, I floundered behind Barney's lantern to the depot. The +superintendent was already in his office talking to the master-mechanic.</p> + +<p>Bulletins came in every few minutes from various points announcing +trains tied up. Before long we began to hear from the East End. Chicago +reported all engineers out; Omaha wired, no trains moving. When the sun +rose that morning our entire system, extending through seven States and +Territories, was absolutely paralyzed.</p> + +<p>It was an astounding situation, but one that must be met. It meant +either an ignominious surrender to the engineers or a fight to the +death. For our part, we had only to wait for orders. It was just six +o'clock when the chief train-dispatcher who was tapping at a key, said:</p> + +<p>"Here's something from headquarters."</p> + +<p>We crowded close around him. His pen flew across the clip; the message +was addressed to all division superintendents. It was short; but at the +end of it he wrote a name we rarely saw in our office. It was that of +the railroad magnate we knew as "the old man," the president of the +system, and his words were few:</p> + +<p>"Move the trains."</p> + +<p>"Move the trains!" repeated the superintendent. "Yes; but trains can't +be moved by pinch-bars nor by main force."</p> + +<p>We spent the day arguing with the strikers. They were friendly, but +firm. Persuasion, entreaties, threats, we exhausted, and ended just +where we began, except that we had lost our tempers. The sun set without +the turn of a wheel. The victory of the first day was certainly with the +strikers.</p> + +<p>Next day it looked pretty blue around the depot. Not a car was moved; +the engineers and firemen were a unit. But the wires sung hard all that +day and all that night. Just before midnight Chicago wired that No. +1—our big passenger-train, the Denver Flyer—had started out on time, +with the superintendent of motive power as engineer and a wiper for +fireman. The message came from the second vice-president. He promised to +deliver the train to our division on time the next evening, and he +asked, "Can you get it through to Denver?"</p> + +<p>We looked at each other. At last all eyes gravitated towards Neighbor, +our master-mechanic.</p> + +<p>The train-dispatcher was waiting. "What shall I say?" he asked.</p> + +<p>The division chief of the motive power was a tremendously big Irishman, +with a voice like a fog-horn. Without an instant's hesitation the answer +came clear,</p> + +<p>"Say 'yes'!"</p> + +<p>Every one of us started. It was throwing the gage of battle. Our word +had gone out; the division was pledged; the fight was on.</p> + +<p>Next evening the strikers, through some mysterious channel, got word +that the Flyer was expected. About nine o'clock a crowd of them began to +gather round the depot.</p> + +<p>It was after one o'clock when No. 1 pulled in and the foreman of the +Omaha round-house swung down from the locomotive cab. The strikers +clustered around the engine like a swarm of angry bees; but that night, +though there was plenty of jeering, there was no actual violence. When +they saw Neighbor climb into the cab to take the run west there was a +sullen silence.</p> + +<p>Next day a committee of strikers, with Andy Cameron, very cavalier, at +their head, called on me.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Reed," said he, officiously, "we've come to notify you not to run +any more trains through here till this strike's settled. The boys won't +stand it; that's all." With that he turned on his heel to leave with his +following.</p> + +<p>"Hold on, Cameron," I replied, raising my hand as I spoke; "that's not +quite all. I suppose you men represent your grievance committee?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"I happen to represent, in the superintendent's absence, the management +of this road. I simply want to say to you, and to your committee, that I +take my orders from the president and the general manager—not from you +nor anybody you represent. That's all."</p> + +<p>Every hour the bitterness increased. We got a few trains through, but we +were terribly crippled. As for freight, we made no pretence of moving +it. Trainloads of fruit and meat rotted in the yards. The strikers grew +more turbulent daily. They beat our new men and crippled our +locomotives. Then our troubles with the new men were almost as bad. They +burned out our crown sheets; they got mixed up on orders all the time. +They ran into open switches and into each other continually, and had us +very nearly crazy.</p> + +<p>I kept tab on one of the new engineers for a week. He began by backing +into a diner so hard that he smashed every dish in the car, and ended by +running into a siding a few days later and setting two tanks of oil on +fire, that burned up a freight depot. I figured he cost us forty +thousand dollars the week he ran. Then he went back to selling +windmills.</p> + +<p>After this experience I was sitting in my office one evening, when a +youngish fellow in a slouch-hat opened the door and stuck his head in.</p> + +<p>"What do you want?" I growled.</p> + +<p>"Are you Mr. Reed?"</p> + +<p>"What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"I want to speak to Mr. Reed."</p> + +<p>"Well, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Are you Mr. Reed?"</p> + +<p>"Confound you, yes! What do you want?"</p> + +<p>"Me? I don't want anything. I'm just asking, that's all."</p> + +<p>His impudence staggered me so that I took my feet off the desk.</p> + +<p>"Heard you were looking for men," he added.</p> + +<p>"No," I snapped. "I don't want any men."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't be any show to get on an engine, would there?"</p> + +<p>A week earlier I should have risen and fallen on his neck. But there had +been others.</p> + +<p>"There's a show to get your head broke," I suggested.</p> + +<p>"I don't mind that, if I get my time."</p> + +<p>"What do you know about running an engine?"</p> + +<p>"Run one three years."</p> + +<p>"On a threshing-machine?"</p> + +<p>"On the Philadelphia and Reading."</p> + +<p>"Who sent you in here?"</p> + +<p>"Just dropped in."</p> + +<p>"Sit down."</p> + +<p>I eyed him sharply as he dropped into a chair.</p> + +<p>"When did you quit the Philadelphia and Reading?"</p> + +<p>"About six months ago."</p> + +<p>"Fired?"</p> + +<p>"Strike."</p> + +<p>I began to get interested. After a few more questions I took him into +the superintendent's office. But at the door I thought it well to drop a +hint.</p> + +<p>"Look here, my friend, if you're a spy you'd better keep out of this. +This man would wring your neck as quick as he'd suck an orange. See?"</p> + +<p>"Let's tackle him, anyhow," replied the fellow, eying me coolly.</p> + +<p>I introduced him to Mr. Lancaster, and left them together. Pretty soon +the superintendent came into my office.</p> + +<p>"What do you make of him, Reed?" said he.</p> + +<p>"What do you make of him?"</p> + +<p>Lancaster studied a minute.</p> + +<p>"Take him over to the round-house and see what he knows."</p> + +<p>I walked over with the new find, chatting warily. When we reached a live +engine I told him to look it over. He threw off his coat, picked up a +piece of waste, and swung into the cab.</p> + +<p>"Run her out to the switch," said I, stepping up myself.</p> + +<p>He pinched the throttle, and we steamed slowly out of the house. A +minute showed he was at home on an engine.</p> + +<p>"Can you handle it?" I asked, as he shut off after backing down to the +round-house.</p> + +<p>"You use soft coal," he replied, trying the injector. "I'm used to hard. +This injector is new to me. Guess I can work it, though."</p> + +<p>"What did you say your name was?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say."</p> + +<p>"What is it?" I asked, curtly.</p> + +<p>"Foley."</p> + +<p>"Well, Foley, if you have as much sense as you have gall you ought to +get along. If you act straight, you'll never want a job again as long as +you live. If you don't, you won't want to live very long."</p> + +<p>"Got any tobacco?"</p> + +<p>"Here, Baxter," said I, turning to the round-house foreman, "this is +Foley. Give him a chew, and mark him up to go out on 77 to-night. If he +monkeys with anything around the house kill him."</p> + +<p>Baxter looked at Foley, and Foley looked at Baxter; and Baxter not +getting the tobacco out quick enough, Foley reminded him he was waiting.</p> + +<p>We didn't pretend to run freights, but I concluded to try the fellow on +one, feeling sure that if he was crooked he would ditch it and skip.</p> + +<p>So Foley ran a long string of empties and a car or two of rotten oranges +down to Harvard Junction that night, with one of the dispatchers for +pilot. Under my orders they had a train made up at the junction for him +to bring back to McCloud. They had picked up all the strays in the +yards, including half a dozen cars of meat that the local board of +health had condemned after it had laid out in the sun for two weeks, and +a car of butter we had been shifting around ever since the beginning of +the strike.</p> + +<p>When the strikers saw the stuff coming in next morning behind Foley they +concluded I had gone crazy.</p> + +<p>"What do you think of the track, Foley?" said I.</p> + +<p>"Fair," he replied, sitting down on my desk. "Stiff hill down there by +Zanesville."</p> + +<p>"Any trouble to climb it?" I asked, for I had purposely given him a +heavy train.</p> + +<p>"Not with that car of butter. If you hold that butter another week it +will climb a hill without any engine."</p> + +<p>"Can you handle a passenger-train?"</p> + +<p>"I guess so."</p> + +<p>"I'm going to send you west on No. 1 to-night."</p> + +<p>"Then you'll have to give me a fireman. That guy you sent out last night +is a lightning-rod-peddler. The dispatcher threw most of the coal."</p> + +<p>"I'll go with you myself, Foley. I can give you steam. Can you stand it +to double back to-night?"</p> + +<p>"I can stand it if you can."</p> + +<p>When I walked into the round-house in the evening, with a pair of +overalls on, Foley was in the cab getting ready for the run.</p> + +<p>Neighbor brought the Flyer in from the East. As soon as he had uncoupled +and got out of the way we backed down with the 448. It was the best +engine we had left, and, luckily for my back, an easy steamer. Just as +we coupled to the mail-car a crowd of strikers swarmed out of the dusk. +They were in an ugly mood, and when Andy Cameron and Bat Nicholson +sprang up into the cab I saw we were in for trouble.</p> + +<p>"Look here, partner," exclaimed Cameron, laying a heavy hand on Foley's +shoulder; "you don't want to take this train out, do you? You wouldn't +beat honest working-men out of a job?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not beating anybody out of a job. If you want to take out this +train, take it out. If you don't, get out of this cab."</p> + +<p>Cameron was nonplussed. Nicholson, a surly brute, raised his fist +menacingly.</p> + +<p>"See here, boss," he growled, "we won't stand no scabs on this line."</p> + +<p>"Get out of this cab."</p> + +<p>"I'll promise you you'll never get out of it alive, my buck, if you ever +get into it again," cried Cameron, swinging down. Nicholson followed, +muttering angrily. I hoped we were out of the scrape, but, to my +consternation, Foley, picking up his oil-can, got right down behind +them, and began filling his cups without the least attention to anybody.</p> + +<p>Nicholson sprang on him like a tiger. The onslaught was so sudden that +they had him under their feet in a minute. I jumped down, and Ben +Buckley, the conductor, came running up. Between us we gave the little +fellow a life. He squirmed out like a cat, and backed instantly up +against the tender.</p> + +<p>"One at a time, and come on," he cried, hotly. "If it's ten to one, and +on a man's back at that, we'll do it different." With a quick, peculiar +movement of his arm he drew a pistol, and, pointing it squarely at +Cameron, cried, "Get back!"</p> + +<p>I caught a flash of his eye through the blood that streamed down his +face. I wouldn't have given a switch-key for the life of the man who +crowded him at that minute. But just then Lancaster came up, and before +the crowd realized it we had Foley, protesting angrily, back in the cab +again.</p> + +<p>"For Heaven's sake, pull out of this before there's bloodshed, Foley," I +cried; and, nodding to Buckley, Foley opened the choker.</p> + +<p>It was a night run and a new track to him. I tried to fire and pilot +both, but after Foley suggested once or twice that if I would tend to +the coal he would tend to the curves I let him find them—and he found +them all, I thought, before we got to Athens. He took big chances in his +running, but there was a superb confidence in his bursts of speed which +marked the fast runner and the experienced one.</p> + +<p>At Athens we had barely two hours to rest before doubling back. I was +never tired in my life till I struck the pillow that night, but before I +got it warm the caller routed me out again. The East-bound Flyer was on +time, or nearly so, and when I got into the cab for the run back, Foley +was just coupling on.</p> + +<p>"Did you get a nap?" I asked, as we pulled out.</p> + +<p>"No; we slipped an eccentric coming up, and I've been under the engine +ever since. Say, she's a bird, isn't she? She's all right. I couldn't +run her coming up; but I've touched up her valve motion a bit, and I'll +get action on her as soon as it's daylight."</p> + +<p>"Don't mind getting action on my account, Foley; I'm shy on life +insurance."</p> + +<p>He laughed.</p> + +<p>"You're safe with me. I never killed man, woman, or child in my life. +When I do, I quit the cab. Give her plenty of diamonds, if you please," +he added, letting her out full.</p> + +<p>He gave me the ride of my life; but I hated to show scare, he was so +coolly audacious himself. We had but one stop—for water—and after that +all down grade. We bowled along as easy as ninepins, but the pace was a +hair-raiser. After we passed Arickaree we never touched a thing but the +high joints. The long, heavy train behind us flew round the bluffs once +in a while like the tail of a very capricious kite; yet somehow—and +that's an engineer's magic—she always lit on the steel.</p> + +<p>Day broke ahead, and between breaths I caught the glory of a sunrise on +the plains from a locomotive-cab window. When the smoke of the McCloud +shops stained the horizon, remembering the ugly threats of the strikers, +I left my seat to speak to Foley.</p> + +<p>"I think you'd better swing off when you slow up for the yards and cut +across to the round-house," I cried, getting close to his ear, for we +were on terrific speed. He looked at me inquiringly. "In that way you +won't run into Cameron and his crowd at the depot," I added. "I can stop +her all right."</p> + +<p>He didn't take his eyes off the track. "I'll take the train to the +platform," said he.</p> + +<p>"Isn't that a crossing cut ahead?" he added, suddenly, as we swung round +a fill west of town.</p> + +<p>"Yes; and a bad one."</p> + +<p>He reached for the whistle and gave the long, warning screams. I set the +bell-ringer and stooped to open the furnace door to cool the fire, +when—chug!</p> + +<p>I flew up against the water-gauges like a coupling-pin. The monster +engine reared right up on her head. Scrambling to my feet, I saw the new +man clutching the air-lever with both hands, and every wheel on the +train was screeching. I jumped to his side and looked over his shoulder. +On the crossing just ahead a big white horse, dragging a buggy, plunged +and reared frantically. Standing on the buggy seat a baby boy clung +bewildered to the lazyback; not another soul in sight. All at once the +horse swerved sharply back; the buggy lurched half over; the lines +seemed to be caught around one wheel. The little fellow clung on; but +the crazy horse, instead of running, began a hornpipe right between the +deadly rails.</p> + +<p>I looked at Foley in despair. From the monstrous quivering leaps of the +great engine I knew the drivers were in the clutch of the mighty +air-brake; but the resistless momentum of the train was none the less +sweeping us down at deadly speed on the baby. Between the two tremendous +forces the locomotive shivered like a gigantic beast. I shrank back in +horror; but the little man at the throttle, throwing the last ounce of +air on the burning wheels, leaped from his box with a face transfigured.</p> + +<p>"Take her!" he cried, and, never shifting his eyes from the cut, he shot +through his open window and darted like a cat along the running-board to +the front.</p> + +<p>Not a hundred feet separated us from the crossing. I could see the +baby's curls blowing in the wind. The horse suddenly leaped from across +the track to the side of it; that left the buggy quartering with the +rails, but not twelve inches clear. The way the wheels were cramped a +single step ahead would throw the hind wheels into the train; a step +backward would shove the front wheels into it. It was appalling.</p> + +<p>Foley, clinging with one hand to a headlight bracket, dropped down on +the steam-chest and swung far out. As the cow-catcher shot past, Foley's +long arm dipped into the buggy like the sweep of a connecting-rod, and +caught the boy by the breeches. The impetus of our speed threw the child +high in the air, but Foley's grip was on the little overalls, and as the +youngster bounded back he caught it close. I saw the horse give a leap. +It sent the hind wheels into the corner of the baggage-car. There was a +crash like the report of a hundred rifles, and the buggy flew in the +air. The big horse was thrown fifty feet; but Foley, with a great light +in his eyes and the baby boy in his arm, crawled laughing into the cab.</p> + +<p>Thinking he would take the engine again, I tried to take the baby. Take +it? Well, I think not!</p> + +<p>"Hi! there, buster!" shouted the little engineer, wildly; "that's a +corking pair of breeches on you, son. I caught the kid right by the seat +of the pants," he called over to me, laughing hysterically. "Heavens! +little man, I wouldn't 've struck you for all the gold in Alaska. I've +got a chunk of a boy in Reading as much like him as a twin brother. What +were you doing all alone in that buggy? Whose kid do you suppose it is? +What's your name, son?"</p> + +<p>At his question I looked at the child again—and I started. I had +certainly seen him before; and, had I not, his father's features were +too well stamped on the childish face for me to be mistaken.</p> + +<p>"Foley," I cried, all amaze, "that's Cameron's boy—little Andy!"</p> + +<p>He tossed the baby the higher; he looked the happier; he shouted the +louder.</p> + +<p>"The deuce it is! Well, son, I'm mighty glad of it." And I certainly was +glad.</p> + +<p>In fact, mighty glad, as Foley expressed it, when we pulled up at the +depot, and I saw Andy Cameron with a wicked look pushing to the front +through the threatening crowd. With an ugly growl he made for Foley.</p> + +<p>"I've got business with you—you—"</p> + +<p>"I've got a little with you, son," retorted Foley, stepping leisurely +down from the cab. "I struck a buggy back here at the first cut, and I +hear it was yours." Cameron's eyes began to bulge. "I guess the outfit's +damaged some—all but the boy. Here, kid," he added, turning for me to +hand him the child, "here's your dad."</p> + +<p>The instant the youngster caught sight of his parent he set up a yell. +Foley, laughing, passed him into his astonished father's arms before the +latter could say a word. Just then a boy, running and squeezing through +the crowd, cried to Cameron that his horse had run away from the house +with the baby in the buggy, and that Mrs. Cameron was having a fit.</p> + +<p>Cameron stood like one daft—and the boy catching sight of the baby that +instant panted and stared in an idiotic state.</p> + +<p>"Andy," said I, getting down and laying a hand on his shoulder, "if +these fellows want to kill this man, let them do it alone—you'd better +keep out. Only this minute he has saved your boy's life."</p> + +<p>The sweat stood out on the big engineer's forehead like dew. I told the +story. Cameron tried to speak; but he tried again and again before he +could find his voice.</p> + +<p>"Mate," he stammered, "you've been through a strike yourself—you know +what it means, don't you? But if you've got a baby—" he gripped the boy +tighter to his shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I have, partner; three of 'em."</p> + +<p>"Then you know what this means," said Andy, huskily, putting out his +hand to Foley. He gripped the little man's fist hard, and, turning, +walked away through the crowd.</p> + +<p>Somehow it put a damper on the boys. Bat Nicholson was about the only +man left who looked as if he wanted to eat somebody; and Foley, slinging +his blouse over his shoulder, walked up to Bat and tapped him on the +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Stranger," said he, gently, "could you oblige me with a chew of +tobacco?"</p> + +<p>Bat glared at him an instant; but Foley's nerve won.</p> + +<p>Flushing a bit, Bat stuck his hand into his pocket; took it out; felt +hurriedly in the other pocket, and, with some confusion, acknowledged he +was short. Felix Kennedy intervened with a slab, and the three men fell +at once to talking about the accident.</p> + +<p>A long time afterwards some of the striking engineers were taken back, +but none of those who had been guilty of actual violence. This barred +Andy Cameron, who, though not worse than many others, had been less +prudent; and while we all felt sorry for him after the other boys had +gone to work, Lancaster repeatedly and positively refused to reinstate +him.</p> + +<p>Several times, though, I saw Foley and Cameron in confab, and one day up +came Foley to the superintendent's office, leading little Andy, in his +overalls, by the hand. They went into Lancaster's office together, and +the door was shut a long time.</p> + +<p>When they came out little Andy had a piece of paper in his hand.</p> + +<p>"Hang on to it, son," cautioned Foley; "but you can show it to Mr. Reed +if you want to."</p> + +<p>The youngster handed me the paper. It was an order directing Andrew +Cameron to report to the master-mechanic for service in the morning.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>I happened over at the round-house one day nearly a year later, when +Foley was showing Cameron a new engine, just in from the East. The two +men were become great cronies; that day they fell to talking over the +strike.</p> + +<p>"There was never but one thing I really laid up against this man," said +Cameron to me.</p> + +<p>"What's that?" asked Foley.</p> + +<p>"Why, the way you shoved that pistol into my face the first night you +took out No. 1."</p> + +<p>"I never shoved any pistol into your face." So saying, he stuck his hand +into his pocket with the identical motion he used that night of the +strike, and levelled at Andy, just as he had done then—a plug of +tobacco. "That's all I ever pulled on you, son; I never carried a pistol +in my life."</p> + +<p>Cameron looked at him, then he turned to me, with a tired expression:</p> + +<p>"I've seen a good many men, with a good many kinds of nerve, but I'll be +splintered if I ever saw any one man with all kinds of nerve till I +struck Foley."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Second_Seventy-Seven" id="Second_Seventy-Seven"></a>Second Seventy-Seven</h2> + + +<p>It is a bad grade yet. But before the new work was done on the river +division, Beverly Hill was a terror to trainmen.</p> + +<p>On rainy Sundays old switchmen in the Zanesville yards still tell in +their shanties of the night the Blackwood bridge went out and Cameron's +stock-train got away on the hill, with the Denver flyer caught at the +foot like a rat in a trap.</p> + +<p>Ben Buckley was only a big boy then, braking on freights; I was +dispatching under Alex Campbell on the West End. Ben was a tall, +loose-jointed fellow, but gentle as a kitten; legs as long as +pinch-bars, yet none too long, running for the Beverly switch that +night. His great chum in those days was Andy Cameron. Andy was the +youngest engineer on the line. The first time I ever saw them together, +Andy, short and chubby as a duck, was dancing around, half dressed, on +the roof of the bath-house, trying to get away from Ben, who had the +fire-hose below, playing on him with a two-inch stream of ice-water. +They were up to some sort of a prank all the time.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>June was usually a rush month with us. From the coast we caught the new +crop Japan teas and the fall importations of China silks. California +still sent her fruits, and Colorado was beginning cattle shipments. From +Wyoming came sheep, and from Oregon steers; and all these not merely in +car-loads, but in solid trains. At times we were swamped. The overland +traffic alone was enough to keep us busy; on top of it came a great +movement of grain from Nebraska that summer, and to crown our troubles a +rate war sprang up. Every man, woman, and child east of the Mississippi +appeared to have but one object in life—that was to get to California, +and to go over our road. The passenger traffic burdened our resources to +the last degree.</p> + +<p>I was putting on new men every day then. We start them at braking on +freights; usually they work for years at that before they get a train. +But when a train-dispatcher is short on crews he must have them, and can +only press the best material within reach. Ben Buckley had not been +braking three months when I called him up one day and asked him if he +wanted a train.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir, I'd like one first rate. But you know I haven't been braking +very long, Mr. Reed," said he, frankly.</p> + +<p>"How long have you been in the train service?"</p> + +<p>I spoke brusquely, though I knew, without even looking at my +service-card just how long it was.</p> + +<p>"Three months, Mr. Reed."</p> + +<p>It was right to a day.</p> + +<p>"I'll probably have to send you out on 77 this afternoon." I saw him +stiffen like a ramrod. "You know we're pretty short," I continued.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"But do you know enough to keep your head on your shoulders and your +train on your orders?"</p> + +<p>Ben laughed a little. "I think I do. Will there be two sections +to-day?"</p> + +<p>"They're loading eighteen cars of stock at Ogalalla; if we get any hogs +off the Beaver there will be two big sections. I shall mark you up for +the first one, anyway, and send you out right behind the flyer. Get your +badge and your punch from Carpenter—and whatever you do, Buckley, don't +get rattled."</p> + +<p>"No, sir; thank you, Mr. Reed."</p> + +<p>But his "thank you" was so pleasant I couldn't altogether ignore it; I +compromised with a cough. Perfect courtesy, even in the hands of the +awkwardest boy that ever wore his trousers short, is a surprisingly +handy thing to disarm gruff people with. Ben was undeniably awkward; his +legs were too long, and his trousers decidedly out of touch with his +feet; but I turned away with the conviction that in spite of his +gawkiness there was something to the boy. That night proved it.</p> + +<p>When the flyer pulled in from the West in the afternoon it carried two +extra sleepers. In all, eight Pullmans, and every one of them loaded to +the ventilators. While the train was changing engines and crews, the +excursionists swarmed out of the hot cars to walk up and down the +platform. They were from New York, and had a band with them—as jolly a +crowd as we ever hauled—and I noticed many boys and girls sprinkled +among the grown folks.</p> + +<p>As the heavy train pulled slowly out the band played, the women waved +handkerchiefs, and the boys shouted themselves hoarse—it was like a +holiday, everybody seemed so happy. All I hoped, as I saw the smoke of +the engine turn to dust on the horizon, was that I could get them over +my division and their lives safely off my hands. For a week we had had +heavy rains, and the bridges and track gave us worry.</p> + +<p>Half an hour after the flyer left, 77, the fast stock-freight, wound +like a great snake around the bluff, after it. Ben Buckley, tall and +straight as a pine, stood on the caboose. It was his first train, and he +looked as if he felt it.</p> + +<p>In the evening I got reports of heavy rains east of us, and after 77 +reported "out" of Turner Junction and pulled over the divide towards +Beverly, it was storming hard all along the line. By the time they +reached the hill Ben had his men out setting brakes—tough work on that +kind of a night; but when the big engine struck the bluff the heavy +train was well in hand, and it rolled down the long grade as gently as a +curtain.</p> + +<p>Ben was none too careful, for half-way down the hill they exploded +torpedoes. Through the driving storm the tail-lights of the flyer were +presently seen. As they pulled carefully ahead, Ben made his way through +the mud and rain to the head end and found the passenger-train stalled. +Just before them was Blackwood Creek, bank full, and the bridge swinging +over the swollen stream like a grape-vine.</p> + +<p>At the foot of Beverly Hill there is a siding—a long siding, once used +as a sort of cut-off to the upper Zanesville yards. This side track +parallels the main track for half a mile, and on this siding Ben, as +soon as he saw the situation, drew in with his train so that it lay +beside the passenger-train and left the main line clear behind. It then +became his duty to guard the track to the rear, where the second section +of the stock-train would soon be due.</p> + +<p>It was pouring rain and as dark as a pocket. He started his hind-end +brakeman back on the run with red lights and torpedoes to warn the +second section well up the hill. Then walking across from his caboose, +he got under the lee of the hind Pullman sleeper to watch for the +expected headlight.</p> + +<p>The storm increased in violence. It was not the rain driving in +torrents, not the lightning blazing, nor the deafening crashes of +thunder, that worried him, but the wind—it blew a gale. In the blare of +the lightning he could see the oaks which crowned the bluffs whip like +willows in the storm. It swept quartering down the Beverly cut as if it +would tear the ties from under the steel. Suddenly he saw, far up in the +black sky, a star blazing; it was the headlight of Second Seventy-Seven.</p> + +<p>A whistle cut the wind; then another. It was the signal for brakes; the +second section was coming down the steep grade. He wondered how far back +his man had got with the bombs. Even as he wondered he saw a yellow +flash below the headlight; it was the first torpedo. The second section +was already well down the top of the hill. Could they hold it to the +bottom?</p> + +<p>Like an answer came shorter and sharper the whistle for brakes. Ben +thought he knew who was on that engine; thought he knew that +whistle—for engineers whistle as differently as they talk. He still +hoped and believed—knowing who was on the engine—that the brakes would +hold the heavy load; but he feared—</p> + +<p>A man running up in the rain passed him. Ben shouted and held up his +lantern; it was his head brakeman.</p> + +<p>"Who's pulling Second Seventy-Seven?" he cried.</p> + +<p>"Andy Cameron."</p> + +<p>"How many air cars has he got?"</p> + +<p>"Six or eight," shouted Ben. "It's the wind, Daley—the wind. Andy can +hold her if anybody can. But the wind; did you ever see such a blow?"</p> + +<p>Even while he spoke the cry for brakes came a third time on the storm.</p> + +<p>A frightened Pullman porter opened the rear door of the sleeper. Five +hundred people lay in the excursion train, unconscious of this avalanche +rolling down upon them.</p> + +<p>The conductor of the flyer ran up to Ben in a panic.</p> + +<p>"Buckley, they'll telescope us."</p> + +<p>"Can you pull ahead any?"</p> + +<p>"The bridge is out."</p> + +<p>"Get out your passengers," said Ben's brakeman.</p> + +<p>"There's no time," cried the passenger conductor, wildly, running off. +He was panic-stricken. The porter tried to speak. He took hold of the +brakeman's arm, but his voice died in his throat; fear paralyzed him. +Down the wind came Cameron's whistle clamoring now in alarm. It meant +the worst, and Ben knew it. The stock-train was running away.</p> + +<p>There were plenty of things to do if there was only time; but there was +hardly time to think. The passenger crew were running about like men +distracted, trying to get the sleeping travellers out. Ben knew they +could not possibly reach a tenth of them. In the thought of what it +meant, an inspiration came like a flash.</p> + +<p>He seized his brakeman by the shoulder. For two weeks the man carried +the marks of his hand.</p> + +<p>"Daley!" he cried, in a voice like a pistol crack, "get those two +stockmen out of our caboose. Quick, man! I'm going to throw Cameron +into the cattle."</p> + +<p>It was a chance—single, desperate, but yet a chance—the only chance +that offered to save the helpless passengers in his charge.</p> + +<p>If he could reach the siding switch ahead of the runaway train, he could +throw the deadly catapult on the siding and into his own train, and so +save the unconscious travellers. Before the words were out of his mouth +he started up the track at topmost speed.</p> + +<p>The angry wind staggered him. It blew out his lantern, but he flung it +away, for he could throw the switch in the dark. A sharp gust tore half +his rain-coat from his back; ripping off the rest, he ran on. When the +wind took his breath he turned his back and fought for another. Blinding +sheets of rain poured on him; water streaming down the track caught his +feet; a slivered tie tripped him, and, falling headlong, the sharp +ballast cut his wrists and knees like broken glass. In desperate haste +he dashed ahead again; the headlight loomed before him like a mountain +of flame. There was light enough now through the sheets of rain that +swept down on him, and there ahead, the train almost on it, was the +switch.</p> + +<p>Could he make it?</p> + +<p>A cry from the sleeping children rose in his heart. Another breath, an +instant floundering, a slipping leap, and he had it. He pushed the key +into the lock, threw the switch and snapped it, and, to make deadly +sure, braced himself against the target-rod. Then he looked.</p> + +<p>No whistling now; it was past that. He knew the fireman would have +jumped. Cameron too? No, not Andy, not if the pit yawned in front of his +pilot.</p> + +<p>He saw streams of fire flying from many wheels—he felt the glare of a +dazzling light—and with a rattling crash the ponies shot into the +switch. The bar in his hands rattled as if it would jump from the +socket, and, lurching frightfully, the monster took the siding. A flare +of lightning lit the cab as it shot past, and he saw Cameron leaning +from the cab window, with face of stone, his eyes riveted on the +gigantic drivers that threw a sheet of fire from the sanded rails.</p> + +<p>"Jump!" screamed Ben, useless as he knew it was. What voice could live +in that hell of noise? What man escape from that cab now?</p> + +<p>One, two, three, four cars pounded over the split rails in half as many +seconds. Ben, running dizzily for life to the right, heard above the +roar of the storm and screech of the sliding wheels a ripping, tearing +crash, the harsh scrape of escaping steam, the hoarse cries of the +wounded cattle. And through the dreadful dark and the fury of the babel +the wind howled in a gale and the heavens poured a flood.</p> + +<p>Trembling from excitement and exhaustion, Ben staggered down the main +track. A man with a lantern ran against him; it was the brakeman who had +been back with the torpedoes; he was crying hysterically.</p> + +<p>They stumbled over a body. Seizing the lantern, Ben turned the prostrate +man over and wiped the mud from his face. Then he held the lantern +close, and gave a great cry. It was Andy Cameron—unconscious, true, but +soon very much alive, and no worse than badly bruised. How the good God +who watches over plucky engineers had thrown him out from the horrible +wreckage only He knew. But there Andy lay; and with a lighter heart Ben +headed a wrecking crew to begin the task of searching for any who might +by fatal chance have been caught in the crash.</p> + +<p>And while the trainmen of the freights worked at the wreck the +passenger-train was backed slowly—so slowly and so smoothly—up over +the switch and past, over the hill and past, and so to Turner Junction, +and around by Oxford to Zanesville.</p> + +<p>When the sun rose the earth glowed in the freshness of its June +shower-bath. The flyer, now many miles from Beverly Hill, was speeding +in towards Omaha, and mothers waking their little ones in the berths +told them how close death had passed while they slept. The little girls +did not quite understand it, though they tried very hard, and were very +grateful to That Man, whom they never saw and whom they would never see. +But the little boys—never mind the little boys—they understood it, to +the youngest urchin on the train, and fifty times their papas had to +tell them how far Ben ran and how fast to save their lives. And one +little boy—I wish I knew his name—went with his papa to the +depot-master at Omaha when the flyer stopped, and gave him his toy +watch, and asked him please to give it to That Man who had saved his +mamma's life by running so far in the rain, and please to tell him how +much obliged he was—if he would be so kind.</p> + +<p>So the little toy watch came to our superintendent, and so to me; and I, +sitting at Cameron's bedside, talking the wreck over with Ben, gave it +to him; and the big fellow looked as pleased as if it had been a +jewelled chronometer; indeed, that was the only medal Ben got.</p> + +<p>The truth is we had no gold medals to distribute out on the West End in +those days. We gave Ben the best we had, and that was a passenger run. +But he is a great fellow among the railroad men. And on stormy nights +switchmen in the Zanesville yards, smoking in their shanties, still tell +of that night, that storm, and how Ben Buckley threw Second +Seventy-Seven at the foot of Beverly Hill.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Kid_Engineer" id="The_Kid_Engineer"></a>The Kid Engineer</h2> + + +<p>When the big strike caught us at Zanesville we had one hundred and +eighty engineers and firemen on the pay-roll. One hundred and +seventy-nine of these men walked out. One fireman—just one—stayed with +the company; that was Dad Hamilton.</p> + +<p>"Yes," growled Dad, combating the protests of the strikers' committee, +"I know it. I belong to your lodge. But I'll tell you now—an' I've told +you afore—I ain't goin' to strike on the company so long as Neighbor is +master-mechanic on this division. Ain't a-goin' to do it, an' you might +as well quit. 'F you jaw here from now till Christmas 'twon't change my +mind nar a bit."</p> + +<p>And they didn't change it. Through the calm and through the storm—and +it stormed hard for a while—Dad Hamilton, whenever we could supply him +with an engineer, fired religiously.</p> + +<p>No other man in the service could have done it without getting killed; +but Dad was old enough to father any man among the strikers. Moreover, +he was a giant physically, and eccentric enough to move along through +the heat of the crisis indifferent to the abuse of the other men. His +gray hairs and his tremendous physical strength saved him from personal +violence.</p> + +<p>Our master-mechanic, "Neighbor," was another big man—six feet an inch +in his stockings, and strong as a draw-bar. Between Neighbor and the old +fireman there existed some sort of a bond—a liking, an affinity. Dad +Hamilton had fired on our division ten years. There was no promotion for +Dad; he could never be an engineer, though only Neighbor knew why. But +his job of firing on the river division was sure as long as Neighbor +signed the pay-rolls at the round-house.</p> + +<p>Hence there was no surprise when the superintendent offered him an +engine, just after the strike, that Dad refused to take it.</p> + +<p>"I'm a fireman, and Neighbor knows it. I ain't no engineer. I'll make +steam for any man you put in the cab with me, but I won't touch a +throttle for no man. I laid it down, and I'll never pinch it again—an' +no offence t' you, Neighbor, neither."</p> + +<p>Thus ended negotiations with Dad on that subject; threats and entreaties +were useless. Then, too, in spite of his professed willingness to throw +coal for any man we put on his engine, he was continually rowing about +the green runners we gave him. From the standpoint of a railroad man +they were a tough assortment; for a fellow may be a good painter, or a +handy man with a jack-plane, or an expert machinist, even, and yet a +failure as an engine-runner.</p> + +<p>After we got hold of Foley, Neighbor put him on awhile with Dad, and the +grizzled fireman quickly declared that Foley was the only man on the +pay-roll who knew how to move a train.</p> + +<p>The little chap proved such a remarkable find that I tried hard to get +some of his Eastern chums to come out and join him. After a good bit of +hustling we did get half a dozen more Reading boys for our new corps of +engine-men, but the East-End officials kept all but one of them on +their own divisions. That one we got because nobody on the East End +wanted him.</p> + +<p>"They've crimped the whole bunch, Foley," said I, answering his +inquiries. "There's just one fellow reported here—he came in on 5 this +morning. Neighbor's had a little talk with him; but he doesn't think +much of him. I guess we're out the transportation on that fellow."</p> + +<p>"What's his name?" asked Foley. "Is he off the Reading?"</p> + +<p>"Claims he is; his name is McNeal—"</p> + +<p>"McNeal?" echoed Foley, surprised. "Not Georgie McNeal?"</p> + +<p>"I don't know what his first name is; he's nothing but a boy."</p> + +<p>"Dark-complexioned fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Perhaps you'd call him that; sort of soft-spoken."</p> + +<p>"Georgie McNeal, sure's you're born. If you've got him you've got a +bird. He ran opposite me between New York and Philadelphia on the +limited. I want to see him, right off. If it's Georgie, you're all +right."</p> + +<p>Foley's talk went a good ways with me any time. When I told Neighbor +about it he pricked up his ears. While we were debating, in rushed +Foley with the young fellow—the kid—as he called him. Neighbor made +another survey of the ground in short order: run a new line, as Foley +would have said. The upshot of it was that McNeal was assigned to an +engine straightway.</p> + +<p>As luck would have it, Neighbor put the boy on the 244 with Dad +Hamilton; and Dad proceeded at once to make what Foley termed "a great +roar."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" demanded Neighbor, roughly, when the old fireman +complained.</p> + +<p>"If you're goin' to pull these trains with boys I guess it's time for me +to quit; I'm gettin' pretty old, anyhow."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" growled Neighbor, still surlier, knowing full well +that if the old fellow had a good reason he would have blurted it out at +the start.</p> + +<p>"Nothin's the matter; only I'd like my time."</p> + +<p>"You won't get it," said Neighbor, roughly. "Go back on your run. If +McNeal don't behave, report him to me, and he'll get his time."</p> + +<p>It was a favorite trick of Neighbor's. Whenever the old fireman got to +"bucking" about his engineer, the master-mechanic threatened to +discharge the engineer. That settled it; Dad Hamilton wouldn't for the +world be the cause of throwing another man out of a job, no matter how +little he liked him.</p> + +<p>The old fellow went back to work mollified; but it was evident that he +and McNeal didn't half get on together. The boy was not much of a +talker; yet he did his work well; and Neighbor said, next to Foley, he +was the best man we had.</p> + +<p>"What's the reason Hamilton and McNeal can't hit it off, Foley?" I asked +one night.</p> + +<p>"They'll get along all right after a while," predicted Foley. "You know +the old man's stubborn as a dun mule, ain't he? The injectors bother +Georgie some; they did me. He'll get used to things. But Dad thinks he's +green—that's what's the matter. The kid is high-spirited, and seeing +the old man's kind of got it in for him he won't ask him anything. Dad's +sore about that, too. Georgie won't knuckle to anybody that don't treat +him right."</p> + +<p>"You'd better tell McNeal to humor the old crank," I suggested; and I +believe Foley did so, but it didn't do any good. Sometimes those things +have to work themselves out without outside help. In the end this thing +did, but in a way none of us looked for.</p> + +<p>About a week later Foley came into the office one morning very much +excited.</p> + +<p>"Did you hear about the boy's getting pounded last night—Georgie +McNeal? It's a shame the way these fellows act. Three of the strikers +piled on him while he was going into the post-office, and thumped the +life out of him. The cowardly hounds, to jump on a man's back that way!"</p> + +<p>"Foley," said I, "that's the first time they've tackled one of Dad +Hamilton's engineers."</p> + +<p>"They'd never have done it if they thought there was any danger of Dad's +getting after them. They know he doesn't like the boy."</p> + +<p>"It's an outrage; but we can't do anything. You know that. Tell McNeal +to keep away from the post-office. We'll get his mail for him."</p> + +<p>"I told him that this morning. He's in bed, and looks pretty hard. But +he won't dodge those fellows. He claims it's a free country," grinned +Foley. "But I told him he'd get over that idea if he stuck out this +trouble."</p> + +<p>It was three days before McNeal was able to report for work, though he +received full time just the same. Even then he wasn't fit for duty, but +he begged Neighbor for his run until he got it. The strikers were +jubilant while the boy was laid up; but just what Dad thought no one +could find out. I wanted to tell the old growler what I thought of him, +but Foley said it wouldn't do any good, and might do harm, so I held my +peace.</p> + +<p>One might have thought that the injustice and brutality of the thing +would have roused him; but men who have repressed themselves till they +are gray-headed don't rise in a hurry to resent a wrong. Dad kept as +mute as the Sphinx. When McNeal was ready to go out the old fireman had +the 244 shining; but if the pale face of his engineer had any effect on +him, he kept it to himself.</p> + +<p>As they rattled down the line with a long stock-train that night neither +of them referred to the break in their run. Coming back next night the +same silence hung over the cab. The only words that passed over the +boiler-head were "strickly business," as Dad would say.</p> + +<p>At Oxford they were laid out by a Pullman special. It was three o'clock +in the morning and raining hard. Under such circumstances an hour seems +all night. At last Dad himself broke the unsupportable silence.</p> + +<p>"He'd have waited a good bit longer if he had waited for me to talk," +said the boy, telling Foley afterwards.</p> + +<p>"Heard you got licked," growled Dad, after tinkering with the fire for +the twentieth time.</p> + +<p>"I didn't get licked," retorted Georgie; "I got clubbed. I never had a +chance to fight."</p> + +<p>"These fellows hate to see a boy come out and take a man's job. Can't +blame 'em much, neither."</p> + +<p>"Whose job did I take?" demanded Georgie, angrily. "Was any one of +those cowards that jumped on me in the dark looking for work on this +engine?"</p> + +<p>There was nothing to say to that. Dad kept still.</p> + +<p>"You talk about men," continued the young fellow. "If I am not more of a +man than to slug a fellow from behind, the way they slugged me, I'll get +off this engine and stay off. If that's what you call men out here I +don't want to be a man. I'll go back to Pennsylvania."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you stay there?" growled Dad.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you?"</p> + +<p>Without attempting to return the shot, Dad pulled nervously at the +chain.</p> + +<p>"If I hadn't been fool enough to go out on a strike I might have been +running there yet," continued Georgie.</p> + +<p>"Ought to have kept away from the post-office," grumbled Dad, after a +pause.</p> + +<p>"I get a letter twice a week that I think more of than I do of this +whole road, and I propose to go to the post-office and get it without +asking anybody's permission."</p> + +<p>"They'll pound you again."</p> + +<p>Georgie looked out into the storm. "Well, why shouldn't they? I've got +no friends."</p> + +<p>"Got a girl back in Pennsylvania?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I've got a girl there," replied the boy, as the rain tore at the +cab window. "I've had a girl there a good while. She's gray-headed and +sixty years old—that's my girl—and if she can write letters to me, I +can get them out of the post-office without a guardian."</p> + +<p>"There she comes," said Dad, as the headlight of the Pullman special +shone faint ahead through the mist.</p> + +<p>"I'm mighty glad of it," said Georgie, looking at his watch. "Give me +steam now, Dad, and I'll get you home in time for a nap before +breakfast."</p> + +<p>A minute later the special shot over the switch, and the young runner, +crowding the pistons a bit, started off the siding. When Dad, looking +back for the hind-end brakeman to lock the switch and swing on, called +all clear, Georgie pulled her out another notch, and the long train +slowly gathered headway up the slippery track.</p> + +<p>As the speed increased the young man and the old relapsed into their +usual silence. The 244 was always a free steamer, but Georgie put her +through her paces without any apology, and it took lots of coal to +square the account.</p> + +<p>In a few minutes they were pounding along up through the Narrows. The +track there follows the high bench between the bluffs, which sheer up on +one side, and the river-bed, thirty feet below the grade, on the other.</p> + +<p>It is not an inviting stretch at any time with a big string of gondolas +behind. But on a wet night it is the last place on the division where an +engineer would want a side-rod to go wrong; and just there and then +Georgie's rod went very wrong indeed.</p> + +<p>Half-way between centres the big steel bar on his side, dipping then so +fast you couldn't have seen it even in daylight, snapped like a stick of +licorice. The hind-end ripped up into the cab like the nose of a +sword-fish, tearing and smashing with appalling force and fury.</p> + +<p>Georgie McNeal's seat burst under him as if a stick of giant-powder had +exploded. He was jammed against the cab roof like a link-pin and fell +sprawling, while the monster steel flail threshed and tore through the +cab with every lightning revolution of the great driver from which it +swung.</p> + +<p>It was a frightful moment. Anything thought or done must be thought and +done at once. It was either to stop that train—and quickly—or to pound +along until the 244 jumped the track, and lit in the river, with thirty +cars of coal to cover it.</p> + +<p>Instantly—so Dad Hamilton afterwards told me—instantly the boy, +scrambling to his feet, reached for his throttle—reached for it through +a rain of iron blows, and staggered back with his right arm hanging like +a broken wing from his shoulder. And back again after it—after the +throttle with his left; slipping and creeping carefully this time up the +throttle lever until, straining and twisting and dodging, he caught the +latch and pushed it tightly home, Dad whistling vigorously the while for +brakes.</p> + +<p>Relieved of the tremendous head on the cylinder the old engine calmed +down enough to let the two men collect themselves. Rapidly as the brakes +could do it, the long train was brought up standing, and Georgie, helped +by his fireman, dropped out of the cab, and they set about +disconnecting—the engineer with his one arm—the formidable ends of the +broken rod.</p> + +<p>It was a slow, difficult piece of work to do. In spite of their most +active efforts the rain chilled them to the marrow. The train-crew gave +them as much help as willing hands could, which wasn't much; but by +every man doing something they got things fixed, called in their flagmen +just before daybreak, and started home. When the sun rose, Georgie, grim +and silent, the throttle in his left hand, was urging the old engine +along on a dog-trot across the Blackwood flats; and so, limping in on +one side, the kid brought his train into the Zanesville yards, with Dad +Hamilton unable to make himself helpful enough, unable to show his +appreciation of the skill and the grit that the night had disclosed in +the kid engineer.</p> + +<p>The hostler waiting in the yard sprang into the cab with amazement on +his face, and was just in time to lift a limp boy out of the old +fireman's arms and help Dad get him to the ground—for Georgie had +fainted.</p> + +<p>When the 244 reached the shops a few minutes later they photographed +that cab. It was the worst case of rod-smashing we had ever seen; and +the West-End shops have caught some pretty tough-looking cabs in their +day.</p> + +<p>The boy who stopped the cyclone and saved his train and crew lay +stretched on the lounge in my office waiting for the company surgeon. +And old Dad Hamilton—crabbed, irascible old Dad Hamilton—flew around +that boy exactly like an excited old rooster: first bringing ice, and +then water, and then hot coffee, and then fanning him with a time-table. +It was worth a small smash-up to see it.</p> + +<p>The one sweep of the rod which caught Georgie's arm had broken it in two +places, and he was off duty three months. But it was a novelty to see +that boy walk down to the post-office, and hear the strikers step up and +ask how his arm was; and to see old Dad Hamilton tag around Zanesville +after him was refreshing. The kid engineer had won his spurs.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Sky-Scraper" id="The_Sky-Scraper"></a>The Sky-Scraper</h2> + + +<p>We stood one Sunday morning in a group watching for her to speed around +the Narrows. Many locomotives as I have seen and ridden, a new one is +always a wonder to me; chokes me up, even, it means so much. I hear men +rave over horses, and marvel at it when I think of the iron horse. I +hear them chatter of distance, and my mind turns to the annihilator. I +hear them brag of ships, and I think of the ship that ploughs the +mountains and rivers and plains. And when they talk of speed—what can I +think of but her?</p> + +<p>As the new engine rolled into the yards my heart beat quicker. Her lines +were too imposing to call strong; they were massive, yet so simple you +could draw them, like the needle snout of a collie, to a very point.</p> + +<p>Every bearing looked precise, every joint looked supple, as she swept +magnificently up and checked herself, panting, in front of us.</p> + +<p>Foley was in the cab. He had been east on a lay-off, and so happened to +bring in the new monster, wild, from the river shops.</p> + +<p>She was built in Pennsylvania, but the fellows on the Missouri end of +our line thought nothing could ever safely be put into our hands until +they had stopped it <i>en route</i> and looked it over.</p> + +<p>"How does she run, Foley?" asked Neighbor, gloating silently over the +toy.</p> + +<p>"Cool as an ice-box," said Foley, swinging down. "She's a regular summer +resort. Little stiff on the hills yet."</p> + +<p>"We'll take that out of her," mused Neighbor, climbing into the cab to +look her over. "Boys, this is up in a balloon," he added, pushing his +big head through the cab-window and peering down at the ninety-inch +drivers under him.</p> + +<p>"I grew dizzy once or twice looking for the ponies," declared Foley, +biting off a piece of tobacco as he hitched at his overalls. "She looms +like a sky-scraper. Say, Neighbor, I'm to get her myself, ain't I?" +asked Foley, with his usual nerve.</p> + +<p>"When McNeal gets through with her, yes," returned Neighbor, gruffly, +giving her a thimble of steam and trying the air.</p> + +<p>"What!" cried Foley, affecting surprise. "You going to give her to the +kid?"</p> + +<p>"I am," returned the master-mechanic unfeelingly, and he kept his word.</p> + +<p>Georgie McNeal, just reporting for work after the session in his cab +with the loose end of a connecting-rod, was invited to take out the +Sky-Scraper—488, Class H—as she was listed, and Dad Hamilton of course +took the scoop to fire her.</p> + +<p>"They get everything good that's going," grumbled Foley.</p> + +<p>"They are good people," retorted Neighbor. He also assigned a helper to +the old fireman. It was a new thing with us then, a fellow with a +slice-bar to tickle the grate, and Dad, of course, kicked. He always +kicked. If they had raised his salary he would have kicked. Neighbor +wasted no words. He simply sent the helper back to wiping until the old +fireman should cry enough.</p> + +<p>Very likely you know that a new engine must be regularly broken, as a +horse is broken, before it is ready for steady hard work. And as +Georgie McNeal was not very strong yet, he was appointed to do the +breaking.</p> + +<p>For two months it was a picnic. Light runs and easy lay-overs. After the +smash at the Narrows, Hamilton had sort of taken the kid engineer under +his wing; and it was pretty generally understood that any one who +elbowed Georgie McNeal must reckon with his doughty old fireman. So the +two used to march up and down street together, as much like chums as a +very young engineer and a very old fireman possibly could be. They +talked together, walked together, and ate together. Foley was as jealous +as a cat of Hamilton, because he had brought Georgie out West, and felt +a sort of guardian interest in that quarter himself. Really, anybody +would love Georgie McNeal; old Dad Hamilton was proof enough of that.</p> + +<p>One evening, just after pay-day, I saw the pair in the post-office lobby +getting their checks cashed. Presently the two stepped over to the +money-order window; a moment later each came away with a money-order.</p> + +<p>"Is that where you leave your wealth, Georgie?" I asked, as he came up +to speak to me.</p> + +<p>"Part of it goes there every month, Mr. Reed," he smiled. "Checks are +running light, too, now—eh, Dad?"</p> + +<p>"A young fellow like you ought to be putting money away in the bank," +said I.</p> + +<p>"Well, you see I have a bank back in Pennsylvania—a bank that is now +sixty years old, and getting gray-headed. I haven't sent her much since +I've been on the relief, so I'm trying to make up a little now for my +old mammie."</p> + +<p>"Where does yours go, Dad?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Me?" answered the old man, evasively, "I've got a boy back East; +getting to be a big one, too. He's in school. When are you going to give +us a passenger run with the Sky-Scraper, Neighbor?" asked Hamilton, +turning to the master-mechanic.</p> + +<p>"Soon as we get this wheat, up on the high line, out of the way," +replied Neighbor. "We haven't half engines enough to move it, and I get +a wire about every six hours to move it faster. Every siding's blocked, +clear to Belgrade. How many of those sixty-thousand-pound cars can you +take over Beverly Hill with your Sky-Scraper?"</p> + +<p>He was asking both men. The engineer looked at his chum.</p> + +<p>"I reckon maybe thirty-five or forty," said McNeal. "Eh, Dad?"</p> + +<p>"Maybe, son," growled Hamilton; "and break my back doing it?"</p> + +<p>"I gave you a helper once and you kicked him off the tender," retorted +Neighbor.</p> + +<p>"Don't want anybody raking ashes for me—not while I'm drawing full +time," Dad frowned.</p> + +<p>But the upshot of it was that we put the Sky-Scraper at hauling wheat, +and within a week she was doing the work of a double-header.</p> + +<p>It was May, and a thousand miles east of us, in Chicago, there was +trouble in the wheat-pit on the Board of Trade. You would hardly suspect +what queer things that wheat scramble gave rise to, affecting Georgie +McNeal and old man Hamilton and a lot of other fellows away out on a +railroad division on the Western plains; but this was the way of it:</p> + +<p>A man sitting in a little office on La Salle Street wrote a few words on +a very ordinary-looking sheet of paper, and touched a button. That +brought a colored boy, and he took the paper out to a young man who sat +at the eastern end of a private wire.</p> + +<p>The next thing we knew, orders began to come in hot from the president's +office—the president of the road, if you please—to get that wheat on +the high line into Chicago, and to get it there quickly.</p> + +<p>Trainmen, elevator-men, superintendents of motive power, were spurred +with special orders and special bulletins. Farmers, startled by the +great prices offering, hauled night and day. Every old tub we had in the +shops and on the scrap was overhauled and hustled into the service. The +division danced with excitement. Every bushel of wheat on it must be in +Chicago by the morning of May 31st.</p> + +<p>For two weeks we worked everything to the limit; the Sky-Scraper led any +two engines on the line. Even Dad Hamilton was glad to cry enough, and +take a helper. We doubled them every day, and the way the wheat flew +over the line towards the lower end of Lake Michigan was appalling to +speculators. It was a battle between two commercial giants—and a battle +to the death. It shook not alone the country, it shook the world; but +that was nothing to us; our orders were simply to move the wheat. And +the wheat moved.</p> + +<p>The last week found us pretty well cleaned up; but the high price +brought grain out of cellars and wells, the buyers said—at least, it +brought all the hoarded wheat, and much of the seed wheat, and the 28th +day of the month found fifty cars of wheat still in the Zanesville +yards. I was at Harvard working on a time-card when the word came, and +behind it a special from the general manager, stating there was a +thousand dollars premium in it for the company, besides tariff, if we +got that wheat into Chicago by Saturday morning.</p> + +<p>The train end of it didn't bother me any; it was the motive power that +kept us studying. However, we figured that by running McNeal with the +Sky-Scraper back wild we could put all the wheat behind her in one +train. As it happened, Neighbor was at Harvard, too.</p> + +<p>"Can they ever get over Beverly with fifty, Neighbor?" I asked, +doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"We'll never know till they try it," growled Neighbor. "There's a +thousand for the company if they do, that's all. How'll you run them? +Give them plenty of sea-room; they'll have to gallop to make it."</p> + +<p>Cool and reckless planning, taking the daring chances, straining the +flesh and blood, driving the steel loaded to the snapping-point; that +was what it meant. But the company wanted results; wanted the prestige, +and the premium, too. To gain them we were expected to stretch our +little resources to the uttermost.</p> + +<p>I studied a minute, then turned to the dispatcher.</p> + +<p>"Tell Norman to send them out as second 4; that gives the right of way +over every wheel against them. If they can't make it on that kind of +schedule, it isn't in the track."</p> + +<p>It was extraordinary business, rather, sending a train of wheat through +on a passenger schedule, practically, as the second section of our +east-bound flyer; but we took hair-lifting chances on the plains.</p> + +<p>It was noon when the orders were flashed. At three o'clock No. 4 was due +to leave Zanesville. For three hours I kept the wires busy warning all +operators and trainmen, even switch-engines and yard-masters, of the +wheat special—second 4.</p> + +<p>The Flyer, the first section and regular passenger-train, was checked +out of Zanesville on time. Second 4, which meant Georgie McNeal, Dad, +the Sky-Scraper, and fifty loads of wheat, reported out at 3.10. While +we worked on our time-card, Neighbor, in the dispatcher's office across +the hall, figured out that the wheat-train would enrich the company just +eleven thousand dollars, tolls and premium. "If it doesn't break in two +on Beverly Hill," growled Neighbor, with a qualm.</p> + +<p>On the dispatcher's sheet, which is a sort of panorama, I watched the +big train whirl past station after station, drawing steadily nearer to +us, and doing it, the marvel, on full passenger time. It was a great +feat, and Georgie McNeal, whose nerve and brain were guiding the +tremendous load, was breaking records with every mile-stone.</p> + +<p>They were due in Harvard at nine o'clock. The first 4, our Flyer, +pulled in and out on time, meeting 55, the west-bound overland freight, +at the second station east of Harvard—Redbud.</p> + +<p>Neighbor and I sat with the dispatchers, up in their office, smoking. +The wheat-train was now due from the west, and, looking at my watch, I +stepped to the western window. Almost immediately I heard the long +peculiarly hollow blast of the Sky-Scraper whistling for the upper yard.</p> + +<p>"She's coming," I exclaimed.</p> + +<p>The boys crowded to the window; but Neighbor happened to glance to the +east.</p> + +<p>"What's that coming in from the junction, Bailey?" he exclaimed, turning +to the local dispatcher. We looked and saw a headlight in the east.</p> + +<p>"That's 55."</p> + +<p>"Where do they meet?"</p> + +<p>"55 takes the long siding in from the junction"—which was two miles +east—"and she ought to be on it right now," added the dispatcher, +anxiously, looking over the master-mechanic's shoulder.</p> + +<p>Neighbor jumped as if a bullet had struck him. "She'll never take a +siding to-night. She's coming down the main track. What's her orders?" +he demanded, furiously.</p> + +<p>"Meeting orders for first 4 at Redbud, second 4 here, 78 at Glencoe. +Great Jupiter!" cried the dispatcher, and his face went sick and scared, +"they've forgotten second 4."</p> + +<p>"They'll think of her a long time dead," roared the master-mechanic, +savagely, jumping to the west window. "Throw your red lights! There's +the Sky-Scraper now!"</p> + +<p>Her head shot that instant around the coal chutes, less than a mile +away, and 55 going dead against her. I stood like one palsied, my eyes +glued on the burning eye of the big engine. As she whipped past a street +arc-light I caught a glimpse of Georgie McNeal's head out of the cab +window. He always rode bare-headed if the night was warm, and I knew it +was he; but suddenly, like a flash, his head went in. I knew why as well +as if my eyes were his eyes and my thoughts his thoughts. He had seen +red signals where he had every right to look for white.</p> + +<p>But red signals now—to stop <i>her</i>—to pull her flat on her haunches +like a bronco? Shake a weather flag at a cyclone!</p> + +<p>I saw the fire stream from her drivers; I knew they were churning in the +sand; I knew he had twenty air cars behind him sliding. What of it?</p> + +<p>Two thousand tons were sweeping forward like an avalanche. What did +brains or pluck count for now with 55 dancing along like a school-girl +right into the teeth of it?</p> + +<p>I don't know how the other men felt. As for me, my breath choked in my +throat, my knees shook, and a deadly nausea seized me. Unable to avert +the horrible blunder, I saw its hideous results.</p> + +<p>Darkness hid the worst of the sight; it was the sound that appalled. +Children asleep in sod shanties miles from where the two engines reared +in awful shock jumped in their cribs at that crash. 55's little engine +barely checked the Sky-Scraper. She split it like a banana. She bucked +like a frantic horse, and leaped fearfully ahead. There was a blinding +explosion, a sudden awful burst of steam; the windows crashed about our +ears, and we were dashed to the wall and floor like lead-pencils. A +baggage-truck, whipped up from the platform below, came through the +heavy sash and down on the dispatcher's table like a brickbat, and as we +scrambled to our feet a shower of wheat suffocated us. The floor heaved; +freight-cars slid into the depot like battering-rams. In the height of +the confusion an oil-tank in the yard took fire and threw a yellow glare +on the ghastly scene.</p> + +<p>I saw men get up and fall again to their knees; I was shivering, and wet +with sweat. The stairway was crushed into kindling-wood. I climbed out a +back window, down on the roof of the freight platform, and so to the +ground. There was a running to and fro, useless and aimless; men were +beside themselves. They plunged through wheat up to their knees at every +step. All at once, above the frantic hissing of the buried Sky-Scraper +and the wild calling of the car tinks, I heard the stentorian tones of +Neighbor, mounted on a twisted truck, organizing the men at hand into a +wrecking-gang. Soon people began running up the yard to where the +Sky-Scraper lay, like another Samson, prostrate in the midst of the +destruction it had wrought. Foremost among the excited men, covered +with dirt and blood, staggered Dad Hamilton.</p> + +<p>"Where's McNeal?" cried Neighbor.</p> + +<p>Hamilton pointed to the wreck.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't he jump?" yelled Neighbor.</p> + +<p>Hamilton pointed at the twisted signal-tower; the red light still burned +in it.</p> + +<p>"You changed the signals on him," he cried, savagely. "What does it +mean? We had rights against everything. What does it mean?" he raved, in +a frenzy.</p> + +<p>Neighbor answered him never a word; he only put his hand on Dad's +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Find him first! Find him!" he repeated, with a strain in his voice I +never heard till then; and the two giants hurried away together. When I +reached the Sky-Scraper, buried in the thick of the smash, roaring like +a volcano, the pair were already into the jam like a brace of ferrets, +hunting for the engine crews. It seemed an hour, though it was much +less, before they found any one; then they brought out 55's fireman. +Neighbor found him. But his back was broken. Back again they wormed +through twisted trucks, under splintered beams—in and around and +over—choked with heat, blinded by steam, shouting as they groped, +listening for word or cry or gasp.</p> + +<p>Soon we heard Dad's voice in a different cry—one that meant everything; +and the wreckers, turning like beavers through a dozen blind trails, +gathered all close to the big fireman. He was under a great piece of the +cab where none could follow, and he was crying for a bar. They passed +him a bar; other men, careless of life and limb, tried to crawl under +and in to him, but he warned them back. Who but a man baked twenty years +in an engine cab could stand the steam that poured on him where he lay?</p> + +<p>Neighbor, just outside, flashing a light, heard the labored strain of +his breathing, saw him getting half up, bend to the bar, and saw the +iron give like lead in his hands as he pried mightily.</p> + +<p>Neighbor heard, and told me long afterwards, how the old man flung the +bar away with an imprecation, and cried for one to help him; for a +minute meant a life now—the boy lying pinned under the shattered cab +was roasting in a jet of live steam. The master-mechanic crept in.</p> + +<p>By signs Dad told him what to do, and then, getting on his knees, +crawled straight into the dash of the white jet—crawled into it, and +got the cab on his shoulders.</p> + +<p>Crouching an instant, the giant muscles of his back set in a tremendous +effort. The wreckage snapped and groaned, the knotted legs slowly and +painfully straightened, the cab for a passing instant rose in the air, +and in that instant Neighbor dragged Georgie McNeal from out the vise of +death, and passed him, like a pinch-bar, to the men waiting next behind. +Then Neighbor pulled Dad back, blind now and senseless. When they got +the old fireman out he made a pitiful struggle to pull himself together. +He tried to stand up, but the sweat broke over him and he sank in a heap +at Neighbor's feet.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus1" id="illus1"></a> +<img src="images/illus1.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"THE CAB FOR A PASSING INSTANT ROSE IN THE AIR"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>That was the saving of Georgie McNeal, and out there they will still +tell you about that lift of Dad Hamilton's.</p> + +<p>We put him on the cot at the hospital next to his engineer. Georgie, +dreadfully bruised and scalded, came on fast in spite of his hurts. But +the doctor said Dad had wrenched a tendon in that frightful effort, and +he lay there a very sick and very old man long after the young engineer +was up and around telling of his experience.</p> + +<p>"When we cleared the chutes I saw white signals, I thought," he said to +me at Dad's bedside. "I knew we had the right of way over everything. It +was a hustle, anyway, on that schedule, Mr. Reed; you know that; an +awful hustle, with our load. I never choked her a notch to run the +yards; didn't mean to do it with the Junction grade to climb just ahead +of us. But I looked out again, and, by hokey! I thought I'd gone crazy, +got color-blind—red signals! Of course I thought I must have been wrong +the first time I looked. I choked her, I threw the air, I dumped the +gravel. Heavens! she never felt it! I couldn't figure how we were wrong, +but there was the red light. I yelled, 'Jump, Dad!' and he yelled, +'Jump, son!' Didn't you, Dad?</p> + +<p>"He jumped; but I wasn't ever going to jump and my engine going full +against a red lamp. Not much.</p> + +<p>"I kind of dodged down behind the head; when she struck it was biff, and +she jumped about twenty feet up straight. She didn't? Well, it seemed +like it. Then it was biff, biff, biff, one after another. With that +train behind her she'd have gone through Beverly Hill. Did you ever buck +snow with a rotary, Mr. Reed? Well, that was about it, even to the +rolling and heaving. Dad, want to lie down? Le' me get another pillow +behind you. Isn't that better? Poor Musgrave!" he added, speaking of the +engineer of 55, who was instantly killed. "He and the fireman both. Hard +lines; but I'd rather have it that way, I guess, if I was wrong. Eh, +Dad?"</p> + +<p>Even after Georgie went to work, Dad lay in the hospital. We knew he +would never shovel coal again. It cost him his good back to lift Georgie +loose, so the surgeon told us; and I could believe it, for when they got +the jacks under the cab next morning, and Neighbor told the +wrecking-gang that Hamilton alone had lifted it six inches the night +before, on his back, the wrecking-boss fairly snorted at the statement; +but Hamilton did, just the same.</p> + +<p>"Son," muttered Dad, one night to Georgie, sitting with him, "I want you +to write a letter for me."</p> + +<p>"Sure."</p> + +<p>"I've been sending money to my boy back East," explained Dad, feebly. "I +told you he's in school."</p> + +<p>"I know, Dad."</p> + +<p>"I haven't been able to send any since I've been by, but I'm going to +send some when I get my relief. Not so much as I used to send. I want +you to kind of explain why."</p> + +<p>"What's his first name, Dad, and where does he live?"</p> + +<p>"It's a lawyer that looks after him—a man that 'tends to my business +back there."</p> + +<p>"Well, what's his name?"</p> + +<p>"Scaylor—Ephraim Scaylor."</p> + +<p>"Scaylor?" echoed Georgie, in amazement.</p> + +<p>"Yes. Why, do you know him?"</p> + +<p>"Why, that's the man mother and I had so much trouble with. I wouldn't +write to that man. He's a rascal, Dad."</p> + +<p>"What did he ever do to you and your mother?"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Dad; though it's a matter I don't talk about much. My +father had trouble back there fifteen or sixteen years ago. He was +running an engine, and had a wreck; there were some passengers killed. +The dispatcher managed to throw the blame on father, and they indicted +him for man-slaughter. He pretty near went crazy, and all of a sudden he +disappeared, and we never heard of him from that day to this. But this +man Scaylor, mother stuck to it, knew something about where father was; +only he always denied it."</p> + +<p>Trembling like a leaf, Dad raised up on his elbow. "What's your mother's +name, son? What's your name?"</p> + +<p>Georgie looked confused. "I'll tell you, Dad; there's nothing to be +ashamed of. I was foolish enough, I told you once, to go out on a strike +with the engineers down there. I was only a kid, and we were all +black-listed. So I used my middle name, McNeal; my full name is George +McNeal Sinclair."</p> + +<p>The old fireman made a painful effort to sit up, to speak, but he +choked. His face contracted, and Georgie rose frightened. With a +herculean effort the old man raised himself up and grasped Georgie's +hands.</p> + +<p>"Son," he gasped to the astonished boy, "don't you know me?"</p> + +<p>"Of course I know you, Dad. What's the matter with you? Lie down."</p> + +<p>"Boy, I'm your own father. My name is David Hamilton Sinclair. I had the +trouble—Georgie." He choked up like a child, and Georgie McNeal went +white and scared; then he grasped the gray-haired man in his arms.</p> + +<p>When I dropped in an hour later they were talking hysterically. Dad was +explaining how he had been sending money to Scaylor every month, and +Georgie was contending that neither he nor his mother had ever seen a +cent of it. But one great fact overshadowed all the villany that night: +father and son were united and happy, and a message had already gone +back to the old home from Georgie to his mother, telling her the good +news.</p> + +<p>"And that indictment was wiped out long ago against father," said +Georgie to me; "but that rascal Scaylor kept writing him for money to +fight it with and to pay for my schooling—and this was the kind of +schooling I was getting all the time. Wouldn't that kill you?"</p> + +<p>I couldn't sleep till I had hunted up Neighbor and told him about it; +and next morning we wired transportation back for Mrs. Sinclair to come +out on.</p> + +<p>Less than a week afterwards a gentle little old woman stepped off the +Flyer at Zanesville, and into the arms of Georgie Sinclair. A smart rig +was in waiting, to which her son hurried her, and they were driven +rapidly to the hospital. When they entered the old fireman's room +together the nurse softly closed the door behind them.</p> + +<p>But when they sent for Neighbor and me, I suppose we were the two +biggest fools in the hospital, trying to look unconscious of all we saw +in the faces of the group at Dad's bed.</p> + +<p>He never got his old strength back, yet Neighbor fixed him out, for all +that. The Sky-Scraper, once our pride, was so badly stove that we gave +up hope of restoring her for a passenger run. So Neighbor built her over +into a sort of a dub engine for short runs, stubs, and so on; and though +Dad had vowed long ago, when unjustly condemned, that he would never +more touch a throttle, we got him to take the Sky-Scraper and the Acton +run.</p> + +<p>And when Georgie, who takes the Flyer every other day, is off duty, he +climbs into Dad's cab, shoves the old gentleman aside, and shoots around +the yard in the rejuvenated Sky-Scraper at a hair-raising rate of speed.</p> + +<p>After a while the old engine got so full of alkali that Georgie gave her +a new name—Soda-Water Sal—and it hangs to her yet. We thought the best +of her had gone in the Harvard wreck; but there came a time when Dad and +Soda-Water Sal showed us we were very much mistaken.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Soda-Water_Sal" id="Soda-Water_Sal"></a>Soda-Water Sal</h2> + + +<p>When the great engine which we called the Sky-Scraper came out of the +Zanesville shops, she was rebuilt from pilot to tender.</p> + +<p>Our master-mechanic, Neighbor, had an idea, after her terrific +collision, that she could not stand heavy main-line passenger runs, so +he put her on the Acton cut-off. It was what railroad men call a +jerk-water run, whatever that may be; a little jaunt of ten miles across +the divide connecting the northern division with the Denver stem. It was +just about like running a trolley, and the run was given to Dad +Sinclair, for after that lift at Oxford his back was never strong enough +to shovel coal, and he had to take an engine or quit railroading.</p> + +<p>Thus it happened that after many years he took the throttle once more +and ran over, twice a day, as he does yet, from Acton to Willow Creek.</p> + +<p>His boy, Georgie Sinclair, the kid engineer, took the run on the Flyer +opposite Foley, just as soon as he got well.</p> + +<p>Georgie, who was never happy unless he had eight or ten Pullmans behind +him, and the right of way over everything between Omaha and Denver, made +great sport of his father's little smoking-car and day-coach behind the +big engine.</p> + +<p>Foley made sport of the remodelled engine. He used to stand by while the +old engineer was oiling and ask him whether he thought she could catch a +jack-rabbit. "I mean," Foley would say, "if the rabbit was feeling +well."</p> + +<p>Dad Sinclair took it all grimly and quietly; he had railroaded too long +to care for anybody's chaff. But one day, after the Sky-Scraper had +gotten her flues pretty well chalked up with alkali, Foley insisted that +she must be renamed.</p> + +<p>"I have the only genuine sky-scraper on the West End now myself," +declared Foley. He did have a new class H engine, and she was +awe-inspiring, in truth. "I don't propose," he continued, "to have her +confused with your old tub any longer, Dad."</p> + +<p>Dad, oiling his old tub affectionately, answered never a word.</p> + +<p>"She's full of soda, isn't she, father?" asked Georgie, standing by.</p> + +<p>"Reckon she is, son."</p> + +<p>"Full of water, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Try to keep her that way, son."</p> + +<p>"Sal-soda, isn't it, Dad?"</p> + +<p>"Now I can't say. As to that—I can't say."</p> + +<p>"We'll call her Sal Soda, Georgie," suggested Foley.</p> + +<p>"No," interposed Georgie; "stop a bit. I have it. Not Sal Soda, at +all—make it Soda-Water Sal."</p> + +<p>Then they laughed uproariously; and in the teeth of Dad Sinclair's +protests—for he objected at once and vigorously—the queer name stuck +to the engine, and sticks yet.</p> + +<p>To have seen the great hulking machine you would never have suspected +there could be another story left in her. Yet one there was; a story of +the wind. As she stood, too, when old man Sinclair took her on the Acton +run, she was the best illustration I have ever seen of the adage that +one can never tell from the looks of a frog how far it will jump.</p> + +<p>Have you ever felt the wind? Not, I think, unless you have lived on the +seas or on the plains. People everywhere think the wind blows; but it +really blows only on the ocean and on the prairies.</p> + +<p>The summer that Dad took the Acton run, it blew for a month steadily. +All of one August—hot, dry, merciless; the despair of the farmer and +the terror of trainmen.</p> + +<p>It was on an August evening, with the gale still sweeping up from the +southwest, that Dad came lumbering into Acton with his little trolley +train. He had barely pulled up at the platform to unload his passengers +when the station-agent, Morris Reynolds, coatless and hatless, rushed up +to the engine ahead of the hostler and sprang into the cab. Reynolds was +one of the quietest fellows in the service. To see him without coat or +hat didn't count for much in such weather; but to see him sallow with +fright and almost speechless was enough to stir even old Dad Sinclair.</p> + +<p>It was not Dad's habit to ask questions, but he looked at the man in +questioning amazement. Reynolds choked and caught at his breath, as he +seized the engineer's arm and pointed down the line.</p> + +<p>"Dad," he gasped, "three cars of coal standing over there on the second +spur blew loose a few minutes ago."</p> + +<p>"Where are they?"</p> + +<p>"Where are they? Blown through the switch and down the line, forty miles +an hour."</p> + +<p>The old man grasped the frightened man by the shoulder. "What do you +mean? How long ago? When is 1 due? Talk quick, man! What's the matter +with you?"</p> + +<p>"Not five minutes ago. No. 1 is due here in less than thirty minutes; +they'll go into her sure. Dad," cried Reynolds, all in a fright, +"what'll I do? For Heaven's sake do something. I called up Riverton and +tried to catch 1, but she'd passed. I was too late. There'll be a wreck, +and I'm booked for the penitentiary. What can I do?"</p> + +<p>All the while the station-agent, panic-stricken, rattled on Sinclair was +looking at his watch—casting it up—charting it all under his thick, +gray, grizzled wool, fast as thought could compass.</p> + +<p>No. 1 headed for Acton, and her pace was a hustle every mile of the way; +three cars of coal blowing down on her, how fast he dared not think; and +through it all he was asking himself what day it was. Thursday? Up! Yes, +Georgie, his boy, was on the Flyer No. 1. It was his day up. If they met +on a curve—</p> + +<p>"Uncouple her!" roared Dad Sinclair, in a giant tone.</p> + +<p>"What are you going to do?"</p> + +<p>"Burns," thundered Dad to his fireman, "give her steam, and quick, boy! +Dump in grease, waste, oil, everything! Are you clear there?" he cried, +opening the throttle as he looked back.</p> + +<p>The old engine, pulling clear of her coaches, quivered as she gathered +herself under the steam. She leaped ahead with a swish. The drivers +churned in the sand, bit into it with gritting tires, and forged ahead +with a suck and a hiss and a roar. Before Reynolds had fairly gathered +his wits, Sinclair, leaving his train on the main track in front of the +depot, was clattering over the switch after the runaways. The wind was a +terror, and they had too good a start. But the way Soda-Water Sal took +the gait when she once felt her feet under her made the wrinkled +engineer at her throttle set his mouth with the grimness of a gamester. +It meant the runaways—and catch them—or the ditch for Soda-Water Sal; +and the throbbing old machine seemed to know it, for her nose hung to +the steel like the snout of a pointer.</p> + +<p>He was a man of a hundred even then—Burns; but nobody knew it, then. We +hadn't thought much about Burns before. He was a tall, lank Irish boy, +with an open face and a morning smile. Dad Sinclair took him on because +nobody else would have him. Burns was so green that Foley said you +couldn't set his name afire. He would, so Foley said, put out a hot box +just by blinking at it.</p> + +<p>But every man's turn comes once, and it had come for Burns. It was Dick +Burns's chance now to show what manner of stuff was bred in his long +Irish bones. It was his task to make the steam—if he could—faster than +Dad Sinclair could burn it. What use to grip the throttle and scheme if +Burns didn't furnish the power, put the life into her heels as she raced +the wind—the merciless, restless gale sweeping over the prairie faster +than horse could fly before it?</p> + +<p>Working smoothly and swiftly into a dizzy whirl, the monstrous drivers +took the steel in leaps and bounds. Dad Sinclair, leaning from the cab +window, gloatingly watched their gathering speed, pulled the bar up +notch after notch, and fed Burns's fire into the old engine's arteries +fast and faster than she could throw it into her steel hoofs.</p> + +<p>That was the night the West End knew that a greenhorn had cast his +chrysalis and stood out a man. Knew that the honor-roll of our frontier +division wanted one more name, and that it was big Dick Burns's. +Sinclair hung silently desperate to the throttle, his eyes straining +into the night ahead, and the face of the long Irish boy, streaked with +smut and channelled with sweat, lit every minute with the glare of the +furnace as he fed the white-hot blast that leaped and curled and foamed +under the crown-sheet of Soda-Water Sal.</p> + +<p>There he stooped and sweat and swung, as she slewed and lurched and +jerked across the fish-plates. Carefully, nursingly, ceaselessly he +pushed the steam-pointer higher, higher, higher on the dial—and that +despite the tremendous draughts of Dad's throttle.</p> + +<p>Never a glance to the right or the left, to the track or the engineer. +From the coal to the fire, the fire to the water, the water to the +gauge, the gauge to the stack, and back again to the coal—that was +Burns. Neither eyes nor ears nor muscles for anything but steam.</p> + +<p>Such a firing as the West End never saw till that night; such a firing +as the old engine never felt in her choking flues till that night; such +a firing as Dad Sinclair, king of all West and East End firemen, lifted +his hat to—that was Burns's firing that night on Soda-Water Sal; the +night she chased the Acton runaways down the line to save Georgie +Sinclair and No. 1.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus2" id="illus2"></a> +<img src="images/illus2.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"THAT WAS BURNS'S FIRING THAT NIGHT"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It was a frightful pace—how frightful no one ever knew; neither old man +Sinclair nor Dick Burns ever cared. Only, the crew of a freight, +side-tracked for the approaching Flyer, saw an engine flying light; knew +the hunter and the quarry, for they had seen the runaways shoot by—saw +then, a minute after, a star and a streak and a trail of rotten smoke +fly down the wind, and she had come and passed and gone.</p> + +<p>It was just east of that siding, so Burns and Sinclair always +maintained—but it measured ten thousand feet east—that they caught +them.</p> + +<p>A shout from Dad brought the dripping fireman up standing, and looking +ahead he saw in the blaze of their own headlight the string of coalers +standing still ahead of them. So it seemed to him, their own speed was +so great, and the runaways were almost equalling it. They were making +forty miles an hour when they dashed past the paralyzed freight crew.</p> + +<p>Without waiting for orders—what orders did such a man need?—without a +word, Burns crawled out of his window with a pin, and ran forward on the +foot-board, clinging the best he could, as the engine dipped and +lurched, climbed down on the cow-catcher, and lifted the pilot-bar to +couple. It was a crazy thing to attempt; he was much likelier to get +under the pilot than to succeed; yet he tried it.</p> + +<p>Then it was that the fine hand of Dad Sinclair came into play. To temper +the speed enough, and just enough; to push her nose just enough, and far +enough for Burns to make the draw-bar of the runaway—that was the +nicety of the big seamed hands on the throttle and on the air; the very +magic of touch which, on a slender bar of steel, could push a hundred +tons of flying metal up, and hold it steady in a play of six inches on +the teeth of the gale that tore down behind him.</p> + +<p>Again and again Burns tried to couple and failed. Sinclair, straining +anxiously ahead, caught sight of the headlight of No. 1 rounding +O'Fallon's bluffs.</p> + +<p>He cried to Burns, and, incredible though it seems, the fireman heard. +Above all the infernal din, the tearing of the flanges and the roaring +of the wind, Burns heard the cry; it nerved him to a supreme effort. He +slipped the eye once more into the draw, and managed to drop his pin. Up +went his hand in signal.</p> + +<p>Choking the steam, Sinclair threw the brake-shoes flaming against the +big drivers. The sand poured on the rails, and with Burns up on the +coalers setting brakes, the three great runaways were brought to with a +jerk that would have astounded the most reckless scapegraces in the +world.</p> + +<p>While the plucky fireman crept along the top of the freight-cars to keep +from being blown bodily through the air, Sinclair, with every resource +that brain and nerve and power could exert, was struggling to overcome +the terrible headway of pursuer and pursued, driving now frightfully +into the beaming head of No. 1.</p> + +<p>With the Johnson bar over and the drivers dancing a gallop backward; +with the sand striking fire, and the rails burning under it; with the +old Sky-Scraper shivering again in a terrific struggle, and Burns +twisting the heads off the brake-rods; with every trick of old +Sinclair's cunning, and his boy duplicating every one of them in the cab +of No. 1—still they came together. It was too fearful a momentum to +overcome, when minutes mean miles and tons are reckoned by thousands.</p> + +<p>They came together; but instead of an appalling wreck—destruction and +death—it was only a bump. No. 1 had the speed when they met; and it was +a car of coal dumped a bit sudden and a nose on Georgie's engine like a +full-back's after a centre rush. The pilot doubled back into the ponies, +and the headlight was scoured with nut, pea, and slack; but the stack +was hardly bruised.</p> + +<p>The minute they struck, Georgie Sinclair, making fast, and, leaping from +his cab, ran forward in the dark, panting with rage and excitement. +Burns, torch in hand, was himself just jumping down to get forward. His +face wore its usual grin, even when Georgie assailed him with a torrent +of abuse.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean, you red-headed lubber?" he shouted, with much the +lungs of his father. "What are you doing switching coal here on the main +line?"</p> + +<p>In fact, Georgie called the astonished fireman everything he could think +of, until his father, who was blundering forward on his side of the +engine, hearing the voice, turned, and ran around behind the tender to +take a hand himself.</p> + +<p>"Mean?" he roared above the blow of his safety. "Mean?" he bellowed in +the teeth of the wind. "Mean? Why, you impudent, empty-headed, +ungrateful rapscallion, what do you mean coming around here to abuse a +man that's saved you and your train from the scrap?"</p> + +<p>And big Dick Burns, standing by with his torch, burst into an Irish +laugh, fairly doubled up before the nonplussed boy, and listened with +great relish to the excited father and excited son. It was not hard to +understand Georgie's amazement and anger at finding Soda-Water Sal +behind three cars of coal half-way between stations on the main line and +on his time—and that the fastest time on the division. But what amused +Burns most was to see the imperturbable old Dad pitching into his boy +with as much spirit as the young man himself showed.</p> + +<p>It was because both men were scared out of their wits; scared over their +narrow escape from a frightful wreck; from having each killed the other, +maybe—the son the father, and the father the son.</p> + +<p>For brave men do get scared; don't believe anything else. But between +the fright of a coward and the fright of a brave man there is this +difference: the coward's scare is apparent before the danger, that of +the brave man after it has passed; and Burns laughed with a tremendous +mirth, "at th' two o' thim a-jawin'," as he expressed it.</p> + +<p>No man on the West End could turn on his pins quicker than Georgie +Sinclair, though, if his hastiness misled him. When it all came clear he +climbed into the old cab—the cab he himself had once gone against death +in—and with stumbling words tried to thank the tall Irishman, who still +laughed in the excitement of having won.</p> + +<p>And when Neighbor next day, thoughtful and taciturn, heard it all, he +very carefully looked Soda-Water Sal all over again.</p> + +<p>"Dad," said he, when the boys got through telling it for the last time, +"she's a better machine than I thought she was."</p> + +<p>"There isn't a better pulling your coaches," maintained Dad Sinclair, +stoutly.</p> + +<p>"I'll put her on the main line, Dad, and give you the 168 for the +cut-off. Hm?"</p> + +<p>"The 168 will suit me, Neighbor; any old tub—eh, Foley?" said Dad, +turning to the cheeky engineer, who had come up in time to hear most of +the talk. The old fellow had not forgotten Foley's sneer at Soda-Water +Sal when he rechristened her. But Foley, too, had changed his mind, and +was ready to give in.</p> + +<p>"That's quite right, Dad," he acknowledged. "You can get more out of any +old tub on the division than the rest of us fellows can get out of a +Baldwin consolidated. I mean it, too. It's the best thing I ever heard +of. What are you going to do for Burns, Neighbor?" asked Foley, with his +usual assurance.</p> + +<p>"I was thinking I would give him Soda-Water Sal, and put him on the +right side of the cab for a freight run. I reckon he earned it last +night."</p> + +<p>In a few minutes Foley started off to hunt up Burns.</p> + +<p>"See here, Irish," said he, in his off-hand way, "next time you catch a +string of runaways just remember to climb up the ladder and set your +brakes before you couple; it will save a good deal of wear and tear on +the pilot-bar—see? I hear you're going to get a run; don't fall out +the window when you get over on the right."</p> + +<p>And that's how Burns was made an engineer, and how Soda-Water Sal was +rescued from the disgrace of running on the trolley.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_McWilliams_Special" id="The_McWilliams_Special"></a>The McWilliams Special</h2> + + +<p>It belongs to the Stories That Never Were Told, this of the McWilliams +Special. But it happened years ago, and for that matter McWilliams is +dead. It wasn't grief that killed him, either; though at one time his +grief came uncommonly near killing us.</p> + +<p>It is an odd sort of a yarn, too; because one part of it never got to +headquarters, and another part of it never got from headquarters.</p> + +<p>How, for instance, the mysterious car was ever started from Chicago on +such a delirious schedule, how many men in the service know that even +yet?</p> + +<p>How, for another instance, Sinclair and Francis took the ratty old car +reeling into Denver with the glass shrivelled, the paint blistered, the +hose burned, and a tire sprung on one of the Five-Nine's drivers—how +many headquarters slaves know that?</p> + +<p>Our end of the story never went in at all. Never went in because it was +not deemed—well, essential to the getting up of the annual report. We +could have raised their hair; they could have raised our salaries; but +they didn't; we didn't.</p> + +<p>In telling this story I would not be misunderstood; ours is not the only +line between Chicago and Denver: there are others, I admit it. But there +is only one line (all the same) that could have taken the McWilliams +Special, as we did, out of Chicago at four in the evening and put it in +Denver long before noon the next day.</p> + +<p>A communication came from a great La Salle Street banker to the +president of our road. Next, the second vice-president heard of it; but +in this way:</p> + +<p>"Why have you turned down Peter McWilliams's request for a special to +Denver this afternoon?" asked the president.</p> + +<p>"He wants too much," came back over the private wire. "We can't do it."</p> + +<p>After satisfying himself on this point the president called up La Salle +Street.</p> + +<p>"Our folks say, Mr. McWilliams, we simply can't do it."</p> + +<p>"You must do it."</p> + +<p>"When will the car be ready?"</p> + +<p>"At three o'clock."</p> + +<p>"When must it be in Denver?"</p> + +<p>"Ten o'clock to-morrow morning."</p> + +<p>The president nearly jumped the wire.</p> + +<p>"McWilliams, you're crazy. What on earth do you mean?"</p> + +<p>The talk came back so low that the wires hardly caught it. There were +occasional outbursts such as, "situation is extremely critical," "grave +danger," "acute distress," "must help me out."</p> + +<p>But none of this would ever have moved the president had not Peter +McWilliams been a bigger man than most corporations; and a personal +request from Peter, if he stuck for it, could hardly be refused; and for +this he most decidedly stuck.</p> + +<p>"I tell you it will turn us upside-down," stormed the president.</p> + +<p>"Do you recollect," asked Peter McWilliams, "when your infernal old pot +of a road was busted eight years ago—you were turned inside out then, +weren't you? and hung up to dry, weren't you?"</p> + +<p>The president did recollect; he could not decently help recollecting. +And he recollected how, about that same time, Peter McWilliams had one +week taken up for him a matter of two millions floating, with a personal +check; and carried it eighteen months without security, when money could +not be had in Wall Street on government bonds.</p> + +<p>Do you—that is, have you heretofore supposed that a railroad belongs to +the stockholders? Not so; it belongs to men like Mr. McWilliams, who own +it when they need it. At other times they let the stockholders carry +it—until they want it again.</p> + +<p>"We'll do what we can, Peter," replied the president, desperately +amiable. "Good-bye."</p> + +<p>I am giving you only an inkling of how it started. Not a word as to how +countless orders were issued, and countless schedules were cancelled. +Not a paragraph about numberless trains abandoned <i>in toto</i>, and +numberless others pulled and hauled and held and annulled. The +McWilliams Special in a twinkle tore a great system into great +splinters.</p> + +<p>It set master-mechanics by the ears and made reckless falsifiers of +previously conservative trainmen. It made undying enemies of rival +superintendents, and incipient paretics of jolly train-dispatchers. It +shivered us from end to end and stem to stern, but it covered 1026 miles +of the best steel in the world in rather better than twenty hours and a +blaze of glory.</p> + +<p>"My word is out," said the president in his message to all +superintendents, thirty minutes later. "You will get your division +schedule in a few moments. Send no reasons for inability to make it; +simply deliver the goods. With your time-report, which comes by Ry. M. +S., I want the names and records of every member of every train-crew and +every engine-crew that haul the McWilliams car." Then followed +particular injunctions of secrecy; above all, the newspapers must not +get it.</p> + +<p>But where newspapers are, secrecy can only be hoped for—never attained. +In spite of the most elaborate precautions to preserve Peter +McWilliams's secret—would you believe it?—the evening papers had half +a column—practically the whole thing. Of course they had to guess at +some of it, but for a newspaper-story it was pretty correct, just the +same. They had, to a minute, the time of the start from Chicago, and +hinted broadly that the schedule was a hair-raiser; something to make +previous very fast records previous very slow records. And—here in a +scoop was the secret—the train was to convey a prominent Chicago +capitalist to the bedside of his dying son, Philip McWilliams, in +Denver. Further, that hourly bulletins were being wired to the +distressed father, and that every effort of science would be put forth +to keep the unhappy boy alive until his father could reach Denver on the +Special. Lastly, it was hoped by all the evening papers (to fill out the +half first column scare) that sunrise would see the anxious parent well +on towards the gateway of the Rockies.</p> + +<p>Of course the morning papers from the Atlantic to the Pacific had the +story repeated—scare-headed, in fact—and the public were laughing at +our people's dogged refusal to confirm the report or to be interviewed +at all on the subject. The papers had the story, anyway. What did they +care for our efforts to screen a private distress which insisted on so +paralyzing a time-card for 1026 miles?</p> + +<p>When our own, the West End of the schedule, came over the wires there +was a universal, a vociferous, kick. Dispatchers, superintendent of +motive-power, train-master, everybody, protested. We were given about +seven hours to cover 400 miles—the fastest percentage, by-the-way, on +the whole run.</p> + +<p>"This may be grief for young McWilliams, and for his dad," grumbled the +chief dispatcher that evening, as he cribbed the press dispatches going +over the wires about the Special, "but the grief is not theirs alone."</p> + +<p>Then he made a protest to Chicago. What the answer was none but himself +ever knew. It came personal, and he took it personally; but the manner +in which he went to work clearing track and making a card for the +McWilliams Special showed better speed than the train itself ever +attempted—and he kicked no more.</p> + +<p>After all the row, it seems incredible, but they never got ready to +leave Chicago till four o'clock; and when the McWilliams Special lit +into our train system, it was like dropping a mountain-lion into a bunch +of steers.</p> + +<p>Freights and extras, local passenger-trains even, were used to being +side-tracked; but when it came to laying out the Flyers and (I whisper +this) the White Mail, and the Manila express, the oil began to sizzle in +the journal-boxes. The freight business, the passenger traffic—the +mail-schedules of a whole railway system were actually knocked by the +McWilliams Special into a cocked hat.</p> + +<p>From the minute it cleared Western Avenue it was the only thing talked +of. Divisional headquarters and car tink shanties alike were bursting +with excitement.</p> + +<p>On the West End we had all night to prepare, and at five o'clock next +morning every man in the operating department was on edge. At precisely +3.58 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> the McWilliams Special stuck its nose into our division, and +Foley—pulled off No. 1 with the 466—was heading her dizzy for +McCloud. Already the McWilliams had made up thirty-one minutes on the +one hour delay in Chicago, and Lincoln threw her into our hands with a +sort of "There, now! You fellows—are you any good at all on the West +End?" And we thought we were.</p> + +<p>Sitting in the dispatcher's office, we tagged her down the line like a +swallow. Harvard, Oxford, Zanesville, Ashton—and a thousand people at +the McCloud station waited for six o'clock and for Foley's muddy cap to +pop through the Blackwood bluffs; watched him stain the valley maples +with a stream of white and black, scream at the junction switches, tear +and crash through the yards, and slide hissing and panting up under our +nose, swing out of his cab, and look at nobody at all but his watch.</p> + +<p>We made it 5.59 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> Central Time. The miles, 136; the minutes, 121. The +schedule was beaten—and that with the 136 miles the fastest on the +whole 1026. Everybody in town yelled except Foley; he asked for a chew +of tobacco, and not getting one handily, bit into his own piece.</p> + +<p>While Foley melted his weed George Sinclair stepped out of the +superintendent's office—he was done in a black silk shirt, with a blue +four-in-hand streaming over his front—stepped out to shake hands with +Foley, as one hostler got the 466 out of the way, and another backed +down with a new Sky-Scraper, the 509.</p> + +<p>But nobody paid much attention to all this. The mob had swarmed around +the ratty, old, blind-eyed baggage-car which, with an ordinary way-car, +constituted the McWilliams Special.</p> + +<p>"Now what does a man with McWilliams's money want to travel special in +an old photograph-gallery like that for?" asked Andy Cameron, who was +the least bit huffed because he hadn't been marked up for the run +himself. "You better take him in a cup of hot coffee, Sinkers," +suggested Andy to the lunch-counter boy. "You might get a ten-dollar +bill if the old man isn't feeling too badly. What do you hear from +Denver, Neighbor?" he asked, turning to the superintendent of motive +power. "Is the boy holding out?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not worrying about the boy holding out; it's whether the Five-Nine +will hold out."</p> + +<p>"Aren't you going to change engines and crews at Arickaree?"</p> + +<p>"Not to-day," said Neighbor, grimly; "we haven't time."</p> + +<p>Just then Sinkers rushed at the baggage-car with a cup of hot coffee for +Mr. McWilliams. Everybody, hoping to get a peep at the capitalist, made +way. Sinkers climbed over the train chests which were lashed to the +platforms and pounded on the door. He pounded hard, for he hoped and +believed that there was something in it. But he might have pounded till +his coffee froze for all the impression it made on the sleepy +McWilliams.</p> + +<p>"Hasn't the man trouble enough without tackling your chiccory?" sang out +Felix Kennedy, and the laugh so discouraged Sinkers that he gave over +and sneaked away.</p> + +<p>At that moment the editor of the local paper came around the depot +corner on the run. He was out for an interview, and, as usual, just a +trifle late. However, he insisted on boarding the baggage-car to tender +his sympathy to McWilliams.</p> + +<p>The barricades bothered him, but he mounted them all, and began an +emergency pound on the forbidding blind door. Imagine his feelings when +the door was gently opened by a sad-eyed man, who opened the ball by +shoving a rifle as big as a pinch-bar under the editorial nose.</p> + +<p>"My grief, Mr. McWilliams," protested the interviewer, in a trembling +voice, "don't imagine I want to hold you up. Our citizens are all +peaceable—"</p> + +<p>"Get out!"</p> + +<p>"Why, man, I'm not even asking for a subscription; I simply want to +ten—"</p> + +<p>"Get out!" snapped the man with the gun; and in a foam the newsman +climbed down. A curious crowd gathered close to hear an editorial +version of the ten commandments revised on the spur of the moment. Felix +Kennedy said it was worth going miles to hear. "That's the coldest deal +I ever struck on the plains, boys," declared the editor. "Talk about +your bereaved parents. If the boy doesn't have a chill when that man +reaches him, I miss my guess. He acts to me as if he was afraid his +grief would get away before he got to Denver."</p> + +<p>Meantime Georgie Sinclair was tying a silk handkerchief around his +neck, while Neighbor gave him parting injunctions. As he put up his foot +to swing into the cab the boy looked for all the world like a jockey toe +in stirrup. Neighbor glanced at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Can you make it by eleven o'clock?" he growled.</p> + +<p>"Make what?"</p> + +<p>"Denver."</p> + +<p>"Denver or the ditch, Neighbor," laughed Georgie, testing the air. "Are +you right back there, Pat?" he called, as Conductor Francis strode +forward to compare the Mountain Time.</p> + +<p>"Right and tight, and I call it five-two-thirty now. What have you, +Georgie?"</p> + +<p>"Five-two-thirty-two," answered Sinclair, leaning from the cab window. +"And we're ready."</p> + +<p>"Then go!" cried Pat Francis, raising two fingers.</p> + +<p>"Go!" echoed Sinclair, and waved a backward smile to the crowd, as the +pistons took the push and the escapes wheezed.</p> + +<p>A roar went up. The little engineer shook his cap, and with a flirting, +snaking slide, the McWilliams Special drew slipping away between the +shining rails for the Rockies.</p> + +<p>Just how McWilliams felt we had no means of knowing; but we knew our +hearts would not beat freely until his infernal Special should slide +safely over the last of the 266 miles which still lay between the +distressed man and his unfortunate child.</p> + +<p>From McCloud to Ogalalla there is a good bit of twisting and slewing; +but looking east from Athens a marble dropped between the rails might +roll clear into the Ogalalla yards. It is a sixty-mile grade, the +ballast of slag, and the sweetest, springiest bed under steel.</p> + +<p>To cover those sixty miles in better than fifty minutes was like picking +them off the ponies; and the Five-Nine breasted the Morgan divide, +fretting for more hills to climb.</p> + +<p>The Five-Nine—for that matter any of the Sky-Scrapers are built to +balance ten or a dozen sleepers, and when you run them light they have a +fashion of rooting their noses into the track. A modest up-grade just +about counters this tendency; but on a slump and a stiff clip and no +tail to speak of, you feel as if the drivers were going to buck up on +the ponies every once in a while. However, they never do, and Georgie +whistled for Scarboro' junction, and 180 miles and two waters, in 198 +minutes out of McCloud; and, looking happy, cussed Mr. McWilliams a +little, and gave her another hatful of steam.</p> + +<p>It is getting down a hill, like the hills of the Mattaback Valley, at +such a pace that pounds the track out of shape. The Five-Nine lurched at +the curves like a mad woman, shook free with very fury, and if the +baggage-car had not been fairly loaded down with the grief of +McWilliams, it must have jumped the rails a dozen times in as many +minutes.</p> + +<p>Indeed, the fireman—it was Jerry MacElroy—twisting and shifting +between the tender and the furnace, looked for the first time grave, and +stole a questioning glance from the steam-gauge towards Georgie.</p> + +<p>But yet he didn't expect to see the boy, his face set ahead and down the +track, straighten so suddenly up, sink in the lever, and close at the +instant on the air. Jerry felt her stumble under his feet—caught up +like a girl in a skipping-rope—and grabbing a brace looked, like a wise +stoker, for his answer out of his window. There far ahead it rose in hot +curling clouds of smoke down among the alfalfa meadows and over the +sweep of willows along the Mattaback River. The Mattaback bridge was on +fire, with the McWilliams Special on one side and Denver on the other.</p> + +<p>Jerry MacElroy yelled—the engineer didn't even look around; only +whistled an alarm back to Pat Francis, eased her down the grade a bit, +like a man reflecting, and watched the smoke and flames that rose to bar +the McWilliams Special out of Denver.</p> + +<p>The Five-Nine skimmed across the meadows without a break, and pulled up +a hundred feet from the burning bridge. It was an old Howe truss, and +snapped like popcorn as the flames bit into the rotten shed.</p> + +<p>Pat Francis and his brakeman ran forward. Across the river they could +see half a dozen section-men chasing wildly about throwing impotent +buckets of water on the burning truss.</p> + +<p>"We're up against it, Georgie," cried Francis.</p> + +<p>"Not if we can get across before the bridge tumbles into the river," +returned Sinclair.</p> + +<p>"You don't mean you'd try it?"</p> + +<p>"Would I? Wouldn't I? You know the orders. That bridge is good for an +hour yet. Pat, if you're game, I'll run it."</p> + +<p>"Holy smoke," mused Pat Francis, who would have run the river without +any bridge at all if so ordered. "They told us to deliver the goods, +didn't they?"</p> + +<p>"We might as well be starting, Pat," suggested Jerry MacElroy, who +deprecated losing good time. "There'll be plenty of time to talk after +we get into Denver, or the Mattaback."</p> + +<p>"Think quick, Pat," urged Sinclair; his safety was popping murder.</p> + +<p>"Back her up, then, and let her go," cried Francis; "I'd just as lief +have that baggage-car at the bottom of the river as on my hands any +longer."</p> + +<p>There was some sharp tooting, then the McWilliams Special backed; backed +away across the meadow, halted, and screamed hard enough to wake the +dead. Georgie was trying to warn the section-men. At that instant the +door of the baggage-car opened and a sharp-featured young man peered +out.</p> + +<p>"What's the row—what's all this screeching about, conductor?" he asked, +as Francis passed.</p> + +<p>"Bridge burning ahead there."</p> + +<p>"Bridge burning!" he cried, looking nervously forward. "Well, that's a +deal. What you going to do about it?"</p> + +<p>"Run it. Are you McWilliams?"</p> + +<p>"McWilliams? I wish I was for just one minute. I'm one of his clerks."</p> + +<p>"Where is he?"</p> + +<p>"I left him on La Salle Street yesterday afternoon."</p> + +<p>"What's your name?"</p> + +<p>"Just plain Ferguson."</p> + +<p>"Well, Ferguson, it's none of my business, but as long as we're going to +put you into Denver or into the river in about a minute, I'm curious to +know what the blazes you're hustling along this way for."</p> + +<p>"Me? I've got twelve hundred thousand dollars in gold coin in this car +for the Sierra Leone National Bank—that's all. Didn't you know that +five big banks there closed their doors yesterday? Worst panic in the +United States. That's what I'm here for, and five huskies with me eating +and sleeping in this car," continued Ferguson, looking ahead. "You're +not going to tackle that bridge, are you?"</p> + +<p>"We are, and right off. If there's any of your huskies want to drop out, +now's their chance," said Pat Francis, as Sinclair slowed up for his +run.</p> + +<p>Ferguson called his men. The five with their rifles came cautiously +forward.</p> + +<p>"Boys," said Ferguson, briefly. "There's a bridge afire ahead. These +guys are going to try to run it. It's not in your contract, that kind of +a chance. Do you want to get off? I stay with the specie, myself. You +can do exactly as you please. Murray, what do you say?" he asked, +addressing the leader of the force, who appeared to weigh about two +hundred and sixty.</p> + +<p>"What do I say?" echoed Murray, with decision, as he looked for a soft +place to alight alongside the track. "I say I'll drop out right here. I +don't mind train robbers, but I don't tackle a burning bridge—not if I +know it," and he jumped off.</p> + +<p>"Well, Peaters," asked Ferguson, of the second man, coolly, "do you want +to stay?"</p> + +<p>"Me?" echoed Peaters, looking ahead at the mass of flame leaping +upward—"me stay? Well, not in a thousand years. You can have my gun, +Mr. Ferguson, and send my check to 439 Milwaukee Avenue, if you please. +Gentlemen, good-day." And off went Peaters.</p> + +<p>And off went every last man of the valorous detectives except one lame +fellow, who said he would just as lief be dead as alive anyway, and +declared he would stay with Ferguson and die rich!</p> + +<p>Sinclair, thinking he might never get another chance, was whistling +sharply for orders. Francis, breathless with the news, ran forward.</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<div class="figcenter"> +<a name="illus3" id="illus3"></a> +<img src="images/illus3.jpg" alt=""/> +</div> + +<h3>"SINCLAIR WAS WHISTLING SHARPLY FOR ORDERS"</h3> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Coin? How much? Twelve hundred thousand. Whew!" cried Sinclair. "Swing +up, Pat. We're off."</p> + +<p>The Five-Nine gathered herself with a spring. Even the engineer's heart +quailed as they got headway. He knew his business, and he knew that if +only the rails hadn't buckled they were perfectly safe, for the heavy +truss would stand a lot of burning before giving way under a swiftly +moving train. Only, as they flew nearer, the blaze rolling up in dense +volume looked horribly threatening. After all it was foolhardy, and he +felt it; but he was past the stopping now, and he pulled the choker to +the limit. It seemed as if she never covered steel so fast. Under the +head she now had the crackling bridge was less than five hundred—four +hundred—three hundred—two hundred feet, and there was no longer time +to think. With a stare, Sinclair shut off. He wanted no push or pull on +the track. The McWilliams Special was just a tremendous arrow, shooting +through a truss of fire, and half a dozen speechless men on either side +of the river waiting for the catastrophe.</p> + +<p>Jerry MacElroy crouched low under the gauges. Sinclair jumped from his +box and stood with a hand on the throttle and a hand on the air, the +glass crashing around his head like hail. A blast of fiery air and +flying cinders burned and choked him. The engine, alive with danger, +flew like a great monkey along the writhing steel. So quick, so black, +so hot the blast, and so terrific the leap, she stuck her nose into +clean air before the men in the cab could rise to it.</p> + +<p>There was a heave in the middle like the lurch of a sea-sick steamer, +and with it the Five-Nine got her paws on cool iron and solid ground, +and the Mattaback and the blaze—all except a dozen tongues which licked +the cab and the roof of the baggage-car a minute—were behind. Georgie +Sinclair, shaking the hot glass out of his hair, looked ahead through +his frizzled eyelids and gave her a full head for the western bluffs of +the valley; then looked at his watch.</p> + +<p>It was the hundred and ninetieth mile-post just at her nose, and the +dial read eight o'clock and fifty-five minutes to a second. There was an +hour to the good and seventy-six miles and a water to cover; but they +were seventy-six of the prettiest miles under ballast anywhere, and the +Five-Nine reeled them off like a cylinder-press. Seventy-nine minutes +later Sinclair whistled for the Denver yards.</p> + +<p>There was a tremendous commotion among the waiting engines. If there was +one there were fifty big locomotives waiting to charivari the McWilliams +Special. The wires had told the story in Denver long before, and as the +Five-Nine sailed ponderously up the gridiron every mogul, every +consolidated, every ten-wheeler, every hog, every switch-bumper, every +air-hose screamed an uproarious welcome to Georgie Sinclair and the +Sky-Scraper.</p> + +<p>They had broken every record from McCloud to Denver, and all knew it; +but as the McWilliams Special drew swiftly past, every last man in the +yards stared at her cracked, peeled, blistered, haggard looks.</p> + +<p>"What the deuce have you bit into?" cried the depot-master, as the +Five-Nine swept splendidly up and stopped with her battered eye hard on +the depot clock.</p> + +<p>"Mattaback bridge is burned; had to crawl over on the stringers," +answered Sinclair, coughing up a cinder.</p> + +<p>"Where's McWilliams?"</p> + +<p>"Back there sitting on his grief, I reckon."</p> + +<p>While the crew went up to register, two big four-horse trucks backed up +to the baggage-car, and in a minute a dozen men were rolling specie-kegs +out of the door, which was smashed in, as being quicker than to tear +open the barricades.</p> + +<p>Sinclair, MacElroy, and Francis with his brakeman were surrounded by a +crowd of railroad men. As they stood answering questions, a big +prosperous-looking banker, with black rings under his eyes, pushed in +towards them, accompanied by the lame fellow, who had missed the chance +of a lifetime to die rich, and by Ferguson, who had told the story.</p> + +<p>The banker shook hands with each one of the crews. "You've saved us, +boys. We needed it. There's a mob of five thousand of the worst-scared +people in America clamoring at the doors; and, by the eternal, now we're +fixed for every one of them. Come up to the bank. I want you to ride +right up with the coin, all of you."</p> + +<p>It was an uncommonly queer occasion, but an uncommonly enthusiastic one. +Fifty policemen made the escort and cleared the way for the trucks to +pull up across the sidewalk, so the porters could lug the kegs of gold +into the bank before the very eyes of the rattled depositors.</p> + +<p>In an hour the run was broken. But when the four railroad men left the +bank, after all sorts of hugging by excited directors, they carried not +only the blessings of the officials, but each in his vest pocket a +check, every one of which discounted the biggest voucher ever drawn on +the West End for a month's pay; though I violate no confidence in +stating that Georgie Sinclair's was bigger than any two of the others. +And this is how it happens that there hangs in the directors' room of +the Sierra Leone National a very creditable portrait of the kid +engineer.</p> + +<p>Besides paying tariff on the specie, the bank paid for a new coat of +paint for the McWilliams Special from caboose to pilot. She was the last +train across the Mattaback for two weeks.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="The_Million-Dollar_Freight-Train" id="The_Million-Dollar_Freight-Train"></a>The Million-Dollar Freight-Train</h2> + + +<p>It was the second month of the strike, and not a pound of freight had +been moved; things looked smoky on the West End.</p> + +<p>The general superintendent happened to be with us when the news came.</p> + +<p>"You can't handle it, boys," said he, nervously. "What you'd better do +is to turn it over to the Columbian Pacific."</p> + +<p>Our contracting freight agent on the coast at that time was a fellow so +erratic that he was nicknamed Crazyhorse. Right in the midst of the +strike Crazyhorse wired that he had secured a big silk shipment for New +York. We were paralyzed.</p> + +<p>We had no engineers, no firemen, and no motive power to speak of. The +strikers were pounding our men, wrecking our trains, and giving us the +worst of it generally; that is, when we couldn't give it to them. Why +the fellow displayed his activity at that particular juncture still +remains a mystery. Perhaps he had a grudge against the road; if so, he +took an artful revenge. Everybody on the system with ordinary railroad +sense knew that our struggle was to keep clear of freight business until +we got rid of our strike. Anything valuable or perishable was especially +unwelcome.</p> + +<p>But the stuff was docked and loaded and consigned in our care before we +knew it. After that, a refusal to carry it would be like hoisting the +white flag; and that is something which never yet flew on the West End.</p> + +<p>"Turn it over to the Columbian," said the general superintendent; but +the general superintendent was not looked up to on our division. He +hadn't enough sand. Our head was a fighter, and he gave tone to every +man under him.</p> + +<p>"No," he thundered, bringing down his fist, "not in a thousand years! +We'll move it ourselves. Wire Montgomery, the general manager, that we +will take care of it. And wire him to fire Crazyhorse—and to do it +right off." And before the silk was turned over to us Crazyhorse was +looking for another job. It is the only case on record where a freight +hustler was discharged for getting business.</p> + +<p>There were twelve car-loads; it was insured for eighty-five thousand +dollars a car; you can figure how far the title is wrong, but you never +can estimate the worry that stuff gave us. It looked as big as twelve +million dollars' worth. In fact, one scrub-car tink, with the glory of +the West End at heart, had a fight over the amount with a sceptical +hostler. He maintained that the actual money value was a hundred and +twenty millions; but I give you the figures just as they went over the +wire, and they are right.</p> + +<p>What bothered us most was that the strikers had the tip almost as soon +as we had it. Having friends on every road in the country, they knew as +much about our business as we ourselves. The minute it was announced +that we should move the silk they were after us. It was a defiance; a +last one. If we could move freight—for we were already moving +passengers after a fashion—the strike might be well accounted beaten.</p> + +<p>Stewart, the leader of the local contingent, together with his +followers, got after me at once.</p> + +<p>"You don't show much sense, Reed," said he. "You fellows here are +breaking your necks to get things moving, and when this strike's over if +our boys ask for your discharge they'll get it. This road can't run +without our engineers. We're going to beat you. If you dare try to move +this stuff we'll have your scalp when it's over. You'll never get your +silk to Zanesville, I'll promise you that. And if you ditch it and make +a million dollar loss, you'll get let out anyway, my buck."</p> + +<p>"I'm here to obey orders, Stewart," I retorted. What was the use of +more? I felt uncomfortable; but we had determined to move the silk: +there was nothing more to be said.</p> + +<p>When I went over to the round-house and told Neighbor the decision he +said never a word, but he looked a great deal. Neighbor's task was to +supply the motive power. All that we had, uncrippled, was in the +passenger service, because passengers must be moved—must be taken care +of first of all. In order to win a strike you must have public opinion +on your side.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, Neighbor," said I, after we had talked a while, "we must +move the silk also."</p> + +<p>Neighbor studied; then he roared at his foreman.</p> + +<p>"Send Bartholomew Mullen here." He spoke with a decision that made me +think the business was done. I had never happened, it is true, to hear +of Bartholomew Mullen in the department of motive power; but the +impression the name gave me was of a monstrous fellow; big as Neighbor, +or old man Sankey, or Dad Hamilton.</p> + +<p>"I'll put Bartholomew ahead of it," muttered Neighbor, tightly. A boy +walked into the office.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Garten said you wanted to see me, sir," said he, addressing the +master mechanic.</p> + +<p>"I do, Bartholomew," responded Neighbor.</p> + +<p>The figure in my mind's eye shrunk in a twinkling. Then it occurred to +me that it must be this boy's father who was wanted.</p> + +<p>"You have been begging for a chance to take out an engine, Bartholomew," +began Neighbor, coldly; and I knew it was on.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You want to get killed, Bartholomew."</p> + +<p>Bartholomew smiled, as if the idea was not altogether displeasing.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to go pilot to-morrow for McCurdy? You to take the +44 and run as first Seventy-eight. McCurdy will run as second +Seventy-eight."</p> + +<p>"I know I could run an engine all right," ventured Bartholomew, as if +Neighbor were the only one taking the chances in giving him an engine. +"I know the track from here to Zanesville. I helped McNeff fire one +week."</p> + +<p>"Then go home, and go to bed, and be over here at six o'clock to-morrow +morning. And sleep sound; for it may be your last chance."</p> + +<p>It was plain that the master-mechanic hated to do it; it was simply +sheer necessity.</p> + +<p>"He's a wiper," mused Neighbor, as Bartholomew walked springily away. "I +took him in here sweeping two years ago. He ought to be firing now, but +the union held him back; that's why he hates them. He knows more about +an engine now than half the lodge. They'd better have let him in," said +the master-mechanic, grimly. "He may be the means of breaking their +backs yet. If I give him an engine and he runs it, I'll never take him +off, union or no union, strike or no strike."</p> + +<p>"How old is that boy?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Eighteen; and never a kith or a kin that I know of. Bartholomew +Mullen," mused Neighbor, as the slight figure moved across the flat, +"big name—small boy. Well, Bartholomew, you'll know something more by +to-morrow night about running an engine, or a whole lot less; that's as +it happens. If he gets killed, it's your fault, Reed."</p> + +<p>He meant that I was calling on him for men when he absolutely couldn't +produce them.</p> + +<p>"I heard once," he went on, "about a fellow named Bartholomew being +mixed up in a massacree. But I take it he must have been an older man +than our Bartholomew—nor his other name wasn't Mullen, neither. I +disremember just what it was; but it wasn't Mullen."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't say I want to get the boy killed, Neighbor," I protested. +"I've plenty to answer for. I'm here to run trains—when there are any +to run; that's murder enough for me. You needn't send Bartholomew out on +my account."</p> + +<p>"Give him a slow schedule and I'll give him orders to jump early; that's +all we can do. If the strikers don't ditch him, he'll get through, +somehow."</p> + +<p>It stuck in my crop—the idea of putting the boy on a pilot engine to +take all the dangers ahead of that particular train; but I had a good +deal else to think of besides. From the minute the silk got into the +McCloud yards we posted double guards around. About twelve o'clock that +night we held a council of war, which ended in our running the train +into the out freight-house. The result was that by morning we had a new +train made up. It consisted of fourteen refrigerator-cars loaded with +oranges, which had come in mysteriously the night before. It was +announced that the silk would be held for the present and the oranges +rushed through. Bright and early the refrigerator-train was run down to +the ice-houses and twenty men were put to work icing the oranges. At +seven o'clock McCurdy pulled in the local passenger with engine 105. Our +plan was to cancel the local and run him right out with the oranges. +When he got in he reported the 105 had sprung a tire; it knocked our +scheme into a cocked hat.</p> + +<p>There was a lantern-jawed conference in the round-house.</p> + +<p>"What can you do?" asked the superintendent, in desperation.</p> + +<p>"There's only one thing I can do. Put Bartholomew Mullen on it with the +44, and put McCurdy to bed for No. 2 to-night," responded Neighbor.</p> + +<p>We were running first in, first out; but we took care to always have +somebody for 1 and 2 who at least knew an injector from an air-pump.</p> + +<p>It was eight o'clock. I looked into the locomotive stalls. The +first—the only—man in sight was Bartholomew Mullen. He was very busy +polishing the 44. He had good steam on her, and the old tub was +wheezing as if she had the asthma. The 44 was old; she was homely; she +was rickety; but Bartholomew Mullen wiped her battered nose as +deferentially as if she had been a spick-span, spider-driver, tail-truck +mail-racer.</p> + +<p>She wasn't much—the 44. But in those days Bartholomew wasn't much; and +the 44 was Bartholomew's.</p> + +<p>"How is she steaming, Bartholomew?" I sung out; he was right in the +middle of her. Looking up, he fingered his waste modestly and blushed +through a dab of crude petroleum over his eye.</p> + +<p>"Hundred and thirty, sir. She's a terrible free steamer, the old 44; I'm +all ready to run her out."</p> + +<p>"Who's marked up to fire for you, Bartholomew?"</p> + +<p>Bartholomew Mullen looked at me fraternally.</p> + +<p>"Neighbor couldn't give me anybody but a wiper," said Bartholomew, in a +sort of a wouldn't-that-kill-you tone.</p> + +<p>The unconscious arrogance of the boy quite knocked me, so soon had +honors changed his point of view. Last night a despised wiper; at +daybreak, an engineer; and his nose in the air at the idea of taking on +a wiper for fireman. And all so innocent.</p> + +<p>"Would you object, Bartholomew," I suggested, gently, "to a train-master +for fireman?"</p> + +<p>"I don't—think so, sir."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; because I am going down to Zanesville this morning myself +and I thought I'd ride with you. Is it all right?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, sir—if Neighbor doesn't care."</p> + +<p>I smiled. He didn't know who Neighbor took orders from; but he thought, +evidently, not from me.</p> + +<p>"Then run her down to the oranges, Bartholomew, and couple on, and we'll +order ourselves out. See?"</p> + +<p>The 44 really looked like a baby-carriage when we got her in front of +the refrigerators. However, after the necessary preliminaries, we gave a +very sporty toot and pulled out; in a few minutes we were sailing down +the valley.</p> + +<p>For fifty miles we bobbed along with our cargo of iced silk as easy as +old shoes; for I need hardly explain that we had packed the silk into +the refrigerators to confuse the strikers. The great risk was that they +would try to ditch us.</p> + +<p>I was watching the track as a mouse would a cat, looking every minute +for trouble. We cleared the gumbo cut west of the Beaver at a pretty +good clip, in order to make the grade on the other side. The bridge +there is hidden in summer by a grove of hackberrys. I had just pulled +open to cool her a bit when I noticed how high the backwater was on each +side of the track. Suddenly I felt the fill going soft under the +drivers—felt the 44 wobble and slew. Bartholomew shut off hard and +threw the air as I sprang to the window. The peaceful little creek ahead +looked as angry as the Platte in April water, and the bottoms were a +lake.</p> + +<p>Somewhere up the valley there had been a cloudburst, for overhead the +sun was bright. The Beaver was roaring over its banks and the bridge was +out. Bartholomew screamed for brakes; it looked as we were against +it—and hard.</p> + +<p>A soft track to stop on, a torrent of storm water ahead, and ten +hundred thousand dollars' worth of silk behind—not to mention +equipment.</p> + +<p>I yelled at Bartholomew and motioned for him to jump; my conscience is +clear on that point. The 44 was stumbling along, trying, like a drunken +man, to hang to the rotten track.</p> + +<p>"Bartholomew!" I yelled; but he was head out and looking back at his +train, while he jerked frantically at the air lever. I understood: the +air wouldn't work; it never will on those old tubs when you need it. The +sweat pushed out on me. I was thinking of how much the silk would bring +us after a bath in the Beaver. Bartholomew stuck to his levers like a +man in a signal-tower, but every second brought us closer to open water. +Watching him, intent only on saving his first train—heedless of saving +his life—I was really a bit ashamed to jump. While I hesitated, he +somehow got the brakes to set; the old 44 bucked like a bronco.</p> + +<p>It wasn't too soon. She checked her train nobly at the last, but I saw +nothing could keep her from the drink. I caught Bartholomew a terrific +slap and again I yelled; then, turning to the gangway, I dropped into +the soft mud on my side. The 44 hung low, and it was easy lighting.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew sprang from his seat a second later, but his blouse caught +in the teeth of the quadrant. He stooped quick as thought, and peeled +the thing over his head. But then he was caught with his hands in the +wristbands, and the ponies of 44 tipped over the broken abutment.</p> + +<p>Pull as he would, he couldn't get free. The pilot dipped into the +torrent slowly; but, losing her balance, the 44 kicked her heels into +the air like lightning, and shot with a frightened wheeze plump into the +creek, dragging her engineer after her.</p> + +<p>The head car stopped on the brink. Running across the track, I looked +for Bartholomew. He wasn't there; I knew he must have gone down with his +engine.</p> + +<p>Throwing off my gloves, I dove just as I stood, close to the tender, +which hung half submerged. I am a good bit of a fish under water, but no +self-respecting fish would be caught in that yellow mud. I realized, +too, the instant I struck the water that I should have dived on the +up-stream side. The current took me away whirling; when I came up for +air I was fifty feet below the pier. I felt it was all up with +Bartholomew as I scrambled out; but to my amazement, as I shook my eyes +open, the train crew were running forward, and there stood Bartholomew +on the track above me looking at the refrigerators. When I got to him he +explained to me how he was dragged in and had to tear the sleeves out of +his blouse under water to get free.</p> + +<p>The surprise is, how little fuss men make about such things when they +are busy. It took only five minutes for the conductor to hunt up a coil +of wire and a sounder for me, and by the time he got forward with it +Bartholomew was half-way up a telegraph-pole to help me cut in on a live +wire. Fast as I could I rigged a pony, and began calling the McCloud +dispatcher. It was a rocky send, but after no end of pounding I got him, +and gave orders for the wrecking-gang and for one more of Neighbor's +rapidly decreasing supply of locomotives.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew, sitting on a strip of fence which still rose above water, +looked forlorn. To lose the first engine he ever handled, in the +Beaver, was tough, and he was evidently speculating on his chances of +ever getting another. If there weren't tears in his eyes, there was +storm water certainly. But after the relief-engine had pulled what was +left of us back six miles to a siding, I made it my first business to +explain to Neighbor, nearly beside himself, that Bartholomew was not +only not at fault, but that he had actually saved the train by his +nerve.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Neighbor," I suggested, when we got straightened around, +"give us the 109 to go ahead as pilot, and run the stuff around the +river division with Foley and the 216."</p> + +<p>"What'll you do with No. 6?" growled Neighbor. Six was the local +passenger, west.</p> + +<p>"Annul it west of McCloud," said I, instantly. "We've got this silk on +our hands now, and I'd move it if it tied up every passenger-train on +the division. If we can get the infernal stuff through, it will +practically beat the strike. If we fail, it will beat the company."</p> + +<p>By the time we backed to Newhall Junction, Neighbor had made up his mind +my way. Mullen and I climbed into the 109, and Foley with the 216, and +none too good a grace, coupled on to the silk, and, flying red signals, +we started again for Zanesville over the river division.</p> + +<p>Foley was always full of mischief. He had a better engine than ours, +anyway, and he took satisfaction the rest of the afternoon in crowding +us. Every mile of the way he was on our heels. I was throwing the coal +and distinctly remember.</p> + +<p>It was after dark when we reached the Beverly Hill, and we took it at a +lively pace. The strikers were not on our minds then; it was Foley who +bothered.</p> + +<p>When the long parallel steel lines of the upper yards spread before us, +flashing under the arc-lights, we were away above yard speed. Running a +locomotive into one of those big yards is like shooting a rapid in a +canoe. There is a bewildering maze of tracks lighted by red and green +lamps to be watched the closest. The hazards are multiplied the minute +you pass the throat, and a yard wreck is a dreadful tangle: it makes +everybody from road-master to flagmen furious, and not even Bartholomew +wanted to face an inquiry on a yard wreck. On the other hand, he +couldn't afford to be caught by Foley, who was chasing him out of pure +caprice.</p> + +<p>I saw the boy holding the throttle at a half and fingering the air +anxiously as we jumped through the frogs; but the roughest riding on +track so far beats the ties as a cushion that when the 109 suddenly +stuck her paws through an open switch we bounced against the roof of the +cab like footballs. I grabbed a brace with one hand and with the other +reached instinctively across to Bartholomew's side to seize the throttle +he held. But as I tried to shut him off he jerked it wide open in spite +of me, and turned with lightning in his eye.</p> + +<p>"No!" he cried, and his voice rang hard. The 109 took the tremendous +shove at her back and leaped like a frightened horse. Away we went +across the yard, through the cinders, and over the ties. My teeth have +never been the same since. I don't belong on an engine, anyway, and +since then I have kept off. At the moment I was convinced that the +strain had been too much—that Bartholomew was stark crazy. He sat +bouncing clear to the roof and clinging to his levers like a lobster.</p> + +<p>But his strategy was dawning on me; in fact, he was pounding it into me. +Even the shock and scare of leaving the track and tearing up the yard +had not driven from Bartholomew's noddle the most important feature of +our situation, which was, above everything, to <i>keep out of the way of +the silk-train</i>.</p> + +<p>I felt every moment more mortified at my attempt to shut him off. I had +done the trick of the woman who grabs the reins. It was even better to +tear up the yard than to stop for Foley to smash into and scatter the +silk over the coal-chutes. Bartholomew's decision was one of the traits +which make the runner: instant perception coupled to instant resolve. +The ordinary dub thinks what he should have done to avoid disaster after +it is all over; Bartholomew thought before.</p> + +<p>On we bumped, across frogs, through switches, over splits, and into +target rods, when—and this is the miracle of it all—the 109 got her +fore-feet on a split switch, made a contact, and, after a slew or two +like a bogged horse, she swung up sweet on the rails again, tender and +all. Bartholomew shut off with an under cut that brought us up double +and nailed her feet, with the air, right where she stood.</p> + +<p>We had left the track, ploughed a hundred feet across the yards, and +jumped on to another track. It is the only time I ever heard of its +happening anywhere, but I was on the engine with Bartholomew Mullen when +it was done.</p> + +<p>Foley choked his train the instant he saw our hind lights bobbing. We +climbed down and ran back. He had stopped just where we should have +stood if I had shut off. Bartholomew ran to the switch to examine it. +The contact light, green, still burned like a false beacon; and lucky it +did, for it showed the switch had been tampered with and exonerated +Bartholomew Mullen completely. The attempt of the strikers to spill the +silk right in the yards had only made the reputation of a new engineer. +Thirty minutes later the million-dollar train was turned over to the +eastern division to wrestle with, and we breathed, all of us, a good +bit easier.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew Mullen, now a passenger runner, who ranks with Kennedy and +Jack Moore and Foley and George Sinclair himself, got a personal letter +from the general manager complimenting him on his pretty wit; and he was +good enough to say nothing whatever about mine.</p> + +<p>We registered that night and went to supper together—Foley, Jackson, +Bartholomew, and I. Afterwards we dropped into the dispatcher's office. +Something was coming from McCloud, but the operators, to save their +lives, couldn't catch it. I listened a minute; it was Neighbor. Now +Neighbor isn't great on dispatching trains. He can make himself +understood over the poles, but his sending is like a boy's sawing +wood—sort of uneven.</p> + +<p>However, though I am not much on running yards, I claim to be able to +take the wildest ball that was ever thrown along the wire, and the chair +was tendered me at once to catch Neighbor's extraordinary passes at the +McCloud key. They came something like this:</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>To Opr.</i>:</p> + +<p>Tell Massacree [<i>that was the word that stuck them all, and I +could perceive Neighbor was talking emphatically; he had +apparently forgotten Bartholomew's last name and was trying to +connect with the one he had disremembered the night +before</i>]—tell Massacree [<i>repeated Neighbor</i>] that he is +al-l-l right. Tell hi-m I give 'im double mileage for to-day +all the way through. And to-morrow he gets the 109 to keep.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Neighb-b-or.</span></p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Bucks" id="Bucks"></a>Bucks</h2> + + +<p>"I see a good deal of stuff in print about the engineer," said Callahan, +dejectedly. "What's the matter with the dispatcher? What's the matter +with the man who tells the engineer what to do—and just what to do? How +to do it—and exactly how to do it? With the man who sits shut in brick +walls and hung in Chinese puzzles, his ear glued to a receiver, and his +finger fast to a key, and his eye riveted on a train chart? The man who +orders and annuls and stops and starts everything within five hundred +miles of him, and holds under his thumb more lives every minute than a +brigadier does in a lifetime? For instance," asked Callahan, in his +tired way, "what's the matter with Bucks?"</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Now, I myself never knew Bucks. He left the West End before I went on. +Bucks is second vice-president—which means the boss—of a +transcontinental line now, and a very great swell. But no man from the +West End who calls on Bucks has to wait for an audience, though bigger +men do. They talk of him out there yet. Not of General Superintendent +Bucks, which he came to be, nor of General Manager Bucks. On the West +End he is just plain Bucks; but Bucks on the West End means a whole lot.</p> + +<p>"He saved the company $300,000 that night the Ogalalla train ran away," +mused Callahan. Callahan himself is assistant superintendent now.</p> + +<p>"Three hundred thousand dollars is a good deal of money, Callahan," I +objected.</p> + +<p>"Figure it out yourself. To begin with, fifty passengers' lives—that's +$5000 apiece, isn't it?" Callahan had a cold-blooded way of figuring a +passenger's life from the company standpoint. "It would have killed +over fifty passengers if the runaway had ever struck 59. There wouldn't +have been enough left of 59 to make a decent funeral. Then the +equipment, at least $50,000. But there was a whole lot more than +$300,000 in it for Bucks."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"He told me once that if he hadn't saved 59 that night he would never +have signed another order anywhere on any road."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Why? Because, after it was all over, he found out that his own mother +was aboard 59. Didn't you ever hear that? Well, sir, it was Christmas +Eve, and the year was 1884."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Christmas Eve everywhere; but on the West End it was just plain December +24th.</p> + +<p>"High winds will prevail for ensuing twenty-four hours. Station agents +will use extra care to secure cars on sidings; brakemen must use care to +avoid being blown from moving trains."</p> + +<p>That is about all Bucks said in his bulletins that evening; not a word +about Christmas or Merry Christmas. In fact, if Christmas had come to +McCloud that night they couldn't have held it twenty-four minutes, much +less twenty-four hours; the wind was too high. All the week, all the +day, all the night it had blown—a December wind; dry as an August noon, +bitter as powdered ice. It was in the early days of our Western +railroading, when we had only one fast train on the schedule—the St. +Louis-California Express; and only one fast engine on the division—the +101; and only one man on the whole West End—Bucks.</p> + +<p>Bucks was assistant superintendent and master-mechanic and train-master +and chief dispatcher and storekeeper—and a bully good fellow. There +were some boys in the service; among them, Callahan. Callahan was +seventeen, with hair like a sunset, and a mind quick as an air-brake. It +was his first year at the key, and he had a night trick under Bucks.</p> + +<p>Callahan claims it blew so hard that night that it blew most of the +color out of his hair. Sod houses had sprung up like dog-towns in the +buffalo grass during the fall. But that day homesteaders crept into +dugouts and smothered over buffalo chip fires. Horses and cattle huddled +into friendly pockets a little out of the worst of it, or froze mutely +in pitiless fence corners on the divides. Sand drove gritting down from +the Cheyenne hills like a storm of snow. Streets of the raw prairie +towns stared deserted at the sky. Even cowboys kept their ranches, and +through the gloom of noon the sun cast a coward shadow. It was a +wretched day, and the sun went down with the wind tuning into a gale, +and all the boys in bad humor—except Bucks. Not that Bucks couldn't get +mad; but it took more than a cyclone to start him.</p> + +<p>No. 59, the California Express, was late that night. All the way up the +valley the wind caught her quartering. Really the marvel is that out +there on the plains such storms didn't blow our toy engines clear off +the rails; for that matter they might as well have taken the rails, too, +for none of them went over sixty pounds. 59 was due at eleven o'clock; +it was half-past twelve when she pulled in and on Callahan's trick. But +Bucks hung around the office until she staggered up under the streaked +moonlight, as frowsy a looking train as ever choked on alkali.</p> + +<p>There was always a crowd down at the station to meet 59; she was the big +arrival of the day at McCloud, even if she didn't get in until eleven +o'clock at night. She brought the mail and the express and the +landseekers and the travelling men and the strangers generally; so the +McCloud livery men and hotel runners and prominent citizens and +prominent loafers and the city marshal usually came down to meet her. +But it was not so that night. The platform was bare. Not even the hardy +chief of police, who was town watch and city marshal all combined, +ventured out.</p> + +<p>The engineer swung out of his cab with the silence of an abused man. His +eyes were full of soda, his ears full of sand, his mustache full of +burrs, and his whiskers full of tumble-weeds. The conductor and the +brakemen climbed sullenly down, and the baggage-man shoved open his door +and slammed a trunk out on the platform without a pretence of sympathy. +Then the outgoing crew climbed aboard, and in a hurry. The +conductor-elect ran down-stairs from the register, and pulled his cap +down hard before he pushed ahead against the wind to give the engineer +his copy of the orders as the new engine was coupled up. The fireman +pulled the canvas jealously around the cab end. The brakeman ran +hurriedly back to examine the air connections, and gave his signal to +the conductor; the conductor gave his to the engineer. There were two +short, choppy snorts from the 101, and 59 moved out stealthily, evenly, +resistlessly into the teeth of the night. In another minute, only her +red lamps gleamed up the yard. One man still on the platform watched +them recede; it was Bucks.</p> + +<p>He came up to the dispatcher's office and sat down. Callahan wondered +why he didn't go home and to bed; but Callahan was too good a railroad +man to ask questions of a superior. Bucks might have stood on his head +on the stove, and it red-hot, without being pursued with inquiries from +Callahan. If Bucks chose to sit up out there on the frozen prairies, in +a flimsy barn of a station, and with the wind howling murder at twelve +o'clock past, and that on Chri—the twenty-fourth of December, it was +Bucks's own business.</p> + +<p>"I kind of looked for my mother to-night," said he, after Callahan got +his orders out of the way for a minute. "Wrote she was coming out pretty +soon for a little visit."</p> + +<p>"Where does your mother live?"</p> + +<p>"Chicago. I sent her transportation two weeks ago. Reckon she thought +she'd better stay home for Christmas. Back in God's country they have +Christmas just about this time of year. Watch out to-night, Jim. I'm +going home. It's a wind for your life."</p> + +<p>Callahan was making a meeting-point for two freights when the door +closed behind Bucks; he didn't even sing out "Good-night." And as for +Merry Chri—well, that had no place on the West End anyhow.</p> + +<p>"D-i, D-i, D-i, D-i," came clicking into the room. Callahan wasn't +asleep. Once he did sleep over the key. When he told Bucks, he made sure +of his time; only he thought Bucks ought to know.</p> + +<p>Bucks shook his head pretty hard that time. "It's awful business, Jim. +It's murder, you know. It's the penitentiary, if they should convict +you. But it's worse than that. If anything happened because you went to +sleep over the key, you'd have them on your mind all your life, don't +you know—forever. Men—and—and children. That's what I always think +about—the children. Maimed and scalded and burned. Jim, if it ever +happens again, quit dispatching; get into commercial work; mistakes +don't cost life there; don't try to handle trains. If it ever happens +with you, you'll kill yourself."</p> + +<p>That was all he said; it was enough. And no wonder Callahan loved him.</p> + +<p>The wind tore frantically around the station; but everything else was so +still. It was one o'clock now, and not a soul about but Callahan. D-i, +D-i, J, clicked sharp and fast. "Twelve or fourteen cars passed +here—just—now east—running a-a-a-" Callahan sprang up like a +flash—listened. What? R-u-n-n-i-n-g a-w-a-y?</p> + +<p>It was the Jackson operator calling; Callahan jumped to the key. "What's +that?" he asked, quick as lightning could dash it.</p> + +<p>"Twelve or fourteen cars coal passed here, fully forty miles an hour, +headed east, driven by the wi—"</p> + +<p>That was all J could send, for Ogalalla broke in. Ogalalla is the +station just west of Jackson. And with Callahan's copper hair raising +higher at every letter, this came from Ogalalla: "Heavy gust caught +twelve coal cars on side track, sent them out on main line off down the +grade."</p> + +<p>They were already past Jackson, eight miles away, headed east, and +running down hill. Callahan's eyes turned like hares to the train sheet. +59, going west, was due <i>that minute</i> to leave Callendar. From Callendar +to Griffin is a twenty-miles' run. There is a station between, but in +those days no night operator. The runaway coal-train was then less than +thirty miles west of Griffin, coming down a forty-mile grade like a +cannon ball. If 59 could be stopped at Callendar, she could be laid by +in five minutes, out of the way of the certain destruction ahead of her +on the main line. Callahan seized the key, and began calling "Cn." He +pounded until the call burned into his fingers. It was an age before +Callendar answered; then Callahan's order flew:</p> + +<p>"Hold 59. Answer quick."</p> + +<p>And Callendar answered: "59 just pulling out of upper yard. Too late to +stop her. What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Callahan struck the table with his clinched fist, looked wildly about +him, then sprang from the chair, ran to the window, and threw up the +sash. The moon shone a bit through the storm of sand, but there was not +a soul in sight. There were lights in the round-house a hundred yards +across the track. He pulled a revolver—every railroad man out there +carried one those days—and, covering one of the round-house windows, +began firing. It was a risk. There was one chance, maybe, to a thousand +of his killing a night man. But there were a thousand chances to one +that a whole train-load of men and women would be killed inside of +thirty minutes if he couldn't get help. He chose a window in the +machinists' section, where he knew no one usually went at night. He +poured bullets into the unlucky casement as fast as powder could carry +them. Reloading rapidly, he watched the round-house door; and, sure +enough, almost at once, it was cautiously opened. Then he fired into +the air—one, two, three, four, five, six—and he saw a man start for +the station on the dead run. He knew, too, by the tremendous sweep of +his legs that it was Ole Anderson, the night foreman, the man of all +others he wanted.</p> + +<p>"Ole," cried the dispatcher, waving his arms frantically as the giant +Swede leaped across the track and looked up from the platform below, "go +get Bucks. I've got a runaway train going against 59. For your life, +Ole, run!"</p> + +<p>The big fellow was into the wind with the word. Bucks boarded four +blocks away. Callahan, slamming down the window, took the key, and began +calling Rowe. Rowe is the first station east of Jackson; it was now the +first point at which the runaway coal-train could be headed.</p> + +<p>"R-o R-o," he rattled. The operator must have been sitting on the wire, +for he answered at once. As fast as Callahan's fingers could talk, he +told Rowe the story and gave him orders to get the night agent, who, he +knew, must be down to sell tickets for 59, and pile all the ties they +could gather across the track to derail the runaway train. Then he +began thumping for Kolar, the next station east of Rowe, and the second +ahead of the runaways. He pounded and he pounded, and when the man at +Kolar answered, Callahan could have sworn he had been asleep—just from +the way he talked. Does it seem strange? There are many strange things +about a dispatcher's senses. "Send your night man to west switch +house-track, and open for runaway train. Set brakes hard on your empties +on siding, to spill runaways if possible. Do anything and everything to +keep them from getting by you. Work quick."</p> + +<p>Behind Kolar's O.K. came a frantic call from Rowe. "Runaways passed here +like a streak. Knocked the ties into toothpicks. Couldn't head them."</p> + +<p>Callahan didn't wait to hear any more. He only wiped the sweat from his +face. It seemed forever before Kolar spoke again. Then it was only to +say: "Runaways went by here before night man could get to switch and +open it."</p> + +<p>Would Bucks never come? And if he did come, what on earth could stop the +runaway train now? They were heading into the worst grade on the West +End. It averages one per cent. from Kolar to Griffin, and there we get +down off the Cheyenne Hills with a long reverse curve, and drop into the +cañon of the Blackwood with a three per cent. grade. Callahan, almost +beside himself, threw open a north window to look for Bucks. Two men +were flying down Main Street towards the station. He knew them; it was +Ole and Bucks.</p> + +<p>But Bucks! Never before or since was seen on a street of McCloud such a +figure as Bucks, in his trousers and slippers, with his night-shirt free +as he sailed down the wind. In another instant he was bounding up the +stairs. Callahan told him.</p> + +<p>"What have you done?" he panted, throwing himself into the chair. +Callahan told him. Bucks held his head in his hands while the boy +talked. He turned to the sheet—asked quick for 59.</p> + +<p>"She's out of Callendar. I tried hard to stop her. I didn't lose a +second; she was gone."</p> + +<p>Barely an instant Bucks studied the sheet. Routed out of a sound sleep +after an eight-hour trick, and on such a night, by such a message—the +marvel was he could think at all, much less set a trap which should save +59. In twenty minutes from the time Bucks took the key the two trains +would be together—could he save the passenger? Callahan didn't believe +it.</p> + +<p>A sharp, quick call brought Griffin. We had one of the brightest lads on +the whole division at Griffin. Callahan, listening, heard Griffin +answer. Bucks rattled a question. How the heart hangs on the faint, +uncertain tick of a sounder when human lives hang on it!</p> + +<p>"Where are your section men?" asked Bucks.</p> + +<p>"In bed at the section house."</p> + +<p>"Who's with you?"</p> + +<p>"Night agent. Sheriff with two cowboy prisoners waiting to take 59."</p> + +<p>Before the last word came, Bucks was back at him:</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>To Opr.</i>:</p> + +<p>Ask Sheriff release his prisoners to save passenger-train. Go +together to west switch house-track, open, and set it. Smash in +section tool-house, get tools. Go to point of house-track +curve, cut the rails, and point them to send runaway train from +Ogalalla over the bluff into the river.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bucks.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>The words flew off his fingers like sparks, and another message crowded +the wire behind it:</p> + +<blockquote><p><i>To Agt.</i>:</p> + +<p>Go to east switch, open, and set for passing-track. Flag 59, +and run her on siding. If can't get 59 into the clear, ditch +the runaways.</p> + +<p><span class="smcap">Bucks.</span></p></blockquote> + +<p>They look old now. The ink is faded, and the paper is smoked with the +fire of fifteen winters and bleached with the sun of fifteen summers. +But to this day they hang there in their walnut frames, the original +orders, just as Bucks scratched them off. They hang there in the +dispatchers' offices in the new depot. But in their present swell +surroundings Bucks wouldn't know them. It was Harvey Reynolds who took +them off the other end of the wire—a boy in a thousand for that night +and that minute. The instant the words flashed into the room he +instructed the agent, grabbed an axe, and dashed out into the +waiting-room, where the sheriff, Ed Banks, sat with his prisoners, the +cowboys.</p> + +<p>"Ed," cried Harvey, "there's a runaway train from Ogalalla coming down +the line in the wind. If we can't trap it here, it'll knock 59 into +kindling-wood. Turn the boys loose, Ed, and save the passenger-train. +Boys, show the man and square yourselves right now. I don't know what +you're here for; but I believe it's to save 59. Will you help?"</p> + +<p>The three men sprang to their feet; Ed</p> + +<p>Banks slipped the handcuffs off in a trice. "Never mind the rest of it. +Save the passenger-train first," he roared. Everybody from Ogalalla to +Omaha knew Ed Banks.</p> + +<p>"Which way? How?" cried the cowboys, in a lather of excitement.</p> + +<p>Harvey Reynolds, beckoning as he ran, rushed out the door and up the +track, his posse at his heels, stumbling into the gale like lunatics.</p> + +<p>"Smash in the tool-house door," panted Harvey as they neared it.</p> + +<p>Ed Banks seized the axe from his hands and took command as naturally as +Dewey.</p> + +<p>"Pick up that tie and ram her," he cried, pointing to the door. "All +together—now."</p> + +<p>Harvey and the cowboys splintered the panel in a twinkling, and Banks, +with a few clean strokes, cut an opening. The cowboys, jumping +together, ran in and began fishing for tools in the dark. One got hold +of a wrench; the other, a pick. Harvey caught up a clawbar, and Banks +grabbed a spike-maul. In a bunch they ran for the point of the curve on +the house-track. It lies there close to the verge of a limestone bluff +that looms up fifty feet above the river.</p> + +<p>But it is one thing to order a contact opened, and another and very +different thing to open it, at two in the morning on December +twenty-fifth, by men who know no more about track-cutting than about +logarithms. Side by side and shoulder to shoulder the man of the law and +the men out of the law, the rough-riders and the railroad boy, pried and +wrenched and clawed and struggled with the steel. While Harvey and Banks +clawed at the spikes the cowboys wrestled with the nuts on the bolts of +the fish-plates. It was a baffle. The nuts wouldn't twist, the spikes +stuck like piles, sweat covered the assailants, Harvey went into a +frenzy. "Boys, we must work faster," he cried, tugging at the frosty +spikes; but flesh and blood could do no more.</p> + +<p>"There they come—there's the runaway train—do you hear it? I'm going +to open the switch, anyhow," Harvey shouted, starting up the track. +"Save yourselves."</p> + +<p>Heedless of the warning, Banks struggled with the plate-bolts in a +silent fury. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "Give me the maul!" he +cried.</p> + +<p>Raising the heavy tool like a tack-hammer he landed heavily on the bolt +nuts; once, and again; and they flew in a stream like bullets over the +bluff. The taller cowboy, bending close on his knees, raised a yell. The +plates had given. Springing to the other rail, Banks stripped the bolts +even after the mad train had shot into the gorge above them. They drove +the pick under the loosened steel, and with a pry that bent the clawbar +and a yell that reached Harvey, trembling at the switch, they tore away +the stubborn contact, and pointed the rails over the precipice.</p> + +<p>The shriek of a locomotive whistle cut the wind. Looking east, Harvey +had been watching 59's headlight. She was pulling in on the siding. He +still held the switch open to send the runaways into the trap Bucks had +set, if the passenger-train failed to get into the clear; but there was +a minute yet—a bare sixty seconds—and Harvey had no idea of dumping +ten thousand dollars' worth of equipment into the river unless he had +to.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, up went the safety signals from the east end. The 101 was +coughing noisily up the passing-track—the line was clear. Banks and the +cowboys, waiting breathless, saw Harvey with a determined lurch close +the main-line contact.</p> + +<p>In the next breath the coalers, with the sweep of the gale in their +frightful velocity, smashed over the switch and on. A rattling whirl of +ballast and a dizzy clatter of noise, and before the frightened crew of +59 could see what was against them, the runaway train was passed—gone!</p> + +<p>"I wasn't going to stop here to-night," muttered the engineer, as he +stood with the conductor over Harvey's shoulder at the operator's desk a +minute later and wiped the chill from his forehead with a piece of +waste. "We'd have met them in the cañon."</p> + +<p>Harvey was reporting to Bucks. Callahan heard it coming: "Rails cut, but +59 safe. Runaways went by here fully seventy miles an hour."</p> + +<p>It was easy after that. Griffin is the foot of the grade; from there on, +the runaway train had a hill to climb. Bucks had held 250, the local +passenger, side-tracked at Davis, thirty miles farther east. Sped by the +wind, the runaways passed Davis, though not at half their highest speed. +An instant later, 250's engine was cut loose, and started after them +like a scared collie. Three miles east of Davis they were overhauled by +the light engine. The fireman, Donahue, crawled out of the cab window, +along the foot-rail, and down on the pilot, caught the ladder of the +first car, and, running up, crept along to the leader and began setting +brakes. Ten minutes later they were brought back in triumph to Davis.</p> + +<p>When the multitude of orders was out of the way, Bucks wired Ed Banks to +bring his cowboys down to McCloud on 60. 60 was the east-bound passenger +due at McCloud at 5.30 <span class="smcap">A.M.</span> It turned out that the cowboys had been +arrested for lassoing a Norwegian homesteader who had cut their wire. It +was not a heinous offence, and after it was straightened out by the +intervention of Bucks—who was the whole thing then—they were given +jobs lassoing sugar barrels in the train service. One of them, the tall +fellow, is a passenger conductor on the high line yet.</p> + +<p>It was three o'clock that morning—the twenty-fifth of December in small +letters, on the West End—before they got things decently straightened +out: there was so much to do—orders to make and reports to take. Bucks, +still on the key in his flowing robes and tumbling hair, sent and took +them all. Then he turned the seat over to Callahan, and getting up for +the first time in two hours, dropped into another chair.</p> + +<p>The very first thing Callahan received was a personal from Pat Francis, +at Ogalalla, conductor of 59. It was for Bucks:</p> + +<blockquote><p>Your mother is aboard 59. She was carried by McCloud in the +Denver sleeper. Sending her back to you on 60. Merry Christmas.</p></blockquote> + +<p>It came off the wire fast. Callahan, taking it, didn't think Bucks +heard; though it's probable he did hear. Anyway, Callahan threw the clip +over towards him with a laugh.</p> + +<p>"Look there, old man. There's your mother coming, after all your +kicking—carried by on 59."</p> + +<p>As the boy turned he saw the big dispatcher's head sink between his arms +on the table. Callahan sprang to his side; but Bucks had fainted.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Sankeys_Double_Header" id="Sankeys_Double_Header"></a>Sankey's Double Header</h2> + + +<p>The oldest man in the train service didn't pretend to say how long +Sankey had worked for the company.</p> + +<p>Pat Francis was a very old conductor; but old man Sankey was a veteran +when Pat Francis began braking. Sankey ran a passenger-train when Jimmie +Brady was running—and Jimmie afterwards enlisted and was killed in the +Custer fight.</p> + +<p>There was an odd tradition about Sankey's name. He was a tall, swarthy +fellow, and carried the blood of a Sioux chief in his veins. It was in +the time of the Black Hills excitement, when railroad men struck by the +gold fever were abandoning their trains, even at way-stations, and +striking across the divide for Clark's crossing. Men to run the trains +were hard to get, and Tom Porter, train-master, was putting in every man +he could pick up, without reference to age or color.</p> + +<p>Porter—he died at Julesburg afterwards—was a great jollier, and he +wasn't afraid of anybody on earth.</p> + +<p>One day a war-party of Sioux clattered into town. They tore around like +a storm, and threatened to scalp everything, even to the local tickets. +The head braves dashed in on Tom Porter, sitting in the dispatcher's +office up-stairs. The dispatcher was hiding under a loose plank in the +baggage-room floor; Tom, being bald as a sand-hill, considered himself +exempt from scalping-parties. He was working a game of solitaire when +they bore down on him, and interested them at once. That led to a +parley, which ended in Porter's hiring the whole band to brake on +freight-trains. Old man Sankey is said to have been one of that original +war-party.</p> + +<p>Now this is merely a caboose story—told on winter nights when trainmen +get stalled in the snow drifting down from the Sioux country. But what +follows is better attested.</p> + +<p>Sankey, to start with, had a peculiar name. An unpronounceable, +unspellable, unmanageable name. I never heard it; so I can't give it. It +was as hard to catch as an Indian cur, and that name made more trouble +on the pay-rolls than all the other names put together. Nobody at +headquarters could handle it; it was never turned in twice alike, and +they were always writing Tom Porter about the thing. Tom explained +several times that it was Sitting Bull's ambassador who was drawing that +money, and that he usually signed the pay-roll with a tomahawk. But +nobody at Omaha ever knew how to take a joke.</p> + +<p>The first time Tom went down he was called in very solemnly to explain +again about the name; and being in a hurry, and very tired of the whole +business, Tom spluttered:</p> + +<p>"Hang it, don't bother me any more about that name. If you can't read +it, make it Sankey, and be done with it."</p> + +<p>They took Tom at his word. They actually did make it Sankey; and that's +how our oldest conductor came to bear the name of the famous singer. And +more I may say: good name as it was—and is—the Sioux never disgraced +it.</p> + +<p>Probably every old traveller on the system knew Sankey. He was not only +always ready to answer questions, but, what is much more, always ready +to answer the same question twice: it is that which makes conductors +gray-headed and spoils their chances for heaven—answering the same +questions over and over again. Children were apt to be a bit startled at +first sight of Sankey—he was so dark. But he had a very quiet smile, +that always made them friends after the second trip through the +sleepers, and they sometimes ran about asking for him after he had left +the train.</p> + +<p>Of late years—and it is this that hurts—these very same children, +grown ever so much bigger, and riding again to or from California or +Japan or Australia, will ask when they reach the West End about the +Indian conductor.</p> + +<p>But the conductors who now run the overland trains pause at the +question, checking over the date limits on the margins of the coupon +tickets, and, handing the envelopes back, will look at the children and +say, slowly, "He isn't running any more."</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>If you have ever gone over our line to the mountains or to the coast you +may remember at McCloud, where they change engines and set the diner in +or out, the pretty little green park to the east of the depot with a row +of catalpa-trees along the platform line. It looks like a glass of +spring water.</p> + +<p>If it happened to be Sankey's run and a regular West End day, sunny and +delightful, you would be sure to see standing under the catalpas a shy, +dark-skinned girl of fourteen or fifteen years, silently watching the +preparations for the departure of the Overland.</p> + +<p>And after the new engine had been backed, champing down, and harnessed +to its long string of vestibuled sleepers; after the air hose had been +connected and the air valves examined; after the engineer had swung out +of his cab, filled his cups, and swung in again; after the fireman and +his helper had disposed of their slice-bar and shovel, and given the +tender a final sprinkle, and the conductor had walked leisurely +forward, compared time with the engineer, and cried, "All Abo-o-o-ard!"</p> + +<p>Then, as your coach moved slowly ahead, you might notice under the +receding catalpas the little girl waving a parasol, or a handkerchief, +at the outgoing train—that is, at conductor Sankey; for she was his +daughter, Neeta Sankey. Her mother was Spanish, and died when Neeta was +a wee bit. Neeta and the Limited were Sankey's whole world.</p> + +<p>When Georgie Sinclair began pulling the Limited, running west opposite +Foley, he struck up a great friendship with Sankey. Sankey, though he +was hard to start, was full of early-day stories. Georgie, it seemed, +had the faculty of getting him to talk; perhaps because when he was +pulling Sankey's train he made extraordinary efforts to keep on +time—time was a hobby with Sankey. Foley said he was so careful of it +that when he was off duty he let his watch stop just to save time.</p> + +<p>Sankey loved to breast the winds and the floods and the snows, and if he +could get home pretty near on schedule, with everybody else late, he was +happy; and in respect of that, as Sankey used to say, Georgie Sinclair +could come nearer gratifying Sankey's ambition than any runner we had.</p> + +<p>Even the firemen used to observe that the young engineer, always neat, +looked still neater the days that he took out Sankey's train. By-and-by +there was an introduction under the catalpas; after that it was noticed +that Georgie began wearing gloves on the engine—not kid gloves, but +yellow dogskin—and black silk shirts; he bought them in Denver.</p> + +<p>Then—an odd way engineers have of paying compliments—when Georgie +pulled into town on No. 2, if it was Sankey's train, the big sky-scraper +would give a short, hoarse scream, a most peculiar note, just as they +drew past Sankey's house, which stood on the brow of the hill west of +the yards. Then Neeta would know that No. 2 and her father, and +naturally Mr. Sinclair, were in again, and all safe and sound.</p> + +<p>When the railway trainmen held their division fair at McCloud, there was +a lantern to be voted to the most popular conductor—a gold-plated +lantern with a green curtain in the globe. Cal Stewart and Ben Doton, +who were very swell conductors, and great rivals, were the favorites, +and had the town divided over their chances for winning it.</p> + +<p>But during the last moments Georgia Sinclair stepped up to the booth and +cast a storm of votes for old man Sankey. Doton's friends and Stewart's +laughed at first, but Sankey's votes kept pouring in amazingly. The +favorites grew frightened; they pooled their issues by throwing +Stewart's vote to Doton; but it wouldn't do. Georgie Sinclair, with a +crowd of engineers—Cameron, Moore, Foley, Bat Mullen, and Burns—came +back at them with such a swing that in the final round up they fairly +swamped Doton. Sankey took the lantern by a thousand votes, but I +understood it cost Georgie and his friends a pot of money.</p> + +<p>Sankey said all the time he didn't want the lantern, but, just the same, +he always carried that particular lantern, with his full name, Sylvester +Sankey, ground into the glass just below the green mantle. Pretty +soon—Neeta being then eighteen—it was rumored that Sinclair was +engaged to Miss Sankey—was going to marry her. And marry her he did; +though that was not until after the wreck in the Blackwood gorge, the +time of the Big Snow.</p> + +<p>It goes yet by just that name on the West End; for never was such a +winter and such a snow known on the plains and in the mountains. One +train on the northern division was stalled six weeks that winter, and +one whole coach was chopped up for kindling-wood.</p> + +<p>But the great and desperate effort of the company was to hold open the +main line, the artery which connected the two coasts. It was a hard +winter on trainmen. Week after week the snow kept falling and blowing. +The trick was not to clear the line; it was to keep it clear. Every day +we sent out trains with the fear we should not see them again for a +week.</p> + +<p>Freight we didn't pretend to move; local passenger business had to be +abandoned. Coal, to keep our engines and our towns supplied, we were +obliged to carry, and after that all the brains and the muscle and the +motive-power were centred on keeping 1 and 2, our through +passenger-trains, running.</p> + +<p>Our trainmen worked like Americans; there were no cowards on our rolls. +But after too long a strain men become exhausted, benumbed, +indifferent—reckless even. The nerves give out, and will power seems to +halt on indecision—but decision is the life of the fast train.</p> + +<p>None of our conductors stood the hopeless fight like Sankey. Sankey was +patient, taciturn, untiring, and, in a conflict with the elements, +ferocious. All the fighting-blood of his ancestors seemed to course +again in that struggle with the winter king. I can see him yet, on +bitter days, standing alongside the track, in a heavy pea-jacket and +Napoleon boots, a sealskin cap drawn snugly over his straight, black +hair, watching, ordering, signalling, while No. 1, with its frost-bitten +sleepers behind a rotary, struggled to buck through the ten and twenty +foot cuts, which lay bankful of snow west of McCloud.</p> + +<p>Not until April did it begin to look as if we should win out. A dozen +times the line was all but choked on us. And then, when snow-ploughs +were disabled and train crews desperate, there came a storm that +discounted the worst blizzard of the winter. As the reports rolled in on +the morning of the 5th, growing worse as they grew thicker, Neighbor, +dragged out, played out, mentally and physically, threw up his hands. +The 6th it snowed all day, and on Saturday morning the section men +reported thirty feet in the Blackwood cañon.</p> + +<p>It was six o'clock when we got the word, and daylight before we got the +rotary against it. They bucked away till noon with discouraging results, +and came in with their gear smashed and a driving-rod fractured. It +looked as if we were beaten.</p> + +<p>No. 1 got into McCloud eighteen hours late; it was Sankey's and +Sinclair's run west.</p> + +<p>There was a long council in the round-house. The rotary was knocked out; +coal was running low in the chutes. If the line wasn't kept open for the +coal from the mountains it was plain we should be tied until we could +ship it from Iowa or Missouri. West of Medicine Pole there was another +big rotary working east, with plenty of coal behind her, but she was +reported stuck fast in the Cheyenne Hills.</p> + +<p>Foley made suggestions and Dad Sinclair made suggestions. Everybody had +a suggestion left; the trouble was, Neighbor said, they didn't amount to +anything, or were impossible.</p> + +<p>"It's a dead block, boys," announced Neighbor, sullenly, after everybody +had done. "We are beaten unless we can get No. 1 through to-day. Look +there; by the holy poker it's snowing again!"</p> + +<p>The air was dark in a minute with whirling clouds. Men turned to the +windows and quit talking; every fellow felt the same—at least, all but +one. Sankey, sitting back of the stove, was making tracings on his +overalls with a piece of chalk.</p> + +<p>"You might as well unload your passengers, Sankey," said Neighbor. +"You'll never get 'em through this winter."</p> + +<p>And it was then that Sankey proposed his Double Header.</p> + +<p>He devised a snow-plough which combined in one monster ram about all the +good material we had left, and submitted the scheme to Neighbor. +Neighbor studied it and hacked at it all he could, and brought it over +to the office. It was like staking everything on the last cast of the +dice, but we were in the state of mind which precedes a desperate +venture. It was talked over for an hour, and orders were finally given +by the superintendent to rig up the Double Header and get against the +snow as quick as it could be made ready.</p> + +<p>All that day and most of the night Neighbor worked twenty men on +Sankey's device. By Sunday morning it was in such shape that we began to +take heart.</p> + +<p>"If she don't get through she'll get back again, and that's what most of +'em don't do," growled Neighbor, as he and Sankey showed the new ram to +the engineers.</p> + +<p>They had taken the 566, George Sinclair's engine, for one head, and +Burns's 497 for the other. Behind these were Kennedy with the 314 and +Cameron with the 296. The engines were set in pairs, headed each way, +and buckled up like pack-mules. Over the pilots and stacks of the head +engines rose the tremendous ploughs which were to tackle the toughest +drifts ever recorded, before or since, on the West End. The ram was +designed to work both ways. Under the coal each tender was loaded with +pig-iron.</p> + +<p>The beleaguered passengers on No. 1, side-tracked in the yards, watched +the preparations Sankey was making to clear the line. Every amateur on +the train had his camera snapping at the ram. The town, gathered in a +single great mob, looked silently on, and listened to the frosty notes +of the sky-scrapers as they went through their preliminary manœuvres. +Just as the final word was given by Sankey, in charge, the sun burst +through the fleecy clouds, and a wild cheer followed the ram out of the +western yard—it was good-luck to see the sun again.</p> + +<p>Little Neeta, up on the hill, must have seen them as they pulled out; +surely she heard the choppy, ice-bitten screech of the 566; that was +never forgotten whether the service was special or regular. Besides, the +head cab of the ram carried this time not only Georgie Sinclair but her +father as well. Sankey could handle a slice-bar as well as a punch, and +rode on the head engine, where, if anywhere, the big chances hovered. +What he was not capable of in the train service we never knew, because +he was stronger than any emergency that ever confronted him.</p> + +<p>Bucking snow is principally brute force; there is little coaxing. Just +west of the bluffs, like code signals between a fleet of cruisers, there +was a volley of sharp tooting, and in a minute the four ponderous +engines, two of them in the back motion, fires white and throats +bursting, steamed wildly into the cañon.</p> + +<p>Six hundred feet from the first cut Sinclair's whistle signalled again; +Burns and Cameron and Kennedy answered, and then, literally turning the +monster ram loose against the dazzling mountain, the crews settled +themselves for the shock.</p> + +<p>At such a moment there is nothing to be done. If anything goes wrong +eternity is too close to consider. There comes a muffled drumming on the +steam-chests—a stagger and a terrific impact—and then the recoil like +the stroke of a trip-hammer. The snow shoots into the air fifty feet, +and the wind carries a cloud of fleecy confusion over the ram and out of +the cut. The cabs were buried in white, and the great steel frames of +the engines sprung like knitting-needles under the frightful blow.</p> + +<p>Pausing for hardly a breath, the signalling again began. Then the +backing; up and up and up the line; and again the massive machines were +hurled screaming into the cut.</p> + +<p>"You're getting there, Georgie," exclaimed Sankey, when the rolling and +lurching had stopped. No one else could tell a thing about it, for it +was snow and snow and snow; above and behind, and ahead and beneath. +Sinclair coughed the flakes out of his eyes and nose and mouth like a +baffled collie. He looked doubtful of the claim until the mist had blown +clear and the quivering monsters were again recalled for a dash. Then it +was plain that Sankey's instinct was right; they were gaining.</p> + +<p>Again they went in, lifting a very avalanche over the stacks, packing +the banks of the cut with walls hard as ice. Again as the drivers stuck +they raced in a frenzy, and into the shriek of the wind went the +unearthly scrape of the overloaded safeties.</p> + +<p>Slowly and sullenly the machines were backed again.</p> + +<p>"She's doing the work, Georgie," cried Sankey. "For that kind of a cut +she's as good as a rotary. Look everything over now while I go back and +see how the boys are standing it. Then we'll give her one more, and give +it the hardest kind."</p> + +<p>And they did give her one more—and another. Men at Santiago put up no +stouter fight than they made that Sunday morning in the cañon of the +Blackwood. Once and twice more they went in. And the second time the +bumping drummed more deeply; the drivers held, pushed, panted, and +gained against the white wall—heaved and stumbled ahead—and with a +yell from Sinclair and Sankey and the fireman, the Double Header shot +her nose into the clear over the Blackwood gorge. As engine after engine +flew past the divided walls, each cab took up the cry—it was the +wildest shout that ever crowned victory.</p> + +<p>Through they went and half-way across the bridge before they could check +their monster catapult. Then at a half-full they shot it back at the +cut—it worked as well one way as the other.</p> + +<p>"The thing is done," declared Sankey. Then they got into position up the +line for a final shoot to clean the eastern cut and to get the head for +a dash across the bridge into the west end of the cañon, where lay +another mountain of snow to split.</p> + +<p>"Look the machines over close, boys," said Sankey to the engineers. "If +nothing's sprung we'll take a full head across the gorge—the bridge +will carry anything—and buck the west cut. Then after we get No. 1 +through this afternoon Neighbor can get his baby cabs in here and keep +'em chasing all night; but it's done snowing," he added, looking into +the leaden sky.</p> + +<p>He had everything figured out for the master-mechanic—the shrewd, +kindly old man. There's no man on earth like a good Indian; and for that +matter none like a bad one. Sankey knew by a military instinct just what +had to be done and how to do it. If he had lived he was to have been +assistant superintendent. That was the word which leaked from +headquarters after he got killed.</p> + +<p>And with a volley of jokes between the cabs, and a laughing and a +yelling between toots, down went Sankey's Double Header again into the +Blackwood gorge.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, by an awful misunderstanding of orders, down came +the big rotary from the West End with a dozen cars of coal behind it. +Mile after mile it had wormed east towards Sankey's ram, burrowed +through the western cut of the Blackwood, crashed through the drift +Sankey was aiming for, and whirled then out into the open, dead against +him, at forty miles an hour. Each train, in order to make the grade and +the blockade, was straining the cylinders.</p> + +<p>Through the swirling snow which half hid the bridge and swept between +the rushing ploughs Sinclair saw them coming—he yelled. Sankey saw them +a fraction of a second later, and while Sinclair struggled with the +throttle and the air, Sankey gave the alarm through the whistle to the +poor fellows in the blind pockets behind. But the track was at the +worst. Where there was no snow there were whiskers; oil itself couldn't +have been worse to stop on. It was the old and deadly peril of fighting +blockades from both ends on a single track.</p> + +<p>The great rams of steel and fire had done their work, and with their +common enemy overcome they dashed at each other frenzied across the +Blackwood gorge.</p> + +<p>The fireman at the first cry shot out the side. Sankey yelled at +Sinclair to jump. But George shook his head: he never would jump. +Without hesitating an instant, Sankey caught him in his arms, tore him +from the levers, planted a mighty foot, and hurled Sinclair like a block +of coal through the gangway out into the gorge. The other cabs were +already emptied; but the instant's delay in front cost Sankey's life. +Before he could turn the rotary crashed into the 566. They reared like +mountain lions, and pitched headlong into the gorge; Sankey went under +them.</p> + +<p>He could have saved himself; he chose to save George. There wasn't time +to do both; he had to choose and he chose instinctively. Did he, maybe, +think in that flash of Neeta and of whom she needed most—of a young and +a stalwart protector better than an old and a failing one? I do not +know; I know only what he did.</p> + +<p>Every one who jumped got clear. Sinclair lit in twenty feet of snow, and +they pulled him out with a rope; he wasn't scratched; even the bridge +was not badly strained. No. 1 pulled over it next day. Sankey was +right: there was no more snow; not enough to hide the dead engines on +the rocks: the line was open.</p> + +<p>There never was a funeral in McCloud like Sankey's. George Sinclair and +Neeta followed together; and of mourners there were as many as there +were people. Every engine on the division carried black for thirty days.</p> + +<p>His contrivance for fighting snow has never yet been beaten on the high +line. It is perilous to go against a drift behind it—something has to +give.</p> + +<p>But it gets there—as Sankey got there—always; and in time of blockade +and desperation on the West End they still send out Sankey's Double +Header; though Sankey—so the conductors tell the children, travelling +east or travelling west—Sankey isn't running any more.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="Siclone_Clark" id="Siclone_Clark"></a>Siclone Clark</h2> + + +<p>"There goes a fellow that walks like Siclone Clark," exclaimed Duck +Middleton. Duck was sitting in the train-master's office with a group of +engineers. He was one of the black-listed strikers, and runs an engine +now down on the Santa Fé. But at long intervals Duck gets back to +revisit the scenes of his early triumphs. The men who surrounded him +were once at deadly odds with Duck and his chums, though now the ancient +enmities seem forgotten, and Duck—the once ferocious Duck—sits +occasionally among the new men and gossips about early days on the West +End.</p> + +<p>"Do you remember Siclone, Reed?" asked Duck, calling to me in the +private office.</p> + +<p>"Remember him?" I echoed. "Did anybody who ever knew Siclone forget +him?"</p> + +<p>"I fired passenger for Siclone twenty years ago," resumed Duck. "He +walked just like that fellow; only he was quicker. I reckon you fellows +don't know what a snap you have here now," he continued, addressing the +men around him. "Track fenced; ninety-pound rails; steel bridges; stone +culverts; slag ballast; sky-scrapers. No wonder you get chances to haul +such nobs as Lilioukalani and Schley and Dewey, and cut out ninety miles +an hour on tangents.</p> + +<p>"When I was firing for Siclone the road-bed was just off the scrapers; +the dumps were soft; pile bridges; paper culverts; fifty-six-pound +rails; not a fence west of Buffalo gap, and the plains black with Texas +steers. We never closed our cylinder cocks; the hiss of the steam +frightened the cattle worse than the whistle, and we never knew when we +were going to find a bunch of critters on the track.</p> + +<p>"The first winter I came out was great for snow, and I was a tenderfoot. +The cuts made good wind-breaks, and whenever there was a norther they +were chuck full of cattle. Every time a train ploughed through the snow +it made a path on the track. Whenever the steers wanted to move they +would take the middle of the track single file, and string out mile +after mile. Talk about fast schedules and ninety miles an hour. You had +to poke along with your cylinders spitting, and just whistle and +yell—sort of blow them off into the snow-drifts.</p> + +<p>"One day Siclone and I were going west on 59, and we were late; for that +matter we were always late. Simpson coming against us on 60 had caught a +bunch of cattle in the rock-cut, just west of the Sappie, and killed a +couple. When we got there there must have been a thousand head of steers +mousing around the dead ones. Siclone—he used to be a cowboy, you +know—Siclone said they were holding a wake. At any rate, they were +still coming from every direction and as far as you could see.</p> + +<p>"'Hold on, Siclone, and I'll chase them out,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'That's the stuff, Duck,' says he. 'Get after them and see what you can +do.' He looked kind of queer, but I never thought anything. I picked up +a jack-bar and started up the track.</p> + +<p>"The first fellow I tackled looked lazy, but he started full quick when +I hit him. Then he turned around to inspect me, and I noticed his horns +were the broad-gauge variety. While I whacked another the first one put +his head down and began to snort and paw the ties; then they all began +to bellow at once; it looked smoky. I dropped the jack-bar and started +for the engine, and about fifty of them started for me.</p> + +<p>"I never had an idea steers could run so; you could have played checkers +on my heels all the way back. If Siclone hadn't come out and jollied +them, I'd never have got back in the world. I just jumped the pilot and +went clear over against the boiler-head. Siclone claimed I tried to +climb the smoke-stack; but he was excited. Anyway, he stood out there +with a shovel and kept the whole bunch off me. I thought they would kill +him; but I never tried to chase range steers on foot again.</p> + +<p>"In the spring we got the rains; not like you get now, but cloud-bursts. +The section men were good fellows, only sometimes we would get into a +storm miles from a section gang and strike a place where we couldn't see +a thing.</p> + +<p>"Then Siclone would stop the train, take a bar, and get down ahead and +sound the road-bed. Many and many a wash-out he struck that way which +would have wrecked our train and wound up our ball of yarn in a minute. +Often and often Siclone would go into his division without a dry thread +on him.</p> + +<p>"Those were different days," mused the grizzled striker. "The old boys +are scattered now all over this broad land. The strike did it; and you +fellows have the snap. But what I wonder, often and often, is whether +Siclone is really alive or not."</p> + + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Siclone Clark was one of the two cowboys who helped Harvey Reynolds and +Ed Banks save 59 at Griffin the night the coal-train ran down from +Ogalalla. They were both taken into the service; Siclone, after a while, +went to wiping.</p> + +<p>When Bucks asked his name, Siclone answered, "S. Clark."</p> + +<p>"What's your full name?" asked Bucks.</p> + +<p>"S. Clark."</p> + +<p>"But what does S. stand for?" persisted Bucks.</p> + +<p>"Stands for Cyclone, I reckon; don't it?" retorted the cowboy, with some +annoyance.</p> + +<p>It was not usual in those days on the plains to press a man too closely +about his name. There might be reasons why it would not be esteemed +courteous.</p> + +<p>"I reckon it do," replied Bucks, dropping into Siclone's grammar; and +without a quiver he registered the new man as Siclone Clark; and his +checks always read that way. The name seemed to fit; he adopted it +without any objection; and, after everybody came to know him, it fitted +so well that Bucks was believed to have second sight when he named the +hair-brained fireman. He could get up a storm quicker than any man on +the division, and, if he felt so disposed, stop one quicker.</p> + +<p>In spite of his eccentricities, which were many, and his headstrong way +of doing some things, Siclone Clark was a good engineer, and deserved a +better fate than the one that befell him. Though—who can tell?—it may +have been just to his liking.</p> + +<p>The strike was the worst thing that ever happened to Siclone. He was one +of those big-hearted, violent fellows who went into it loaded with +enthusiasm. He had nothing to gain by it; at least, nothing to speak of. +But the idea that somebody on the East End needed their help led men +like Siclone in; and they thought it a cinch that the company would have +to take them all back.</p> + +<p>The consequence was that, when we staggered along without them, men like +Siclone, easily aroused, naturally of violent passions, and with no +self-restraint, stopped at nothing to cripple the service. And they +looked on the men who took their places as entitled neither to liberty +nor life.</p> + +<p>When our new men began coming from the Reading to replace the strikers, +every one wondered who would get Siclone Clark's engine, the 313. +Siclone had gently sworn to kill the first man who took out the 313—and +bar nobody.</p> + +<p>Whatever others thought of Siclone's vaporings, they counted for a good +deal on the West End; nobody wanted trouble with him.</p> + +<p>Even Neighbor, who feared no man, sort of let the 313 lay in her stall +as long as possible, after the trouble began.</p> + +<p>Nothing was said about it. Threats cannot be taken cognizance of +officially; we were bombarded with threats all the time; they had long +since ceased to move us. Yet Siclone's engine stayed in the round-house.</p> + +<p>Then, after Foley and McTerza and Sinclair, came Fitzpatrick from the +East. McTerza was put on the mails, and, coming down one day on the +White Flyer, he blew a cylinder-head out of the 416.</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick was waiting to take her out when she came stumping in on one +pair of drivers—for we were using engines worse than horseflesh then. +But of course the 416 was put out. The only gig left in the house was +the 313.</p> + +<p>I imagine Neighbor felt the finger of fate in it. The mail had to go. +The time had come for the 313; he ordered her fired.</p> + +<p>"The man that ran this engine swore he would kill the man that took her +out," said Neighbor, sort of incidentally, as Fitz stood by waiting for +her to steam.</p> + +<p>"I suppose that means me," said Fitzpatrick.</p> + +<p>"I suppose it does."</p> + +<p>"Whose engine is it?"</p> + +<p>"Siclone Clark's."</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick shifted to the other leg.</p> + +<p>"Did he say what I would be doing while this was going on?"</p> + +<p>Something in Fitzpatrick's manner made Neighbor laugh. Other things +crowded in and no more was said.</p> + +<p>No more was thought in fact. The 313 rolled as kindly for Fitzpatrick as +for Siclone, and the new engineer, a quiet fellow like Foley, only a +good bit heavier, went on and off her with never a word for anybody.</p> + +<p>One day Fitzpatrick dropped into a barber shop to get shaved. In the +next chair lay Siclone Clark. Siclone got through first, and, stepping +over to the table to get his hat, picked up Fitzpatrick's, by mistake, +and walked out with it. He discovered his change just as Fitz got out of +his chair. Siclone came back, replaced the hat on the table—it had +Fitzpatrick's name pasted in the crown—took up his own hat, and, as +Fitz reached for his, looked at him.</p> + +<p>Everyone in the shop caught their breaths.</p> + +<p>"Is your name Fitzpatrick?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Mine is Clark."</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick put on his hat.</p> + +<p>"You're running the 313, I believe?" continued Siclone.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's my engine."</p> + +<p>"I thought it belonged to the company."</p> + +<p>"Maybe it does; but I've agreed to kill the man that takes her out +before this trouble is settled," said Siclone, amiably.</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick met him steadily. "If you'll let me know when it takes +place, I'll try and be there."</p> + +<p>"I don't jump on any man without fair warning; any of the boys will tell +you that," continued Siclone. "Maybe you didn't know my word was out?"</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick hesitated. "I'm not looking for trouble with any man," he +replied, guardedly. "But since you're disposed to be fair about notice, +it's only fair to you to say that I did know your word was out."</p> + +<p>"Still you took her?"</p> + +<p>"It was my orders."</p> + +<p>"My word is out; the boys know it is good. I don't jump any man without +fair warning. I know you now, Fitzpatrick, and the next time I see you, +look out," and without more ado Siclone walked out of the shop greatly +to the relief of the barber, if not of Fitz.</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick may have wiped a little sweat from his face; but he said +nothing—only walked down to the round-house and took out the 313 as +usual for his run.</p> + +<p>A week passed before the two men met again. One night Siclone with a +crowd of the strikers ran into half a dozen of the new men, Fitzpatrick +among them, and there was a riot. It was Siclone's time to carry out his +intention, for Fitzpatrick would have scorned to try to get away. No +tree ever breasted a tornado more sturdily than the Irish engineer +withstood Siclone; but when Ed Banks got there with his wrecking crew +and straightened things out, Fitzpatrick was picked up for dead. That +night Siclone disappeared.</p> + +<p>Warrants were gotten out and searchers put after him; yet nobody could +or would apprehend him. It was generally understood that the sudden +disappearance was one of Siclone's freaks. If the ex-cowboy had so +determined he would not have hidden to keep out of anybody's way. I have +sometimes pondered whether shame hadn't something to do with it. His +tremendous physical strength was fit for so much better things than +beating other men that maybe he, himself, sort of realized it after the +storm had passed.</p> + +<p>Down east of the depot grounds at McCloud stands, or stood, a great +barnlike hotel, built in boom days, and long a favorite resting-place +for invalids and travellers en route to California by easy stages. It +was nicknamed the barracks. Many railroad men boarded there, and the new +engineers liked it because it was close to the round-house and away from +the strikers.</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick, without a whine or a complaint, was put to bed in the +barracks, and Holmes Kay, one of our staff surgeons, was given charge of +the case; a trained nurse was provided besides. Nobody thought the +injured man would live. But after every care was given him, we turned +our attention to the troublesome task of operating the road.</p> + +<p>The 313, whether it happened so, or whether Neighbor thought it well to +drop the disputed machine temporarily, was not taken out again for three +weeks. She was looked on as a hoodoo, and nobody wanted her. Foley +refused point-blank one day to take her, claiming that he had troubles +of his own. Then, one day, something happened to McTerza's engine; we +were stranded for a locomotive, and the 313 was brought out for McTerza; +he didn't like it a bit.</p> + +<p>Meantime nothing had been seen or heard of Siclone. That, in fact, was +the reason Neighbor urged for using his engine; but it seemed as if +every time the 313 went out it brought out Siclone, not to speak of +worse things.</p> + +<p>That morning about three o'clock the unlucky engine was coupled on to +the White Flyer. The night boy at the barracks always got up a hot lunch +for the incoming and outgoing crews on the mail run, and that morning +when he was through he forgot to turn off the lamp under his +coffee-tank. It overheated the counter, and in a few minutes the +wood-work was ablaze. If the frightened boy had emptied the coffee on +the counter he could have put the fire out; but instead he ran out to +give the alarm, and started up-stairs to arouse the guests.</p> + +<p>There were at least fifty people asleep in the house, travelling and +railway men. Being a wooden building it was a quick prey, and in an +incredibly short time the flames were leaping through the second-story +windows.</p> + +<p>When I got down men were jumping in every direction from the burning +hotel. Railroaders swarmed around, busy with schemes for getting the +people out, for none are more quick-witted in time of panic. Short as +the opportunity was there were many pretty rescues, until the flames, +shooting up, cut off the stairs, and left the helpers nothing for it but +to stand and watch the destruction of the long, rambling building. Half +a dozen of us looked from the dispatchers' offices in the second story +of the depot. We had agreed that the people were all out, when Foley +below gave a cry and pointed to the south gable. Away up under the eaves +at the third-story window we saw a face—it was Fitzpatrick.</p> + +<p>Everybody had forgotten Fitzpatrick and his nurse. Behind, as the flames +lighted the opening, we could see the nurse struggling to get him to the +window. It was plain that the engineer was in no condition to help +himself; the two men were in deadly peril; a great cry went up.</p> + +<p>The crowd swarmed like ants around to the south end; a dozen men called +for ladders; but there were no ladders. They called for volunteers to go +in after the two men; but the stairs were long since a furnace. There +were men in plenty to take any kind of chance, however slight, but no +chance offered.</p> + +<p>The nurse ran to and from the window, seeking a loop-hole for escape. +Fitzpatrick dragged himself higher on the casement to get out of the +smoke which rolled over him in choking bursts, and looked down on the +crowd. They begged him to jump—held out their arms frantically. The two +men again side by side waved a hand; it looked like a farewell. There +was no calling from them, no appeal. The nurse would not desert his +charge, and we saw it all.</p> + +<p>Suddenly there was a cry below, keener than the confused shouting of +the crowd, and one running forward parted the men at the front and, +clearing the fence, jumped into the yard under the burning gable.</p> + +<p>Before people recognized him a lariat was swinging over his head—it was +Siclone Clark. The rope left his arm like a slung-shot and flew straight +at Fitzpatrick. Not seeing, or confused, he missed it, and the rope, +with a groan from the crowd, settled back. The agile cowboy caught it +again into a loop and shot it upward, that time fairly over +Fitzpatrick's head.</p> + +<p>"Make fast!" roared Siclone. Fitzpatrick shouted back, and the two men +above drew taut. Hand over hand Siclone Clark crept up, like a monkey, +bracing his feet against the smoking clapboards, edging away from the +vomiting windows, swinging on the single strand of horse-hair, and +followed by a hundred prayers unsaid.</p> + +<p>Men who didn't know what tears were tried to cry out to keep the choking +from their throats. It seemed an age before he covered the last five +feet, and the men above caught frantically at his hands.</p> + +<p>Drawing himself over the casement, he was lost with them a moment; +then, from behind a burst of smoke, they saw him rigging a maverick +saddle on Fitzpatrick; saw Fitzpatrick lifted by Clark and the nurse +over the sill, lowered like a wooden tie, whirling and swinging, down +into twenty arms below. Before the trainmen had got the engineer loose, +the nurse, following, slid like a cat down the incline; but not an +instant too soon. A tongue of flame lit the gable from below and licked +the horse-hair up into a curling, frizzling thread; and Siclone stood +alone in the upper casement.</p> + +<p>It seemed for the moment he stood there the crowd would go mad. The +shock and the shouting seemed to confuse him; it may have been the hot +air took his breath. They yelled to him to jump; but he swayed +uncertainly. Once, an instant after that, he was seen to look down; then +he drew back from the casement. I never saw him again.</p> + +<p>The flames wrapped the building in a yellow fury; by daylight the big +barracks were a smouldering pile of ruins. So little water was thrown +that it was nearly nightfall before we could get into the wreck. The +tragedy had blotted out the feud between the strikers and the new men. +Side by side they worked, as side by side Siclone and Fitzpatrick had +stood in the morning, striving to uncover the mystery of the missing +man. Next day twice as many men were in the ruins.</p> + +<p>Fitzpatrick, while we were searching, called continually for Siclone +Clark. We didn't tell him the truth; indeed, we didn't know it; nor do +we yet know it. Every brace, every beam, every brick was taken from the +charred pile. Every foot of cinders, every handful of ashes sifted; but +of a human being the searchers found never a trace. Not a bone, not a +key, not a knife, not a button which could be identified as his. Like +the smoke which swallowed him up, he had disappeared completely and +forever.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>Is he alive? I cannot tell.</p> + +<p>But this I know.</p> + +<p>Years afterwards Sidney Blair, head of our engineering department, was +running a line, looking then, as we are looking yet, for a coast outlet.</p> + +<p>He took only a flying camp with him, travelling in the lightest kind of +order, camping often with the cattlemen he ran across.</p> + +<p>One night, away down in the Panhandle, they fell in with an outfit +driving a bunch of steers up the Yellow Grass trail. Blair noted that +the foreman was a character. A man of few words, but of great muscular +strength; and, moreover, frightfully scarred.</p> + +<p>He was silent and inclined to be morose at first, but after he learned +Blair was from McCloud he unbent a bit, and after a time began asking +questions which indicated a surprising familiarity with the northern +country and with our road. In particular, this man asked what had become +of Bucks, and, when told what a big railroad man he had grown, asserted, +with a sudden bitterness and without in any way leading up to it, that +with Bucks on the West End there never would have been a strike.</p> + +<p>Sitting at their camp-fire while their crews mingled, Blair noticed in +the flicker of the blaze how seamed the throat and breast of the +cattleman were; even his sinewy forearms were drawn out of shape. He +asked, too, whether Blair recollected the night the barracks burned; but +Blair at that time was east of the river, and so explained, though he +related to the cowboy incidents of the fire which he had heard, among +others the story of Fitzpatrick and Siclone Clark.</p> + +<p>"And Fitzpatrick is alive and Siclone is dead," said Blair, in +conclusion. But the cowboy disputed him.</p> + +<p>"You mean Clark is alive and Fitzpatrick is dead," said he.</p> + +<p>"No," contended Sidney, "Fitzpatrick is running an engine up there now. +I saw him within three months." But the cowboy was loath to conviction.</p> + +<p>Next morning their trails forked. The foreman seemed disinclined to part +from the surveyors, and while the bunch was starting he rode a long way +with Blair, talking in a random way. Then, suddenly wheeling, he waved a +good-bye with his heavy Stetson and, galloping hard, was soon lost to +the north in the ruts of the Yellow Grass.</p> + +<p>When Blair came in he told Neighbor and me about it. Blair had never +seen Siclone Clark, and so was no judge as to his identity; but Neighbor +believes yet that Blair camped that night way down in the Panhandle +with no other than the cowboy engineer.</p> + +<p>Once again, that only two years ago, something came back to us.</p> + +<p>Holmes Kay, one of our staff of surgeons, the man, in fact, who took +care of Fitzpatrick, enlisted in Illinois and went with the First to +Cuba. They got in front of Santiago just after the hard fighting of July +1st, and Holmes was detailed for hospital work among Roosevelt's men, +who had suffered severely the day before.</p> + +<p>One of the wounded, a sergeant, had sustained a gunshot wound in the +jaw, and in the confusion had received scant attention. Kay took hold of +him. He was a cowboy, like most of the rough-riders, and after his jaw +was dressed Kay made some remark about the hot fire they had been +through before the block-house.</p> + +<p>"I've been through a hotter before I ever saw Cuba," answered the +rough-rider, as well as he could through his bandages. The remark +directed Kay's attention to the condition of his breast and neck, which +were a mass of scars.</p> + +<p>"Where are you from?" asked Holmes.</p> + +<p>"Everywhere."</p> + +<p>"Where did you get burned that way?"</p> + +<p>"Out on the plains."</p> + +<p>"How?"</p> + +<p>But the poor fellow went off into a delirium, and to the surgeon's +amazement began repeating train orders. Kay was paralyzed at the way he +talked our lingo—and a cowboy. When he left the wounded man for the +night he resolved to question him more closely the next day; but the +next day orders came to rejoin his regiment at the trenches. The +surrender shifted things about, and Kay, though he made repeated +inquiry, never saw the man again.</p> + +<p>Neighbor, when he heard the story, was only confirmed in his belief that +the rough-rider was Siclone Clark. I give you the tales as they came to +me, and for what you may make of them.</p> + +<p>I myself believe that if Siclone Clark is still alive he will one day +yet come back to where he was best known and, in spite of his faults, +best liked. They talk of him out there as they do of old man Sankey.</p> + +<p>I say I believe if he lives he will one day come back. The day he does +will be a great day in McCloud. On that day Fitzpatrick will have to +take down the little tablet which he placed in the brick façade of the +hotel which now stands on the site of the old barracks. For, as that +tablet now stands, it is sacred to the memory of Siclone Clark.</p> + + +<h3>THE END</h3> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BY_FREDERIC_REMINGTON" id="BY_FREDERIC_REMINGTON"></a>BY FREDERIC REMINGTON</h2> + + +<h3>SUNDOWN LEFLARE.</h3> + +<h3>Short Stories. Illustrations by the Author.</h3> + +<p>Sundown Leflare is not idealized in Mr. Remington's handling of him. He +is presented just as he is, with his good-humor and shrewdness and +indomitable pluck, and also with all his superstition and his knavery. +But he is a very realistic, very human character, and one whom we would +see and read more of hereafter.—<i>Boston Journal.</i></p> + + +<h3>CROOKED TRAILS.</h3> + +<h3>Illustrated by the Author.</h3> + +<p>Mr. Remington as author and artist presents a perfect +combination.—<i>Philadelphia Telegraph.</i></p> + +<p>Picture and text go to form a whole which the reader could not well +grasp were it not for the supplementary quality of each in its bearing +upon the other.—<i>Albany Journal.</i></p> + + +<h3>PONY TRACKS.</h3> + +<h3>Illustrated by the Author.</h3> + +<p>This is a spicy account of real experiences among Indians and cowboys on +the plains and in the mountains, and will be read with a great deal of +interest by all who are fond of an adventurous life. No better +illustrated book of frontier adventure has been published.—<i>Boston +Journal.</i></p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BY_RICHARD_HARDING_DAVIS" id="BY_RICHARD_HARDING_DAVIS"></a>BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS</h2> + + +<p>A YEAR FROM A REPORTER'S NOTE-BOOK. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">R. Caton Woodville</span>, <span class="smcap">T. de Thulstrup</span>, and <span class="smcap">Frederic +Remington</span>, and from Photographs taken by the Author.</p> + +<p>THREE GRINGOS IN VENEZUELA AND CENTRAL AMERICA. Illustrated.</p> + +<p>ABOUT PARIS. Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON.</p> + +<p>THE PRINCESS ALINE. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">C. D. Gibson</span>.</p> + +<p>THE EXILES, AND OTHER STORIES. Illustrated.</p> + +<p>VAN BIBBER, AND OTHERS. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">C. D. Gibson</span></p> + +<p>THE WEST FROM A CAR-WINDOW. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Frederic Remington</span>.</p> + +<p>OUR ENGLISH COUSINS. Illustrated.</p> + + +<p>THE RULERS OF THE MEDITERRANEAN. Illustrated.</p> + +<blockquote> +<p>Mr. Davis has eyes to see, is not a bit afraid to tell what he sees, and +is essentially good natured.... Mr. Davis's faculty of appreciation and +enjoyment is fresh and strong: he makes vivid pictures.—<i>Outlook</i>, N. +Y.</p> + +<p>Richard Harding Davis never writes a short story that he does not prove +himself a master of the art.—<i>Chicago Times.</i></p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BY_JOHN_FOX_Jr" id="BY_JOHN_FOX_Jr"></a>BY JOHN FOX, <span class="smcap">Jr.</span></h2> + + +<h3>A MOUNTAIN EUROPA.</h3> + +<h3>With Portrait.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The story is well worth careful reading for its literary art +and its truth to a phase of little-known American life.—<i>Omaha +Bee</i>.</p></blockquote> + + +<h3>THE KENTUCKIANS.</h3> + +<h3>A Novel. Illustrated by W. T. <span class="smcap">Smedley</span>.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>This, Mr. Fox's first long story, sets him well in view, and +distinguishes him as at once original and sound. He takes the +right view of the story-writer's function and the wholesale +view of what the art of fiction can rightfully +attempt.—<i>Independent</i>, N. Y.</p></blockquote> + + +<h3>"HELL FER SARTAIN," and Other Stories.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>Mr. Fox has made a great success of his pictures of the rude +life and primitive passions of the people of the mountains of +West Virginia and Kentucky. His sketches are short but graphic; +he paints his scenes and his hill people in terse and simple +phrases and makes them genuinely picturesque, giving us +glimpses of life that are distinctively American.—<i>Detroit +Free Press</i>.</p></blockquote> + + +<h3>A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA, and Other Stories.</h3> + +<h3>Illustrated.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>These stories are tempestuously alive, and sweep the +heart-strings with a master-hand.—<i>Watchman</i>, Boston.</p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="BY_FRANK_R_STOCKTON" id="BY_FRANK_R_STOCKTON"></a>BY FRANK R. STOCKTON</h2> + + +<h3>THE ASSOCIATE HERMITS.</h3> + +<h3>A Novel. Illustrated by A. B. <span class="smcap">Frost</span>.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>If there is a more droll or more delightful writer now living +than Mr. Frank R. Stockton we should be slow to make his +acquaintance, on the ground that the limit of safety might be +passed.... Mr. Stockton's humor asserts itself admirably, and +the story is altogether enjoyable.—<i>Independent</i>, N. Y.</p></blockquote> + +<blockquote><p>The interest never flags, and there is nothing intermittent +about the sparkling humor.—<i>Philadelphia Press</i>.</p></blockquote> + + +<h3>THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS.</h3> + +<h3>A Novel. Illustrated by <span class="smcap">Peter Newell</span>.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>The scene of Mr. Stockton's novel is laid in the twentieth +century, which is imagined as the culmination of our era of +science and invention. The main episodes are a journey to the +centre of the earth by means of a pit bored by an automatic +cartridge, and a journey to the North Pole beneath the ice of +the Polar Seas. These adventures Mr. Stockton describes with +such simplicity and conviction that the reader is apt to take +the story in all seriousness until he suddenly runs into some +gigantic pleasantry of the kind that was unknown before Mr. +Stockton began writing, and realizes that the novel is a grave +and elaborate bit of fooling, based upon the scientific fads of +the day. The book is richly illustrated by Peter Newell, the +one artist of modern times who is suited to interpret Mr. +Stockton's characters and situations.</p></blockquote> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nerve of Foley, by Frank H. 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Spearman + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Nerve of Foley + And Other Railroad Stories + +Author: Frank H. Spearman + +Release Date: October 4, 2010 [EBook #33947] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NERVE OF FOLEY *** + + + + +Produced by Darleen Dove, Roger Frank, Mary Meehan and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + THE NERVE OF FOLEY + + AND OTHER RAILROAD STORIES + + BY FRANK H. SPEARMAN + + + ILLUSTRATED + + NEW YORK AND LONDON + + HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS + 1900 + + Copyright, 1900, by Frank H. Spearman. + + _All rights reserved._ + + TO + MY BROTHER + + +[Illustration: "FOLEY DROPPED DOWN ON THE STEAM-CHEST AND SWUNG FAR +OUT"] + + + + +CONTENTS + + +THE NERVE OF FOLEY + +SECOND SEVENTY-SEVEN + +THE KID ENGINEER + +THE SKY-SCRAPER + +SODA-WATER SAL + +THE McWILLIAMS SPECIAL + +THE MILLION-DOLLAR FREIGHT-TRAIN + +BUCKS + +SANKEY'S DOUBLE HEADER + +SICLONE CLARK + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"FOLEY DROPPED DOWN ON THE STEAM-CHEST AND SWUNG FAR OUT" + +"THE CAB FOR A PASSING INSTANT ROSE IN THE AIR + +"THAT WAS BURNS'S FIRING THAT NIGHT" + +"SINCLAIR WAS WHISTLING SHARPLY FOR ORDERS" + + + + +The Nerve of Foley + + +There had been rumors all winter that the engineers were going to +strike. Certainly we of the operating department had warning enough. Yet +in the railroad life there is always friction in some quarter; the +railroad man sleeps like the soldier, with an ear alert--but just the +same he sleeps, for with waking comes duty. + +Our engineers were good fellows. If they had faults, they were American +faults--rashness, a liberality bordering on extravagance, and a +headstrong, violent way of reaching conclusions--traits born of ability +and self-confidence and developed by prosperity. + +One of the best men we had on a locomotive was Andrew Cameron; at the +same time he was one of the hardest to manage, because he was young and +headstrong. Andy, a big, powerful fellow, ran opposite Felix Kennedy on +the Flyer. The fast runs require young men. If you will notice, you will +rarely see an old engineer on a fast passenger run; even a young man can +stand only a few years of that kind of work. High speed on a locomotive +is a question of nerve and endurance--to put it bluntly, a question of +flesh and blood. + + * * * * * + +"You don't think much of this strike, do you, Mr. Reed?" said Andy to me +one night. + +"Don't think there's going to be any, Andy." + +He laughed knowingly. + +"What actual grievance have the boys?" I asked. + +"The trouble's on the East End," he replied, evasively. + +"Is that any reason for calling a thousand men out on this end?" + +"If one goes out, they all go." + +"Would you go out?" + +"Would I? You bet!" + +"A man with a home and a wife and a baby boy like yours ought to have +more sense." + +Getting up to leave, he laughed again confidently. "That's all right. +We'll bring you fellows to terms." + +"Maybe," I retorted, as he closed the door. But I hadn't the slightest +idea they would begin the attempt that night. I was at home and sound +asleep when the caller tapped on my window. I threw up the sash; it was +pouring rain and dark as a pocket. + +"What is it, Barney? A wreck?" I exclaimed. + +"Worse than that. Everything's tied up." + +"What do you mean?" + +"The engineers have struck." + +"Struck? What time is it?" + +"Half-past three. They went out at three o'clock." Throwing on my +clothes, I floundered behind Barney's lantern to the depot. The +superintendent was already in his office talking to the master-mechanic. + +Bulletins came in every few minutes from various points announcing +trains tied up. Before long we began to hear from the East End. Chicago +reported all engineers out; Omaha wired, no trains moving. When the sun +rose that morning our entire system, extending through seven States and +Territories, was absolutely paralyzed. + +It was an astounding situation, but one that must be met. It meant +either an ignominious surrender to the engineers or a fight to the +death. For our part, we had only to wait for orders. It was just six +o'clock when the chief train-dispatcher who was tapping at a key, said: + +"Here's something from headquarters." + +We crowded close around him. His pen flew across the clip; the message +was addressed to all division superintendents. It was short; but at the +end of it he wrote a name we rarely saw in our office. It was that of +the railroad magnate we knew as "the old man," the president of the +system, and his words were few: + +"Move the trains." + +"Move the trains!" repeated the superintendent. "Yes; but trains can't +be moved by pinch-bars nor by main force." + +We spent the day arguing with the strikers. They were friendly, but +firm. Persuasion, entreaties, threats, we exhausted, and ended just +where we began, except that we had lost our tempers. The sun set without +the turn of a wheel. The victory of the first day was certainly with the +strikers. + +Next day it looked pretty blue around the depot. Not a car was moved; +the engineers and firemen were a unit. But the wires sung hard all that +day and all that night. Just before midnight Chicago wired that No. +1--our big passenger-train, the Denver Flyer--had started out on time, +with the superintendent of motive power as engineer and a wiper for +fireman. The message came from the second vice-president. He promised to +deliver the train to our division on time the next evening, and he +asked, "Can you get it through to Denver?" + +We looked at each other. At last all eyes gravitated towards Neighbor, +our master-mechanic. + +The train-dispatcher was waiting. "What shall I say?" he asked. + +The division chief of the motive power was a tremendously big Irishman, +with a voice like a fog-horn. Without an instant's hesitation the answer +came clear, + +"Say 'yes'!" + +Every one of us started. It was throwing the gage of battle. Our word +had gone out; the division was pledged; the fight was on. + +Next evening the strikers, through some mysterious channel, got word +that the Flyer was expected. About nine o'clock a crowd of them began to +gather round the depot. + +It was after one o'clock when No. 1 pulled in and the foreman of the +Omaha round-house swung down from the locomotive cab. The strikers +clustered around the engine like a swarm of angry bees; but that night, +though there was plenty of jeering, there was no actual violence. When +they saw Neighbor climb into the cab to take the run west there was a +sullen silence. + +Next day a committee of strikers, with Andy Cameron, very cavalier, at +their head, called on me. + +"Mr. Reed," said he, officiously, "we've come to notify you not to run +any more trains through here till this strike's settled. The boys won't +stand it; that's all." With that he turned on his heel to leave with his +following. + +"Hold on, Cameron," I replied, raising my hand as I spoke; "that's not +quite all. I suppose you men represent your grievance committee?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"I happen to represent, in the superintendent's absence, the management +of this road. I simply want to say to you, and to your committee, that I +take my orders from the president and the general manager--not from you +nor anybody you represent. That's all." + +Every hour the bitterness increased. We got a few trains through, but we +were terribly crippled. As for freight, we made no pretence of moving +it. Trainloads of fruit and meat rotted in the yards. The strikers grew +more turbulent daily. They beat our new men and crippled our +locomotives. Then our troubles with the new men were almost as bad. They +burned out our crown sheets; they got mixed up on orders all the time. +They ran into open switches and into each other continually, and had us +very nearly crazy. + +I kept tab on one of the new engineers for a week. He began by backing +into a diner so hard that he smashed every dish in the car, and ended by +running into a siding a few days later and setting two tanks of oil on +fire, that burned up a freight depot. I figured he cost us forty +thousand dollars the week he ran. Then he went back to selling +windmills. + +After this experience I was sitting in my office one evening, when a +youngish fellow in a slouch-hat opened the door and stuck his head in. + +"What do you want?" I growled. + +"Are you Mr. Reed?" + +"What do you want?" + +"I want to speak to Mr. Reed." + +"Well, what is it?" + +"Are you Mr. Reed?" + +"Confound you, yes! What do you want?" + +"Me? I don't want anything. I'm just asking, that's all." + +His impudence staggered me so that I took my feet off the desk. + +"Heard you were looking for men," he added. + +"No," I snapped. "I don't want any men." + +"Wouldn't be any show to get on an engine, would there?" + +A week earlier I should have risen and fallen on his neck. But there had +been others. + +"There's a show to get your head broke," I suggested. + +"I don't mind that, if I get my time." + +"What do you know about running an engine?" + +"Run one three years." + +"On a threshing-machine?" + +"On the Philadelphia and Reading." + +"Who sent you in here?" + +"Just dropped in." + +"Sit down." + +I eyed him sharply as he dropped into a chair. + +"When did you quit the Philadelphia and Reading?" + +"About six months ago." + +"Fired?" + +"Strike." + +I began to get interested. After a few more questions I took him into +the superintendent's office. But at the door I thought it well to drop a +hint. + +"Look here, my friend, if you're a spy you'd better keep out of this. +This man would wring your neck as quick as he'd suck an orange. See?" + +"Let's tackle him, anyhow," replied the fellow, eying me coolly. + +I introduced him to Mr. Lancaster, and left them together. Pretty soon +the superintendent came into my office. + +"What do you make of him, Reed?" said he. + +"What do you make of him?" + +Lancaster studied a minute. + +"Take him over to the round-house and see what he knows." + +I walked over with the new find, chatting warily. When we reached a live +engine I told him to look it over. He threw off his coat, picked up a +piece of waste, and swung into the cab. + +"Run her out to the switch," said I, stepping up myself. + +He pinched the throttle, and we steamed slowly out of the house. A +minute showed he was at home on an engine. + +"Can you handle it?" I asked, as he shut off after backing down to the +round-house. + +"You use soft coal," he replied, trying the injector. "I'm used to hard. +This injector is new to me. Guess I can work it, though." + +"What did you say your name was?" + +"I didn't say." + +"What is it?" I asked, curtly. + +"Foley." + +"Well, Foley, if you have as much sense as you have gall you ought to +get along. If you act straight, you'll never want a job again as long as +you live. If you don't, you won't want to live very long." + +"Got any tobacco?" + +"Here, Baxter," said I, turning to the round-house foreman, "this is +Foley. Give him a chew, and mark him up to go out on 77 to-night. If he +monkeys with anything around the house kill him." + +Baxter looked at Foley, and Foley looked at Baxter; and Baxter not +getting the tobacco out quick enough, Foley reminded him he was waiting. + +We didn't pretend to run freights, but I concluded to try the fellow on +one, feeling sure that if he was crooked he would ditch it and skip. + +So Foley ran a long string of empties and a car or two of rotten oranges +down to Harvard Junction that night, with one of the dispatchers for +pilot. Under my orders they had a train made up at the junction for him +to bring back to McCloud. They had picked up all the strays in the +yards, including half a dozen cars of meat that the local board of +health had condemned after it had laid out in the sun for two weeks, and +a car of butter we had been shifting around ever since the beginning of +the strike. + +When the strikers saw the stuff coming in next morning behind Foley they +concluded I had gone crazy. + +"What do you think of the track, Foley?" said I. + +"Fair," he replied, sitting down on my desk. "Stiff hill down there by +Zanesville." + +"Any trouble to climb it?" I asked, for I had purposely given him a +heavy train. + +"Not with that car of butter. If you hold that butter another week it +will climb a hill without any engine." + +"Can you handle a passenger-train?" + +"I guess so." + +"I'm going to send you west on No. 1 to-night." + +"Then you'll have to give me a fireman. That guy you sent out last night +is a lightning-rod-peddler. The dispatcher threw most of the coal." + +"I'll go with you myself, Foley. I can give you steam. Can you stand it +to double back to-night?" + +"I can stand it if you can." + +When I walked into the round-house in the evening, with a pair of +overalls on, Foley was in the cab getting ready for the run. + +Neighbor brought the Flyer in from the East. As soon as he had uncoupled +and got out of the way we backed down with the 448. It was the best +engine we had left, and, luckily for my back, an easy steamer. Just as +we coupled to the mail-car a crowd of strikers swarmed out of the dusk. +They were in an ugly mood, and when Andy Cameron and Bat Nicholson +sprang up into the cab I saw we were in for trouble. + +"Look here, partner," exclaimed Cameron, laying a heavy hand on Foley's +shoulder; "you don't want to take this train out, do you? You wouldn't +beat honest working-men out of a job?" + +"I'm not beating anybody out of a job. If you want to take out this +train, take it out. If you don't, get out of this cab." + +Cameron was nonplussed. Nicholson, a surly brute, raised his fist +menacingly. + +"See here, boss," he growled, "we won't stand no scabs on this line." + +"Get out of this cab." + +"I'll promise you you'll never get out of it alive, my buck, if you ever +get into it again," cried Cameron, swinging down. Nicholson followed, +muttering angrily. I hoped we were out of the scrape, but, to my +consternation, Foley, picking up his oil-can, got right down behind +them, and began filling his cups without the least attention to anybody. + +Nicholson sprang on him like a tiger. The onslaught was so sudden that +they had him under their feet in a minute. I jumped down, and Ben +Buckley, the conductor, came running up. Between us we gave the little +fellow a life. He squirmed out like a cat, and backed instantly up +against the tender. + +"One at a time, and come on," he cried, hotly. "If it's ten to one, and +on a man's back at that, we'll do it different." With a quick, peculiar +movement of his arm he drew a pistol, and, pointing it squarely at +Cameron, cried, "Get back!" + +I caught a flash of his eye through the blood that streamed down his +face. I wouldn't have given a switch-key for the life of the man who +crowded him at that minute. But just then Lancaster came up, and before +the crowd realized it we had Foley, protesting angrily, back in the cab +again. + +"For Heaven's sake, pull out of this before there's bloodshed, Foley," I +cried; and, nodding to Buckley, Foley opened the choker. + +It was a night run and a new track to him. I tried to fire and pilot +both, but after Foley suggested once or twice that if I would tend to +the coal he would tend to the curves I let him find them--and he found +them all, I thought, before we got to Athens. He took big chances in his +running, but there was a superb confidence in his bursts of speed which +marked the fast runner and the experienced one. + +At Athens we had barely two hours to rest before doubling back. I was +never tired in my life till I struck the pillow that night, but before I +got it warm the caller routed me out again. The East-bound Flyer was on +time, or nearly so, and when I got into the cab for the run back, Foley +was just coupling on. + +"Did you get a nap?" I asked, as we pulled out. + +"No; we slipped an eccentric coming up, and I've been under the engine +ever since. Say, she's a bird, isn't she? She's all right. I couldn't +run her coming up; but I've touched up her valve motion a bit, and I'll +get action on her as soon as it's daylight." + +"Don't mind getting action on my account, Foley; I'm shy on life +insurance." + +He laughed. + +"You're safe with me. I never killed man, woman, or child in my life. +When I do, I quit the cab. Give her plenty of diamonds, if you please," +he added, letting her out full. + +He gave me the ride of my life; but I hated to show scare, he was so +coolly audacious himself. We had but one stop--for water--and after that +all down grade. We bowled along as easy as ninepins, but the pace was a +hair-raiser. After we passed Arickaree we never touched a thing but the +high joints. The long, heavy train behind us flew round the bluffs once +in a while like the tail of a very capricious kite; yet somehow--and +that's an engineer's magic--she always lit on the steel. + +Day broke ahead, and between breaths I caught the glory of a sunrise on +the plains from a locomotive-cab window. When the smoke of the McCloud +shops stained the horizon, remembering the ugly threats of the strikers, +I left my seat to speak to Foley. + +"I think you'd better swing off when you slow up for the yards and cut +across to the round-house," I cried, getting close to his ear, for we +were on terrific speed. He looked at me inquiringly. "In that way you +won't run into Cameron and his crowd at the depot," I added. "I can stop +her all right." + +He didn't take his eyes off the track. "I'll take the train to the +platform," said he. + +"Isn't that a crossing cut ahead?" he added, suddenly, as we swung round +a fill west of town. + +"Yes; and a bad one." + +He reached for the whistle and gave the long, warning screams. I set the +bell-ringer and stooped to open the furnace door to cool the fire, +when--chug! + +I flew up against the water-gauges like a coupling-pin. The monster +engine reared right up on her head. Scrambling to my feet, I saw the new +man clutching the air-lever with both hands, and every wheel on the +train was screeching. I jumped to his side and looked over his shoulder. +On the crossing just ahead a big white horse, dragging a buggy, plunged +and reared frantically. Standing on the buggy seat a baby boy clung +bewildered to the lazyback; not another soul in sight. All at once the +horse swerved sharply back; the buggy lurched half over; the lines +seemed to be caught around one wheel. The little fellow clung on; but +the crazy horse, instead of running, began a hornpipe right between the +deadly rails. + +I looked at Foley in despair. From the monstrous quivering leaps of the +great engine I knew the drivers were in the clutch of the mighty +air-brake; but the resistless momentum of the train was none the less +sweeping us down at deadly speed on the baby. Between the two tremendous +forces the locomotive shivered like a gigantic beast. I shrank back in +horror; but the little man at the throttle, throwing the last ounce of +air on the burning wheels, leaped from his box with a face transfigured. + +"Take her!" he cried, and, never shifting his eyes from the cut, he shot +through his open window and darted like a cat along the running-board to +the front. + +Not a hundred feet separated us from the crossing. I could see the +baby's curls blowing in the wind. The horse suddenly leaped from across +the track to the side of it; that left the buggy quartering with the +rails, but not twelve inches clear. The way the wheels were cramped a +single step ahead would throw the hind wheels into the train; a step +backward would shove the front wheels into it. It was appalling. + +Foley, clinging with one hand to a headlight bracket, dropped down on +the steam-chest and swung far out. As the cow-catcher shot past, Foley's +long arm dipped into the buggy like the sweep of a connecting-rod, and +caught the boy by the breeches. The impetus of our speed threw the child +high in the air, but Foley's grip was on the little overalls, and as the +youngster bounded back he caught it close. I saw the horse give a leap. +It sent the hind wheels into the corner of the baggage-car. There was a +crash like the report of a hundred rifles, and the buggy flew in the +air. The big horse was thrown fifty feet; but Foley, with a great light +in his eyes and the baby boy in his arm, crawled laughing into the cab. + +Thinking he would take the engine again, I tried to take the baby. Take +it? Well, I think not! + +"Hi! there, buster!" shouted the little engineer, wildly; "that's a +corking pair of breeches on you, son. I caught the kid right by the seat +of the pants," he called over to me, laughing hysterically. "Heavens! +little man, I wouldn't 've struck you for all the gold in Alaska. I've +got a chunk of a boy in Reading as much like him as a twin brother. What +were you doing all alone in that buggy? Whose kid do you suppose it is? +What's your name, son?" + +At his question I looked at the child again--and I started. I had +certainly seen him before; and, had I not, his father's features were +too well stamped on the childish face for me to be mistaken. + +"Foley," I cried, all amaze, "that's Cameron's boy--little Andy!" + +He tossed the baby the higher; he looked the happier; he shouted the +louder. + +"The deuce it is! Well, son, I'm mighty glad of it." And I certainly was +glad. + +In fact, mighty glad, as Foley expressed it, when we pulled up at the +depot, and I saw Andy Cameron with a wicked look pushing to the front +through the threatening crowd. With an ugly growl he made for Foley. + +"I've got business with you--you--" + +"I've got a little with you, son," retorted Foley, stepping leisurely +down from the cab. "I struck a buggy back here at the first cut, and I +hear it was yours." Cameron's eyes began to bulge. "I guess the outfit's +damaged some--all but the boy. Here, kid," he added, turning for me to +hand him the child, "here's your dad." + +The instant the youngster caught sight of his parent he set up a yell. +Foley, laughing, passed him into his astonished father's arms before the +latter could say a word. Just then a boy, running and squeezing through +the crowd, cried to Cameron that his horse had run away from the house +with the baby in the buggy, and that Mrs. Cameron was having a fit. + +Cameron stood like one daft--and the boy catching sight of the baby that +instant panted and stared in an idiotic state. + +"Andy," said I, getting down and laying a hand on his shoulder, "if +these fellows want to kill this man, let them do it alone--you'd better +keep out. Only this minute he has saved your boy's life." + +The sweat stood out on the big engineer's forehead like dew. I told the +story. Cameron tried to speak; but he tried again and again before he +could find his voice. + +"Mate," he stammered, "you've been through a strike yourself--you know +what it means, don't you? But if you've got a baby--" he gripped the boy +tighter to his shoulder. + +"I have, partner; three of 'em." + +"Then you know what this means," said Andy, huskily, putting out his +hand to Foley. He gripped the little man's fist hard, and, turning, +walked away through the crowd. + +Somehow it put a damper on the boys. Bat Nicholson was about the only +man left who looked as if he wanted to eat somebody; and Foley, slinging +his blouse over his shoulder, walked up to Bat and tapped him on the +shoulder. + +"Stranger," said he, gently, "could you oblige me with a chew of +tobacco?" + +Bat glared at him an instant; but Foley's nerve won. + +Flushing a bit, Bat stuck his hand into his pocket; took it out; felt +hurriedly in the other pocket, and, with some confusion, acknowledged he +was short. Felix Kennedy intervened with a slab, and the three men fell +at once to talking about the accident. + +A long time afterwards some of the striking engineers were taken back, +but none of those who had been guilty of actual violence. This barred +Andy Cameron, who, though not worse than many others, had been less +prudent; and while we all felt sorry for him after the other boys had +gone to work, Lancaster repeatedly and positively refused to reinstate +him. + +Several times, though, I saw Foley and Cameron in confab, and one day up +came Foley to the superintendent's office, leading little Andy, in his +overalls, by the hand. They went into Lancaster's office together, and +the door was shut a long time. + +When they came out little Andy had a piece of paper in his hand. + +"Hang on to it, son," cautioned Foley; "but you can show it to Mr. Reed +if you want to." + +The youngster handed me the paper. It was an order directing Andrew +Cameron to report to the master-mechanic for service in the morning. + + * * * * * + +I happened over at the round-house one day nearly a year later, when +Foley was showing Cameron a new engine, just in from the East. The two +men were become great cronies; that day they fell to talking over the +strike. + +"There was never but one thing I really laid up against this man," said +Cameron to me. + +"What's that?" asked Foley. + +"Why, the way you shoved that pistol into my face the first night you +took out No. 1." + +"I never shoved any pistol into your face." So saying, he stuck his hand +into his pocket with the identical motion he used that night of the +strike, and levelled at Andy, just as he had done then--a plug of +tobacco. "That's all I ever pulled on you, son; I never carried a pistol +in my life." + +Cameron looked at him, then he turned to me, with a tired expression: + +"I've seen a good many men, with a good many kinds of nerve, but I'll be +splintered if I ever saw any one man with all kinds of nerve till I +struck Foley." + + + + +Second Seventy-Seven + + +It is a bad grade yet. But before the new work was done on the river +division, Beverly Hill was a terror to trainmen. + +On rainy Sundays old switchmen in the Zanesville yards still tell in +their shanties of the night the Blackwood bridge went out and Cameron's +stock-train got away on the hill, with the Denver flyer caught at the +foot like a rat in a trap. + +Ben Buckley was only a big boy then, braking on freights; I was +dispatching under Alex Campbell on the West End. Ben was a tall, +loose-jointed fellow, but gentle as a kitten; legs as long as +pinch-bars, yet none too long, running for the Beverly switch that +night. His great chum in those days was Andy Cameron. Andy was the +youngest engineer on the line. The first time I ever saw them together, +Andy, short and chubby as a duck, was dancing around, half dressed, on +the roof of the bath-house, trying to get away from Ben, who had the +fire-hose below, playing on him with a two-inch stream of ice-water. +They were up to some sort of a prank all the time. + + * * * * * + +June was usually a rush month with us. From the coast we caught the new +crop Japan teas and the fall importations of China silks. California +still sent her fruits, and Colorado was beginning cattle shipments. From +Wyoming came sheep, and from Oregon steers; and all these not merely in +car-loads, but in solid trains. At times we were swamped. The overland +traffic alone was enough to keep us busy; on top of it came a great +movement of grain from Nebraska that summer, and to crown our troubles a +rate war sprang up. Every man, woman, and child east of the Mississippi +appeared to have but one object in life--that was to get to California, +and to go over our road. The passenger traffic burdened our resources to +the last degree. + +I was putting on new men every day then. We start them at braking on +freights; usually they work for years at that before they get a train. +But when a train-dispatcher is short on crews he must have them, and can +only press the best material within reach. Ben Buckley had not been +braking three months when I called him up one day and asked him if he +wanted a train. + +"Yes, sir, I'd like one first rate. But you know I haven't been braking +very long, Mr. Reed," said he, frankly. + +"How long have you been in the train service?" + +I spoke brusquely, though I knew, without even looking at my +service-card just how long it was. + +"Three months, Mr. Reed." + +It was right to a day. + +"I'll probably have to send you out on 77 this afternoon." I saw him +stiffen like a ramrod. "You know we're pretty short," I continued. + +"Yes, sir." + +"But do you know enough to keep your head on your shoulders and your +train on your orders?" + +Ben laughed a little. "I think I do. Will there be two sections +to-day?" + +"They're loading eighteen cars of stock at Ogalalla; if we get any hogs +off the Beaver there will be two big sections. I shall mark you up for +the first one, anyway, and send you out right behind the flyer. Get your +badge and your punch from Carpenter--and whatever you do, Buckley, don't +get rattled." + +"No, sir; thank you, Mr. Reed." + +But his "thank you" was so pleasant I couldn't altogether ignore it; I +compromised with a cough. Perfect courtesy, even in the hands of the +awkwardest boy that ever wore his trousers short, is a surprisingly +handy thing to disarm gruff people with. Ben was undeniably awkward; his +legs were too long, and his trousers decidedly out of touch with his +feet; but I turned away with the conviction that in spite of his +gawkiness there was something to the boy. That night proved it. + +When the flyer pulled in from the West in the afternoon it carried two +extra sleepers. In all, eight Pullmans, and every one of them loaded to +the ventilators. While the train was changing engines and crews, the +excursionists swarmed out of the hot cars to walk up and down the +platform. They were from New York, and had a band with them--as jolly a +crowd as we ever hauled--and I noticed many boys and girls sprinkled +among the grown folks. + +As the heavy train pulled slowly out the band played, the women waved +handkerchiefs, and the boys shouted themselves hoarse--it was like a +holiday, everybody seemed so happy. All I hoped, as I saw the smoke of +the engine turn to dust on the horizon, was that I could get them over +my division and their lives safely off my hands. For a week we had had +heavy rains, and the bridges and track gave us worry. + +Half an hour after the flyer left, 77, the fast stock-freight, wound +like a great snake around the bluff, after it. Ben Buckley, tall and +straight as a pine, stood on the caboose. It was his first train, and he +looked as if he felt it. + +In the evening I got reports of heavy rains east of us, and after 77 +reported "out" of Turner Junction and pulled over the divide towards +Beverly, it was storming hard all along the line. By the time they +reached the hill Ben had his men out setting brakes--tough work on that +kind of a night; but when the big engine struck the bluff the heavy +train was well in hand, and it rolled down the long grade as gently as a +curtain. + +Ben was none too careful, for half-way down the hill they exploded +torpedoes. Through the driving storm the tail-lights of the flyer were +presently seen. As they pulled carefully ahead, Ben made his way through +the mud and rain to the head end and found the passenger-train stalled. +Just before them was Blackwood Creek, bank full, and the bridge swinging +over the swollen stream like a grape-vine. + +At the foot of Beverly Hill there is a siding--a long siding, once used +as a sort of cut-off to the upper Zanesville yards. This side track +parallels the main track for half a mile, and on this siding Ben, as +soon as he saw the situation, drew in with his train so that it lay +beside the passenger-train and left the main line clear behind. It then +became his duty to guard the track to the rear, where the second section +of the stock-train would soon be due. + +It was pouring rain and as dark as a pocket. He started his hind-end +brakeman back on the run with red lights and torpedoes to warn the +second section well up the hill. Then walking across from his caboose, +he got under the lee of the hind Pullman sleeper to watch for the +expected headlight. + +The storm increased in violence. It was not the rain driving in +torrents, not the lightning blazing, nor the deafening crashes of +thunder, that worried him, but the wind--it blew a gale. In the blare of +the lightning he could see the oaks which crowned the bluffs whip like +willows in the storm. It swept quartering down the Beverly cut as if it +would tear the ties from under the steel. Suddenly he saw, far up in the +black sky, a star blazing; it was the headlight of Second Seventy-Seven. + +A whistle cut the wind; then another. It was the signal for brakes; the +second section was coming down the steep grade. He wondered how far back +his man had got with the bombs. Even as he wondered he saw a yellow +flash below the headlight; it was the first torpedo. The second section +was already well down the top of the hill. Could they hold it to the +bottom? + +Like an answer came shorter and sharper the whistle for brakes. Ben +thought he knew who was on that engine; thought he knew that +whistle--for engineers whistle as differently as they talk. He still +hoped and believed--knowing who was on the engine--that the brakes would +hold the heavy load; but he feared-- + +A man running up in the rain passed him. Ben shouted and held up his +lantern; it was his head brakeman. + +"Who's pulling Second Seventy-Seven?" he cried. + +"Andy Cameron." + +"How many air cars has he got?" + +"Six or eight," shouted Ben. "It's the wind, Daley--the wind. Andy can +hold her if anybody can. But the wind; did you ever see such a blow?" + +Even while he spoke the cry for brakes came a third time on the storm. + +A frightened Pullman porter opened the rear door of the sleeper. Five +hundred people lay in the excursion train, unconscious of this avalanche +rolling down upon them. + +The conductor of the flyer ran up to Ben in a panic. + +"Buckley, they'll telescope us." + +"Can you pull ahead any?" + +"The bridge is out." + +"Get out your passengers," said Ben's brakeman. + +"There's no time," cried the passenger conductor, wildly, running off. +He was panic-stricken. The porter tried to speak. He took hold of the +brakeman's arm, but his voice died in his throat; fear paralyzed him. +Down the wind came Cameron's whistle clamoring now in alarm. It meant +the worst, and Ben knew it. The stock-train was running away. + +There were plenty of things to do if there was only time; but there was +hardly time to think. The passenger crew were running about like men +distracted, trying to get the sleeping travellers out. Ben knew they +could not possibly reach a tenth of them. In the thought of what it +meant, an inspiration came like a flash. + +He seized his brakeman by the shoulder. For two weeks the man carried +the marks of his hand. + +"Daley!" he cried, in a voice like a pistol crack, "get those two +stockmen out of our caboose. Quick, man! I'm going to throw Cameron +into the cattle." + +It was a chance--single, desperate, but yet a chance--the only chance +that offered to save the helpless passengers in his charge. + +If he could reach the siding switch ahead of the runaway train, he could +throw the deadly catapult on the siding and into his own train, and so +save the unconscious travellers. Before the words were out of his mouth +he started up the track at topmost speed. + +The angry wind staggered him. It blew out his lantern, but he flung it +away, for he could throw the switch in the dark. A sharp gust tore half +his rain-coat from his back; ripping off the rest, he ran on. When the +wind took his breath he turned his back and fought for another. Blinding +sheets of rain poured on him; water streaming down the track caught his +feet; a slivered tie tripped him, and, falling headlong, the sharp +ballast cut his wrists and knees like broken glass. In desperate haste +he dashed ahead again; the headlight loomed before him like a mountain +of flame. There was light enough now through the sheets of rain that +swept down on him, and there ahead, the train almost on it, was the +switch. + +Could he make it? + +A cry from the sleeping children rose in his heart. Another breath, an +instant floundering, a slipping leap, and he had it. He pushed the key +into the lock, threw the switch and snapped it, and, to make deadly +sure, braced himself against the target-rod. Then he looked. + +No whistling now; it was past that. He knew the fireman would have +jumped. Cameron too? No, not Andy, not if the pit yawned in front of his +pilot. + +He saw streams of fire flying from many wheels--he felt the glare of a +dazzling light--and with a rattling crash the ponies shot into the +switch. The bar in his hands rattled as if it would jump from the +socket, and, lurching frightfully, the monster took the siding. A flare +of lightning lit the cab as it shot past, and he saw Cameron leaning +from the cab window, with face of stone, his eyes riveted on the +gigantic drivers that threw a sheet of fire from the sanded rails. + +"Jump!" screamed Ben, useless as he knew it was. What voice could live +in that hell of noise? What man escape from that cab now? + +One, two, three, four cars pounded over the split rails in half as many +seconds. Ben, running dizzily for life to the right, heard above the +roar of the storm and screech of the sliding wheels a ripping, tearing +crash, the harsh scrape of escaping steam, the hoarse cries of the +wounded cattle. And through the dreadful dark and the fury of the babel +the wind howled in a gale and the heavens poured a flood. + +Trembling from excitement and exhaustion, Ben staggered down the main +track. A man with a lantern ran against him; it was the brakeman who had +been back with the torpedoes; he was crying hysterically. + +They stumbled over a body. Seizing the lantern, Ben turned the prostrate +man over and wiped the mud from his face. Then he held the lantern +close, and gave a great cry. It was Andy Cameron--unconscious, true, but +soon very much alive, and no worse than badly bruised. How the good God +who watches over plucky engineers had thrown him out from the horrible +wreckage only He knew. But there Andy lay; and with a lighter heart Ben +headed a wrecking crew to begin the task of searching for any who might +by fatal chance have been caught in the crash. + +And while the trainmen of the freights worked at the wreck the +passenger-train was backed slowly--so slowly and so smoothly--up over +the switch and past, over the hill and past, and so to Turner Junction, +and around by Oxford to Zanesville. + +When the sun rose the earth glowed in the freshness of its June +shower-bath. The flyer, now many miles from Beverly Hill, was speeding +in towards Omaha, and mothers waking their little ones in the berths +told them how close death had passed while they slept. The little girls +did not quite understand it, though they tried very hard, and were very +grateful to That Man, whom they never saw and whom they would never see. +But the little boys--never mind the little boys--they understood it, to +the youngest urchin on the train, and fifty times their papas had to +tell them how far Ben ran and how fast to save their lives. And one +little boy--I wish I knew his name--went with his papa to the +depot-master at Omaha when the flyer stopped, and gave him his toy +watch, and asked him please to give it to That Man who had saved his +mamma's life by running so far in the rain, and please to tell him how +much obliged he was--if he would be so kind. + +So the little toy watch came to our superintendent, and so to me; and I, +sitting at Cameron's bedside, talking the wreck over with Ben, gave it +to him; and the big fellow looked as pleased as if it had been a +jewelled chronometer; indeed, that was the only medal Ben got. + +The truth is we had no gold medals to distribute out on the West End in +those days. We gave Ben the best we had, and that was a passenger run. +But he is a great fellow among the railroad men. And on stormy nights +switchmen in the Zanesville yards, smoking in their shanties, still tell +of that night, that storm, and how Ben Buckley threw Second +Seventy-Seven at the foot of Beverly Hill. + + + + +The Kid Engineer + + +When the big strike caught us at Zanesville we had one hundred and +eighty engineers and firemen on the pay-roll. One hundred and +seventy-nine of these men walked out. One fireman--just one--stayed with +the company; that was Dad Hamilton. + +"Yes," growled Dad, combating the protests of the strikers' committee, +"I know it. I belong to your lodge. But I'll tell you now--an' I've told +you afore--I ain't goin' to strike on the company so long as Neighbor is +master-mechanic on this division. Ain't a-goin' to do it, an' you might +as well quit. 'F you jaw here from now till Christmas 'twon't change my +mind nar a bit." + +And they didn't change it. Through the calm and through the storm--and +it stormed hard for a while--Dad Hamilton, whenever we could supply him +with an engineer, fired religiously. + +No other man in the service could have done it without getting killed; +but Dad was old enough to father any man among the strikers. Moreover, +he was a giant physically, and eccentric enough to move along through +the heat of the crisis indifferent to the abuse of the other men. His +gray hairs and his tremendous physical strength saved him from personal +violence. + +Our master-mechanic, "Neighbor," was another big man--six feet an inch +in his stockings, and strong as a draw-bar. Between Neighbor and the old +fireman there existed some sort of a bond--a liking, an affinity. Dad +Hamilton had fired on our division ten years. There was no promotion for +Dad; he could never be an engineer, though only Neighbor knew why. But +his job of firing on the river division was sure as long as Neighbor +signed the pay-rolls at the round-house. + +Hence there was no surprise when the superintendent offered him an +engine, just after the strike, that Dad refused to take it. + +"I'm a fireman, and Neighbor knows it. I ain't no engineer. I'll make +steam for any man you put in the cab with me, but I won't touch a +throttle for no man. I laid it down, and I'll never pinch it again--an' +no offence t' you, Neighbor, neither." + +Thus ended negotiations with Dad on that subject; threats and entreaties +were useless. Then, too, in spite of his professed willingness to throw +coal for any man we put on his engine, he was continually rowing about +the green runners we gave him. From the standpoint of a railroad man +they were a tough assortment; for a fellow may be a good painter, or a +handy man with a jack-plane, or an expert machinist, even, and yet a +failure as an engine-runner. + +After we got hold of Foley, Neighbor put him on awhile with Dad, and the +grizzled fireman quickly declared that Foley was the only man on the +pay-roll who knew how to move a train. + +The little chap proved such a remarkable find that I tried hard to get +some of his Eastern chums to come out and join him. After a good bit of +hustling we did get half a dozen more Reading boys for our new corps of +engine-men, but the East-End officials kept all but one of them on +their own divisions. That one we got because nobody on the East End +wanted him. + +"They've crimped the whole bunch, Foley," said I, answering his +inquiries. "There's just one fellow reported here--he came in on 5 this +morning. Neighbor's had a little talk with him; but he doesn't think +much of him. I guess we're out the transportation on that fellow." + +"What's his name?" asked Foley. "Is he off the Reading?" + +"Claims he is; his name is McNeal--" + +"McNeal?" echoed Foley, surprised. "Not Georgie McNeal?" + +"I don't know what his first name is; he's nothing but a boy." + +"Dark-complexioned fellow?" + +"Perhaps you'd call him that; sort of soft-spoken." + +"Georgie McNeal, sure's you're born. If you've got him you've got a +bird. He ran opposite me between New York and Philadelphia on the +limited. I want to see him, right off. If it's Georgie, you're all +right." + +Foley's talk went a good ways with me any time. When I told Neighbor +about it he pricked up his ears. While we were debating, in rushed +Foley with the young fellow--the kid--as he called him. Neighbor made +another survey of the ground in short order: run a new line, as Foley +would have said. The upshot of it was that McNeal was assigned to an +engine straightway. + +As luck would have it, Neighbor put the boy on the 244 with Dad +Hamilton; and Dad proceeded at once to make what Foley termed "a great +roar." + +"What's the matter?" demanded Neighbor, roughly, when the old fireman +complained. + +"If you're goin' to pull these trains with boys I guess it's time for me +to quit; I'm gettin' pretty old, anyhow." + +"What's the matter?" growled Neighbor, still surlier, knowing full well +that if the old fellow had a good reason he would have blurted it out at +the start. + +"Nothin's the matter; only I'd like my time." + +"You won't get it," said Neighbor, roughly. "Go back on your run. If +McNeal don't behave, report him to me, and he'll get his time." + +It was a favorite trick of Neighbor's. Whenever the old fireman got to +"bucking" about his engineer, the master-mechanic threatened to +discharge the engineer. That settled it; Dad Hamilton wouldn't for the +world be the cause of throwing another man out of a job, no matter how +little he liked him. + +The old fellow went back to work mollified; but it was evident that he +and McNeal didn't half get on together. The boy was not much of a +talker; yet he did his work well; and Neighbor said, next to Foley, he +was the best man we had. + +"What's the reason Hamilton and McNeal can't hit it off, Foley?" I asked +one night. + +"They'll get along all right after a while," predicted Foley. "You know +the old man's stubborn as a dun mule, ain't he? The injectors bother +Georgie some; they did me. He'll get used to things. But Dad thinks he's +green--that's what's the matter. The kid is high-spirited, and seeing +the old man's kind of got it in for him he won't ask him anything. Dad's +sore about that, too. Georgie won't knuckle to anybody that don't treat +him right." + +"You'd better tell McNeal to humor the old crank," I suggested; and I +believe Foley did so, but it didn't do any good. Sometimes those things +have to work themselves out without outside help. In the end this thing +did, but in a way none of us looked for. + +About a week later Foley came into the office one morning very much +excited. + +"Did you hear about the boy's getting pounded last night--Georgie +McNeal? It's a shame the way these fellows act. Three of the strikers +piled on him while he was going into the post-office, and thumped the +life out of him. The cowardly hounds, to jump on a man's back that way!" + +"Foley," said I, "that's the first time they've tackled one of Dad +Hamilton's engineers." + +"They'd never have done it if they thought there was any danger of Dad's +getting after them. They know he doesn't like the boy." + +"It's an outrage; but we can't do anything. You know that. Tell McNeal +to keep away from the post-office. We'll get his mail for him." + +"I told him that this morning. He's in bed, and looks pretty hard. But +he won't dodge those fellows. He claims it's a free country," grinned +Foley. "But I told him he'd get over that idea if he stuck out this +trouble." + +It was three days before McNeal was able to report for work, though he +received full time just the same. Even then he wasn't fit for duty, but +he begged Neighbor for his run until he got it. The strikers were +jubilant while the boy was laid up; but just what Dad thought no one +could find out. I wanted to tell the old growler what I thought of him, +but Foley said it wouldn't do any good, and might do harm, so I held my +peace. + +One might have thought that the injustice and brutality of the thing +would have roused him; but men who have repressed themselves till they +are gray-headed don't rise in a hurry to resent a wrong. Dad kept as +mute as the Sphinx. When McNeal was ready to go out the old fireman had +the 244 shining; but if the pale face of his engineer had any effect on +him, he kept it to himself. + +As they rattled down the line with a long stock-train that night neither +of them referred to the break in their run. Coming back next night the +same silence hung over the cab. The only words that passed over the +boiler-head were "strickly business," as Dad would say. + +At Oxford they were laid out by a Pullman special. It was three o'clock +in the morning and raining hard. Under such circumstances an hour seems +all night. At last Dad himself broke the unsupportable silence. + +"He'd have waited a good bit longer if he had waited for me to talk," +said the boy, telling Foley afterwards. + +"Heard you got licked," growled Dad, after tinkering with the fire for +the twentieth time. + +"I didn't get licked," retorted Georgie; "I got clubbed. I never had a +chance to fight." + +"These fellows hate to see a boy come out and take a man's job. Can't +blame 'em much, neither." + +"Whose job did I take?" demanded Georgie, angrily. "Was any one of +those cowards that jumped on me in the dark looking for work on this +engine?" + +There was nothing to say to that. Dad kept still. + +"You talk about men," continued the young fellow. "If I am not more of a +man than to slug a fellow from behind, the way they slugged me, I'll get +off this engine and stay off. If that's what you call men out here I +don't want to be a man. I'll go back to Pennsylvania." + +"Why didn't you stay there?" growled Dad. + +"Why didn't you?" + +Without attempting to return the shot, Dad pulled nervously at the +chain. + +"If I hadn't been fool enough to go out on a strike I might have been +running there yet," continued Georgie. + +"Ought to have kept away from the post-office," grumbled Dad, after a +pause. + +"I get a letter twice a week that I think more of than I do of this +whole road, and I propose to go to the post-office and get it without +asking anybody's permission." + +"They'll pound you again." + +Georgie looked out into the storm. "Well, why shouldn't they? I've got +no friends." + +"Got a girl back in Pennsylvania?" + +"Yes, I've got a girl there," replied the boy, as the rain tore at the +cab window. "I've had a girl there a good while. She's gray-headed and +sixty years old--that's my girl--and if she can write letters to me, I +can get them out of the post-office without a guardian." + +"There she comes," said Dad, as the headlight of the Pullman special +shone faint ahead through the mist. + +"I'm mighty glad of it," said Georgie, looking at his watch. "Give me +steam now, Dad, and I'll get you home in time for a nap before +breakfast." + +A minute later the special shot over the switch, and the young runner, +crowding the pistons a bit, started off the siding. When Dad, looking +back for the hind-end brakeman to lock the switch and swing on, called +all clear, Georgie pulled her out another notch, and the long train +slowly gathered headway up the slippery track. + +As the speed increased the young man and the old relapsed into their +usual silence. The 244 was always a free steamer, but Georgie put her +through her paces without any apology, and it took lots of coal to +square the account. + +In a few minutes they were pounding along up through the Narrows. The +track there follows the high bench between the bluffs, which sheer up on +one side, and the river-bed, thirty feet below the grade, on the other. + +It is not an inviting stretch at any time with a big string of gondolas +behind. But on a wet night it is the last place on the division where an +engineer would want a side-rod to go wrong; and just there and then +Georgie's rod went very wrong indeed. + +Half-way between centres the big steel bar on his side, dipping then so +fast you couldn't have seen it even in daylight, snapped like a stick of +licorice. The hind-end ripped up into the cab like the nose of a +sword-fish, tearing and smashing with appalling force and fury. + +Georgie McNeal's seat burst under him as if a stick of giant-powder had +exploded. He was jammed against the cab roof like a link-pin and fell +sprawling, while the monster steel flail threshed and tore through the +cab with every lightning revolution of the great driver from which it +swung. + +It was a frightful moment. Anything thought or done must be thought and +done at once. It was either to stop that train--and quickly--or to pound +along until the 244 jumped the track, and lit in the river, with thirty +cars of coal to cover it. + +Instantly--so Dad Hamilton afterwards told me--instantly the boy, +scrambling to his feet, reached for his throttle--reached for it through +a rain of iron blows, and staggered back with his right arm hanging like +a broken wing from his shoulder. And back again after it--after the +throttle with his left; slipping and creeping carefully this time up the +throttle lever until, straining and twisting and dodging, he caught the +latch and pushed it tightly home, Dad whistling vigorously the while for +brakes. + +Relieved of the tremendous head on the cylinder the old engine calmed +down enough to let the two men collect themselves. Rapidly as the brakes +could do it, the long train was brought up standing, and Georgie, helped +by his fireman, dropped out of the cab, and they set about +disconnecting--the engineer with his one arm--the formidable ends of the +broken rod. + +It was a slow, difficult piece of work to do. In spite of their most +active efforts the rain chilled them to the marrow. The train-crew gave +them as much help as willing hands could, which wasn't much; but by +every man doing something they got things fixed, called in their flagmen +just before daybreak, and started home. When the sun rose, Georgie, grim +and silent, the throttle in his left hand, was urging the old engine +along on a dog-trot across the Blackwood flats; and so, limping in on +one side, the kid brought his train into the Zanesville yards, with Dad +Hamilton unable to make himself helpful enough, unable to show his +appreciation of the skill and the grit that the night had disclosed in +the kid engineer. + +The hostler waiting in the yard sprang into the cab with amazement on +his face, and was just in time to lift a limp boy out of the old +fireman's arms and help Dad get him to the ground--for Georgie had +fainted. + +When the 244 reached the shops a few minutes later they photographed +that cab. It was the worst case of rod-smashing we had ever seen; and +the West-End shops have caught some pretty tough-looking cabs in their +day. + +The boy who stopped the cyclone and saved his train and crew lay +stretched on the lounge in my office waiting for the company surgeon. +And old Dad Hamilton--crabbed, irascible old Dad Hamilton--flew around +that boy exactly like an excited old rooster: first bringing ice, and +then water, and then hot coffee, and then fanning him with a time-table. +It was worth a small smash-up to see it. + +The one sweep of the rod which caught Georgie's arm had broken it in two +places, and he was off duty three months. But it was a novelty to see +that boy walk down to the post-office, and hear the strikers step up and +ask how his arm was; and to see old Dad Hamilton tag around Zanesville +after him was refreshing. The kid engineer had won his spurs. + + + + +The Sky-Scraper + + +We stood one Sunday morning in a group watching for her to speed around +the Narrows. Many locomotives as I have seen and ridden, a new one is +always a wonder to me; chokes me up, even, it means so much. I hear men +rave over horses, and marvel at it when I think of the iron horse. I +hear them chatter of distance, and my mind turns to the annihilator. I +hear them brag of ships, and I think of the ship that ploughs the +mountains and rivers and plains. And when they talk of speed--what can I +think of but her? + +As the new engine rolled into the yards my heart beat quicker. Her lines +were too imposing to call strong; they were massive, yet so simple you +could draw them, like the needle snout of a collie, to a very point. + +Every bearing looked precise, every joint looked supple, as she swept +magnificently up and checked herself, panting, in front of us. + +Foley was in the cab. He had been east on a lay-off, and so happened to +bring in the new monster, wild, from the river shops. + +She was built in Pennsylvania, but the fellows on the Missouri end of +our line thought nothing could ever safely be put into our hands until +they had stopped it _en route_ and looked it over. + +"How does she run, Foley?" asked Neighbor, gloating silently over the +toy. + +"Cool as an ice-box," said Foley, swinging down. "She's a regular summer +resort. Little stiff on the hills yet." + +"We'll take that out of her," mused Neighbor, climbing into the cab to +look her over. "Boys, this is up in a balloon," he added, pushing his +big head through the cab-window and peering down at the ninety-inch +drivers under him. + +"I grew dizzy once or twice looking for the ponies," declared Foley, +biting off a piece of tobacco as he hitched at his overalls. "She looms +like a sky-scraper. Say, Neighbor, I'm to get her myself, ain't I?" +asked Foley, with his usual nerve. + +"When McNeal gets through with her, yes," returned Neighbor, gruffly, +giving her a thimble of steam and trying the air. + +"What!" cried Foley, affecting surprise. "You going to give her to the +kid?" + +"I am," returned the master-mechanic unfeelingly, and he kept his word. + +Georgie McNeal, just reporting for work after the session in his cab +with the loose end of a connecting-rod, was invited to take out the +Sky-Scraper--488, Class H--as she was listed, and Dad Hamilton of course +took the scoop to fire her. + +"They get everything good that's going," grumbled Foley. + +"They are good people," retorted Neighbor. He also assigned a helper to +the old fireman. It was a new thing with us then, a fellow with a +slice-bar to tickle the grate, and Dad, of course, kicked. He always +kicked. If they had raised his salary he would have kicked. Neighbor +wasted no words. He simply sent the helper back to wiping until the old +fireman should cry enough. + +Very likely you know that a new engine must be regularly broken, as a +horse is broken, before it is ready for steady hard work. And as +Georgie McNeal was not very strong yet, he was appointed to do the +breaking. + +For two months it was a picnic. Light runs and easy lay-overs. After the +smash at the Narrows, Hamilton had sort of taken the kid engineer under +his wing; and it was pretty generally understood that any one who +elbowed Georgie McNeal must reckon with his doughty old fireman. So the +two used to march up and down street together, as much like chums as a +very young engineer and a very old fireman possibly could be. They +talked together, walked together, and ate together. Foley was as jealous +as a cat of Hamilton, because he had brought Georgie out West, and felt +a sort of guardian interest in that quarter himself. Really, anybody +would love Georgie McNeal; old Dad Hamilton was proof enough of that. + +One evening, just after pay-day, I saw the pair in the post-office lobby +getting their checks cashed. Presently the two stepped over to the +money-order window; a moment later each came away with a money-order. + +"Is that where you leave your wealth, Georgie?" I asked, as he came up +to speak to me. + +"Part of it goes there every month, Mr. Reed," he smiled. "Checks are +running light, too, now--eh, Dad?" + +"A young fellow like you ought to be putting money away in the bank," +said I. + +"Well, you see I have a bank back in Pennsylvania--a bank that is now +sixty years old, and getting gray-headed. I haven't sent her much since +I've been on the relief, so I'm trying to make up a little now for my +old mammie." + +"Where does yours go, Dad?" I asked. + +"Me?" answered the old man, evasively, "I've got a boy back East; +getting to be a big one, too. He's in school. When are you going to give +us a passenger run with the Sky-Scraper, Neighbor?" asked Hamilton, +turning to the master-mechanic. + +"Soon as we get this wheat, up on the high line, out of the way," +replied Neighbor. "We haven't half engines enough to move it, and I get +a wire about every six hours to move it faster. Every siding's blocked, +clear to Belgrade. How many of those sixty-thousand-pound cars can you +take over Beverly Hill with your Sky-Scraper?" + +He was asking both men. The engineer looked at his chum. + +"I reckon maybe thirty-five or forty," said McNeal. "Eh, Dad?" + +"Maybe, son," growled Hamilton; "and break my back doing it?" + +"I gave you a helper once and you kicked him off the tender," retorted +Neighbor. + +"Don't want anybody raking ashes for me--not while I'm drawing full +time," Dad frowned. + +But the upshot of it was that we put the Sky-Scraper at hauling wheat, +and within a week she was doing the work of a double-header. + +It was May, and a thousand miles east of us, in Chicago, there was +trouble in the wheat-pit on the Board of Trade. You would hardly suspect +what queer things that wheat scramble gave rise to, affecting Georgie +McNeal and old man Hamilton and a lot of other fellows away out on a +railroad division on the Western plains; but this was the way of it: + +A man sitting in a little office on La Salle Street wrote a few words on +a very ordinary-looking sheet of paper, and touched a button. That +brought a colored boy, and he took the paper out to a young man who sat +at the eastern end of a private wire. + +The next thing we knew, orders began to come in hot from the president's +office--the president of the road, if you please--to get that wheat on +the high line into Chicago, and to get it there quickly. + +Trainmen, elevator-men, superintendents of motive power, were spurred +with special orders and special bulletins. Farmers, startled by the +great prices offering, hauled night and day. Every old tub we had in the +shops and on the scrap was overhauled and hustled into the service. The +division danced with excitement. Every bushel of wheat on it must be in +Chicago by the morning of May 31st. + +For two weeks we worked everything to the limit; the Sky-Scraper led any +two engines on the line. Even Dad Hamilton was glad to cry enough, and +take a helper. We doubled them every day, and the way the wheat flew +over the line towards the lower end of Lake Michigan was appalling to +speculators. It was a battle between two commercial giants--and a battle +to the death. It shook not alone the country, it shook the world; but +that was nothing to us; our orders were simply to move the wheat. And +the wheat moved. + +The last week found us pretty well cleaned up; but the high price +brought grain out of cellars and wells, the buyers said--at least, it +brought all the hoarded wheat, and much of the seed wheat, and the 28th +day of the month found fifty cars of wheat still in the Zanesville +yards. I was at Harvard working on a time-card when the word came, and +behind it a special from the general manager, stating there was a +thousand dollars premium in it for the company, besides tariff, if we +got that wheat into Chicago by Saturday morning. + +The train end of it didn't bother me any; it was the motive power that +kept us studying. However, we figured that by running McNeal with the +Sky-Scraper back wild we could put all the wheat behind her in one +train. As it happened, Neighbor was at Harvard, too. + +"Can they ever get over Beverly with fifty, Neighbor?" I asked, +doubtfully. + +"We'll never know till they try it," growled Neighbor. "There's a +thousand for the company if they do, that's all. How'll you run them? +Give them plenty of sea-room; they'll have to gallop to make it." + +Cool and reckless planning, taking the daring chances, straining the +flesh and blood, driving the steel loaded to the snapping-point; that +was what it meant. But the company wanted results; wanted the prestige, +and the premium, too. To gain them we were expected to stretch our +little resources to the uttermost. + +I studied a minute, then turned to the dispatcher. + +"Tell Norman to send them out as second 4; that gives the right of way +over every wheel against them. If they can't make it on that kind of +schedule, it isn't in the track." + +It was extraordinary business, rather, sending a train of wheat through +on a passenger schedule, practically, as the second section of our +east-bound flyer; but we took hair-lifting chances on the plains. + +It was noon when the orders were flashed. At three o'clock No. 4 was due +to leave Zanesville. For three hours I kept the wires busy warning all +operators and trainmen, even switch-engines and yard-masters, of the +wheat special--second 4. + +The Flyer, the first section and regular passenger-train, was checked +out of Zanesville on time. Second 4, which meant Georgie McNeal, Dad, +the Sky-Scraper, and fifty loads of wheat, reported out at 3.10. While +we worked on our time-card, Neighbor, in the dispatcher's office across +the hall, figured out that the wheat-train would enrich the company just +eleven thousand dollars, tolls and premium. "If it doesn't break in two +on Beverly Hill," growled Neighbor, with a qualm. + +On the dispatcher's sheet, which is a sort of panorama, I watched the +big train whirl past station after station, drawing steadily nearer to +us, and doing it, the marvel, on full passenger time. It was a great +feat, and Georgie McNeal, whose nerve and brain were guiding the +tremendous load, was breaking records with every mile-stone. + +They were due in Harvard at nine o'clock. The first 4, our Flyer, +pulled in and out on time, meeting 55, the west-bound overland freight, +at the second station east of Harvard--Redbud. + +Neighbor and I sat with the dispatchers, up in their office, smoking. +The wheat-train was now due from the west, and, looking at my watch, I +stepped to the western window. Almost immediately I heard the long +peculiarly hollow blast of the Sky-Scraper whistling for the upper yard. + +"She's coming," I exclaimed. + +The boys crowded to the window; but Neighbor happened to glance to the +east. + +"What's that coming in from the junction, Bailey?" he exclaimed, turning +to the local dispatcher. We looked and saw a headlight in the east. + +"That's 55." + +"Where do they meet?" + +"55 takes the long siding in from the junction"--which was two miles +east--"and she ought to be on it right now," added the dispatcher, +anxiously, looking over the master-mechanic's shoulder. + +Neighbor jumped as if a bullet had struck him. "She'll never take a +siding to-night. She's coming down the main track. What's her orders?" +he demanded, furiously. + +"Meeting orders for first 4 at Redbud, second 4 here, 78 at Glencoe. +Great Jupiter!" cried the dispatcher, and his face went sick and scared, +"they've forgotten second 4." + +"They'll think of her a long time dead," roared the master-mechanic, +savagely, jumping to the west window. "Throw your red lights! There's +the Sky-Scraper now!" + +Her head shot that instant around the coal chutes, less than a mile +away, and 55 going dead against her. I stood like one palsied, my eyes +glued on the burning eye of the big engine. As she whipped past a street +arc-light I caught a glimpse of Georgie McNeal's head out of the cab +window. He always rode bare-headed if the night was warm, and I knew it +was he; but suddenly, like a flash, his head went in. I knew why as well +as if my eyes were his eyes and my thoughts his thoughts. He had seen +red signals where he had every right to look for white. + +But red signals now--to stop _her_--to pull her flat on her haunches +like a bronco? Shake a weather flag at a cyclone! + +I saw the fire stream from her drivers; I knew they were churning in the +sand; I knew he had twenty air cars behind him sliding. What of it? + +Two thousand tons were sweeping forward like an avalanche. What did +brains or pluck count for now with 55 dancing along like a school-girl +right into the teeth of it? + +I don't know how the other men felt. As for me, my breath choked in my +throat, my knees shook, and a deadly nausea seized me. Unable to avert +the horrible blunder, I saw its hideous results. + +Darkness hid the worst of the sight; it was the sound that appalled. +Children asleep in sod shanties miles from where the two engines reared +in awful shock jumped in their cribs at that crash. 55's little engine +barely checked the Sky-Scraper. She split it like a banana. She bucked +like a frantic horse, and leaped fearfully ahead. There was a blinding +explosion, a sudden awful burst of steam; the windows crashed about our +ears, and we were dashed to the wall and floor like lead-pencils. A +baggage-truck, whipped up from the platform below, came through the +heavy sash and down on the dispatcher's table like a brickbat, and as we +scrambled to our feet a shower of wheat suffocated us. The floor heaved; +freight-cars slid into the depot like battering-rams. In the height of +the confusion an oil-tank in the yard took fire and threw a yellow glare +on the ghastly scene. + +I saw men get up and fall again to their knees; I was shivering, and wet +with sweat. The stairway was crushed into kindling-wood. I climbed out a +back window, down on the roof of the freight platform, and so to the +ground. There was a running to and fro, useless and aimless; men were +beside themselves. They plunged through wheat up to their knees at every +step. All at once, above the frantic hissing of the buried Sky-Scraper +and the wild calling of the car tinks, I heard the stentorian tones of +Neighbor, mounted on a twisted truck, organizing the men at hand into a +wrecking-gang. Soon people began running up the yard to where the +Sky-Scraper lay, like another Samson, prostrate in the midst of the +destruction it had wrought. Foremost among the excited men, covered +with dirt and blood, staggered Dad Hamilton. + +"Where's McNeal?" cried Neighbor. + +Hamilton pointed to the wreck. + +"Why didn't he jump?" yelled Neighbor. + +Hamilton pointed at the twisted signal-tower; the red light still burned +in it. + +"You changed the signals on him," he cried, savagely. "What does it +mean? We had rights against everything. What does it mean?" he raved, in +a frenzy. + +Neighbor answered him never a word; he only put his hand on Dad's +shoulder. + +"Find him first! Find him!" he repeated, with a strain in his voice I +never heard till then; and the two giants hurried away together. When I +reached the Sky-Scraper, buried in the thick of the smash, roaring like +a volcano, the pair were already into the jam like a brace of ferrets, +hunting for the engine crews. It seemed an hour, though it was much +less, before they found any one; then they brought out 55's fireman. +Neighbor found him. But his back was broken. Back again they wormed +through twisted trucks, under splintered beams--in and around and +over--choked with heat, blinded by steam, shouting as they groped, +listening for word or cry or gasp. + +Soon we heard Dad's voice in a different cry--one that meant everything; +and the wreckers, turning like beavers through a dozen blind trails, +gathered all close to the big fireman. He was under a great piece of the +cab where none could follow, and he was crying for a bar. They passed +him a bar; other men, careless of life and limb, tried to crawl under +and in to him, but he warned them back. Who but a man baked twenty years +in an engine cab could stand the steam that poured on him where he lay? + +Neighbor, just outside, flashing a light, heard the labored strain of +his breathing, saw him getting half up, bend to the bar, and saw the +iron give like lead in his hands as he pried mightily. + +Neighbor heard, and told me long afterwards, how the old man flung the +bar away with an imprecation, and cried for one to help him; for a +minute meant a life now--the boy lying pinned under the shattered cab +was roasting in a jet of live steam. The master-mechanic crept in. + +By signs Dad told him what to do, and then, getting on his knees, +crawled straight into the dash of the white jet--crawled into it, and +got the cab on his shoulders. + +Crouching an instant, the giant muscles of his back set in a tremendous +effort. The wreckage snapped and groaned, the knotted legs slowly and +painfully straightened, the cab for a passing instant rose in the air, +and in that instant Neighbor dragged Georgie McNeal from out the vise of +death, and passed him, like a pinch-bar, to the men waiting next behind. +Then Neighbor pulled Dad back, blind now and senseless. When they got +the old fireman out he made a pitiful struggle to pull himself together. +He tried to stand up, but the sweat broke over him and he sank in a heap +at Neighbor's feet. + +[Illustration: "THE CAB FOR A PASSING INSTANT ROSE IN THE AIR"] + +That was the saving of Georgie McNeal, and out there they will still +tell you about that lift of Dad Hamilton's. + +We put him on the cot at the hospital next to his engineer. Georgie, +dreadfully bruised and scalded, came on fast in spite of his hurts. But +the doctor said Dad had wrenched a tendon in that frightful effort, and +he lay there a very sick and very old man long after the young engineer +was up and around telling of his experience. + +"When we cleared the chutes I saw white signals, I thought," he said to +me at Dad's bedside. "I knew we had the right of way over everything. It +was a hustle, anyway, on that schedule, Mr. Reed; you know that; an +awful hustle, with our load. I never choked her a notch to run the +yards; didn't mean to do it with the Junction grade to climb just ahead +of us. But I looked out again, and, by hokey! I thought I'd gone crazy, +got color-blind--red signals! Of course I thought I must have been wrong +the first time I looked. I choked her, I threw the air, I dumped the +gravel. Heavens! she never felt it! I couldn't figure how we were wrong, +but there was the red light. I yelled, 'Jump, Dad!' and he yelled, +'Jump, son!' Didn't you, Dad? + +"He jumped; but I wasn't ever going to jump and my engine going full +against a red lamp. Not much. + +"I kind of dodged down behind the head; when she struck it was biff, and +she jumped about twenty feet up straight. She didn't? Well, it seemed +like it. Then it was biff, biff, biff, one after another. With that +train behind her she'd have gone through Beverly Hill. Did you ever buck +snow with a rotary, Mr. Reed? Well, that was about it, even to the +rolling and heaving. Dad, want to lie down? Le' me get another pillow +behind you. Isn't that better? Poor Musgrave!" he added, speaking of the +engineer of 55, who was instantly killed. "He and the fireman both. Hard +lines; but I'd rather have it that way, I guess, if I was wrong. Eh, +Dad?" + +Even after Georgie went to work, Dad lay in the hospital. We knew he +would never shovel coal again. It cost him his good back to lift Georgie +loose, so the surgeon told us; and I could believe it, for when they got +the jacks under the cab next morning, and Neighbor told the +wrecking-gang that Hamilton alone had lifted it six inches the night +before, on his back, the wrecking-boss fairly snorted at the statement; +but Hamilton did, just the same. + +"Son," muttered Dad, one night to Georgie, sitting with him, "I want you +to write a letter for me." + +"Sure." + +"I've been sending money to my boy back East," explained Dad, feebly. "I +told you he's in school." + +"I know, Dad." + +"I haven't been able to send any since I've been by, but I'm going to +send some when I get my relief. Not so much as I used to send. I want +you to kind of explain why." + +"What's his first name, Dad, and where does he live?" + +"It's a lawyer that looks after him--a man that 'tends to my business +back there." + +"Well, what's his name?" + +"Scaylor--Ephraim Scaylor." + +"Scaylor?" echoed Georgie, in amazement. + +"Yes. Why, do you know him?" + +"Why, that's the man mother and I had so much trouble with. I wouldn't +write to that man. He's a rascal, Dad." + +"What did he ever do to you and your mother?" + +"I'll tell you, Dad; though it's a matter I don't talk about much. My +father had trouble back there fifteen or sixteen years ago. He was +running an engine, and had a wreck; there were some passengers killed. +The dispatcher managed to throw the blame on father, and they indicted +him for man-slaughter. He pretty near went crazy, and all of a sudden he +disappeared, and we never heard of him from that day to this. But this +man Scaylor, mother stuck to it, knew something about where father was; +only he always denied it." + +Trembling like a leaf, Dad raised up on his elbow. "What's your mother's +name, son? What's your name?" + +Georgie looked confused. "I'll tell you, Dad; there's nothing to be +ashamed of. I was foolish enough, I told you once, to go out on a strike +with the engineers down there. I was only a kid, and we were all +black-listed. So I used my middle name, McNeal; my full name is George +McNeal Sinclair." + +The old fireman made a painful effort to sit up, to speak, but he +choked. His face contracted, and Georgie rose frightened. With a +herculean effort the old man raised himself up and grasped Georgie's +hands. + +"Son," he gasped to the astonished boy, "don't you know me?" + +"Of course I know you, Dad. What's the matter with you? Lie down." + +"Boy, I'm your own father. My name is David Hamilton Sinclair. I had the +trouble--Georgie." He choked up like a child, and Georgie McNeal went +white and scared; then he grasped the gray-haired man in his arms. + +When I dropped in an hour later they were talking hysterically. Dad was +explaining how he had been sending money to Scaylor every month, and +Georgie was contending that neither he nor his mother had ever seen a +cent of it. But one great fact overshadowed all the villany that night: +father and son were united and happy, and a message had already gone +back to the old home from Georgie to his mother, telling her the good +news. + +"And that indictment was wiped out long ago against father," said +Georgie to me; "but that rascal Scaylor kept writing him for money to +fight it with and to pay for my schooling--and this was the kind of +schooling I was getting all the time. Wouldn't that kill you?" + +I couldn't sleep till I had hunted up Neighbor and told him about it; +and next morning we wired transportation back for Mrs. Sinclair to come +out on. + +Less than a week afterwards a gentle little old woman stepped off the +Flyer at Zanesville, and into the arms of Georgie Sinclair. A smart rig +was in waiting, to which her son hurried her, and they were driven +rapidly to the hospital. When they entered the old fireman's room +together the nurse softly closed the door behind them. + +But when they sent for Neighbor and me, I suppose we were the two +biggest fools in the hospital, trying to look unconscious of all we saw +in the faces of the group at Dad's bed. + +He never got his old strength back, yet Neighbor fixed him out, for all +that. The Sky-Scraper, once our pride, was so badly stove that we gave +up hope of restoring her for a passenger run. So Neighbor built her over +into a sort of a dub engine for short runs, stubs, and so on; and though +Dad had vowed long ago, when unjustly condemned, that he would never +more touch a throttle, we got him to take the Sky-Scraper and the Acton +run. + +And when Georgie, who takes the Flyer every other day, is off duty, he +climbs into Dad's cab, shoves the old gentleman aside, and shoots around +the yard in the rejuvenated Sky-Scraper at a hair-raising rate of speed. + +After a while the old engine got so full of alkali that Georgie gave her +a new name--Soda-Water Sal--and it hangs to her yet. We thought the best +of her had gone in the Harvard wreck; but there came a time when Dad and +Soda-Water Sal showed us we were very much mistaken. + + + + +Soda-Water Sal + + +When the great engine which we called the Sky-Scraper came out of the +Zanesville shops, she was rebuilt from pilot to tender. + +Our master-mechanic, Neighbor, had an idea, after her terrific +collision, that she could not stand heavy main-line passenger runs, so +he put her on the Acton cut-off. It was what railroad men call a +jerk-water run, whatever that may be; a little jaunt of ten miles across +the divide connecting the northern division with the Denver stem. It was +just about like running a trolley, and the run was given to Dad +Sinclair, for after that lift at Oxford his back was never strong enough +to shovel coal, and he had to take an engine or quit railroading. + +Thus it happened that after many years he took the throttle once more +and ran over, twice a day, as he does yet, from Acton to Willow Creek. + +His boy, Georgie Sinclair, the kid engineer, took the run on the Flyer +opposite Foley, just as soon as he got well. + +Georgie, who was never happy unless he had eight or ten Pullmans behind +him, and the right of way over everything between Omaha and Denver, made +great sport of his father's little smoking-car and day-coach behind the +big engine. + +Foley made sport of the remodelled engine. He used to stand by while the +old engineer was oiling and ask him whether he thought she could catch a +jack-rabbit. "I mean," Foley would say, "if the rabbit was feeling +well." + +Dad Sinclair took it all grimly and quietly; he had railroaded too long +to care for anybody's chaff. But one day, after the Sky-Scraper had +gotten her flues pretty well chalked up with alkali, Foley insisted that +she must be renamed. + +"I have the only genuine sky-scraper on the West End now myself," +declared Foley. He did have a new class H engine, and she was +awe-inspiring, in truth. "I don't propose," he continued, "to have her +confused with your old tub any longer, Dad." + +Dad, oiling his old tub affectionately, answered never a word. + +"She's full of soda, isn't she, father?" asked Georgie, standing by. + +"Reckon she is, son." + +"Full of water, I suppose?" + +"Try to keep her that way, son." + +"Sal-soda, isn't it, Dad?" + +"Now I can't say. As to that--I can't say." + +"We'll call her Sal Soda, Georgie," suggested Foley. + +"No," interposed Georgie; "stop a bit. I have it. Not Sal Soda, at +all--make it Soda-Water Sal." + +Then they laughed uproariously; and in the teeth of Dad Sinclair's +protests--for he objected at once and vigorously--the queer name stuck +to the engine, and sticks yet. + +To have seen the great hulking machine you would never have suspected +there could be another story left in her. Yet one there was; a story of +the wind. As she stood, too, when old man Sinclair took her on the Acton +run, she was the best illustration I have ever seen of the adage that +one can never tell from the looks of a frog how far it will jump. + +Have you ever felt the wind? Not, I think, unless you have lived on the +seas or on the plains. People everywhere think the wind blows; but it +really blows only on the ocean and on the prairies. + +The summer that Dad took the Acton run, it blew for a month steadily. +All of one August--hot, dry, merciless; the despair of the farmer and +the terror of trainmen. + +It was on an August evening, with the gale still sweeping up from the +southwest, that Dad came lumbering into Acton with his little trolley +train. He had barely pulled up at the platform to unload his passengers +when the station-agent, Morris Reynolds, coatless and hatless, rushed up +to the engine ahead of the hostler and sprang into the cab. Reynolds was +one of the quietest fellows in the service. To see him without coat or +hat didn't count for much in such weather; but to see him sallow with +fright and almost speechless was enough to stir even old Dad Sinclair. + +It was not Dad's habit to ask questions, but he looked at the man in +questioning amazement. Reynolds choked and caught at his breath, as he +seized the engineer's arm and pointed down the line. + +"Dad," he gasped, "three cars of coal standing over there on the second +spur blew loose a few minutes ago." + +"Where are they?" + +"Where are they? Blown through the switch and down the line, forty miles +an hour." + +The old man grasped the frightened man by the shoulder. "What do you +mean? How long ago? When is 1 due? Talk quick, man! What's the matter +with you?" + +"Not five minutes ago. No. 1 is due here in less than thirty minutes; +they'll go into her sure. Dad," cried Reynolds, all in a fright, +"what'll I do? For Heaven's sake do something. I called up Riverton and +tried to catch 1, but she'd passed. I was too late. There'll be a wreck, +and I'm booked for the penitentiary. What can I do?" + +All the while the station-agent, panic-stricken, rattled on Sinclair was +looking at his watch--casting it up--charting it all under his thick, +gray, grizzled wool, fast as thought could compass. + +No. 1 headed for Acton, and her pace was a hustle every mile of the way; +three cars of coal blowing down on her, how fast he dared not think; and +through it all he was asking himself what day it was. Thursday? Up! Yes, +Georgie, his boy, was on the Flyer No. 1. It was his day up. If they met +on a curve-- + +"Uncouple her!" roared Dad Sinclair, in a giant tone. + +"What are you going to do?" + +"Burns," thundered Dad to his fireman, "give her steam, and quick, boy! +Dump in grease, waste, oil, everything! Are you clear there?" he cried, +opening the throttle as he looked back. + +The old engine, pulling clear of her coaches, quivered as she gathered +herself under the steam. She leaped ahead with a swish. The drivers +churned in the sand, bit into it with gritting tires, and forged ahead +with a suck and a hiss and a roar. Before Reynolds had fairly gathered +his wits, Sinclair, leaving his train on the main track in front of the +depot, was clattering over the switch after the runaways. The wind was a +terror, and they had too good a start. But the way Soda-Water Sal took +the gait when she once felt her feet under her made the wrinkled +engineer at her throttle set his mouth with the grimness of a gamester. +It meant the runaways--and catch them--or the ditch for Soda-Water Sal; +and the throbbing old machine seemed to know it, for her nose hung to +the steel like the snout of a pointer. + +He was a man of a hundred even then--Burns; but nobody knew it, then. We +hadn't thought much about Burns before. He was a tall, lank Irish boy, +with an open face and a morning smile. Dad Sinclair took him on because +nobody else would have him. Burns was so green that Foley said you +couldn't set his name afire. He would, so Foley said, put out a hot box +just by blinking at it. + +But every man's turn comes once, and it had come for Burns. It was Dick +Burns's chance now to show what manner of stuff was bred in his long +Irish bones. It was his task to make the steam--if he could--faster than +Dad Sinclair could burn it. What use to grip the throttle and scheme if +Burns didn't furnish the power, put the life into her heels as she raced +the wind--the merciless, restless gale sweeping over the prairie faster +than horse could fly before it? + +Working smoothly and swiftly into a dizzy whirl, the monstrous drivers +took the steel in leaps and bounds. Dad Sinclair, leaning from the cab +window, gloatingly watched their gathering speed, pulled the bar up +notch after notch, and fed Burns's fire into the old engine's arteries +fast and faster than she could throw it into her steel hoofs. + +That was the night the West End knew that a greenhorn had cast his +chrysalis and stood out a man. Knew that the honor-roll of our frontier +division wanted one more name, and that it was big Dick Burns's. +Sinclair hung silently desperate to the throttle, his eyes straining +into the night ahead, and the face of the long Irish boy, streaked with +smut and channelled with sweat, lit every minute with the glare of the +furnace as he fed the white-hot blast that leaped and curled and foamed +under the crown-sheet of Soda-Water Sal. + +There he stooped and sweat and swung, as she slewed and lurched and +jerked across the fish-plates. Carefully, nursingly, ceaselessly he +pushed the steam-pointer higher, higher, higher on the dial--and that +despite the tremendous draughts of Dad's throttle. + +Never a glance to the right or the left, to the track or the engineer. +From the coal to the fire, the fire to the water, the water to the +gauge, the gauge to the stack, and back again to the coal--that was +Burns. Neither eyes nor ears nor muscles for anything but steam. + +Such a firing as the West End never saw till that night; such a firing +as the old engine never felt in her choking flues till that night; such +a firing as Dad Sinclair, king of all West and East End firemen, lifted +his hat to--that was Burns's firing that night on Soda-Water Sal; the +night she chased the Acton runaways down the line to save Georgie +Sinclair and No. 1. + +[Illustration: "THAT WAS BURNS'S FIRING THAT NIGHT"] + +It was a frightful pace--how frightful no one ever knew; neither old man +Sinclair nor Dick Burns ever cared. Only, the crew of a freight, +side-tracked for the approaching Flyer, saw an engine flying light; knew +the hunter and the quarry, for they had seen the runaways shoot by--saw +then, a minute after, a star and a streak and a trail of rotten smoke +fly down the wind, and she had come and passed and gone. + +It was just east of that siding, so Burns and Sinclair always +maintained--but it measured ten thousand feet east--that they caught +them. + +A shout from Dad brought the dripping fireman up standing, and looking +ahead he saw in the blaze of their own headlight the string of coalers +standing still ahead of them. So it seemed to him, their own speed was +so great, and the runaways were almost equalling it. They were making +forty miles an hour when they dashed past the paralyzed freight crew. + +Without waiting for orders--what orders did such a man need?--without a +word, Burns crawled out of his window with a pin, and ran forward on the +foot-board, clinging the best he could, as the engine dipped and +lurched, climbed down on the cow-catcher, and lifted the pilot-bar to +couple. It was a crazy thing to attempt; he was much likelier to get +under the pilot than to succeed; yet he tried it. + +Then it was that the fine hand of Dad Sinclair came into play. To temper +the speed enough, and just enough; to push her nose just enough, and far +enough for Burns to make the draw-bar of the runaway--that was the +nicety of the big seamed hands on the throttle and on the air; the very +magic of touch which, on a slender bar of steel, could push a hundred +tons of flying metal up, and hold it steady in a play of six inches on +the teeth of the gale that tore down behind him. + +Again and again Burns tried to couple and failed. Sinclair, straining +anxiously ahead, caught sight of the headlight of No. 1 rounding +O'Fallon's bluffs. + +He cried to Burns, and, incredible though it seems, the fireman heard. +Above all the infernal din, the tearing of the flanges and the roaring +of the wind, Burns heard the cry; it nerved him to a supreme effort. He +slipped the eye once more into the draw, and managed to drop his pin. Up +went his hand in signal. + +Choking the steam, Sinclair threw the brake-shoes flaming against the +big drivers. The sand poured on the rails, and with Burns up on the +coalers setting brakes, the three great runaways were brought to with a +jerk that would have astounded the most reckless scapegraces in the +world. + +While the plucky fireman crept along the top of the freight-cars to keep +from being blown bodily through the air, Sinclair, with every resource +that brain and nerve and power could exert, was struggling to overcome +the terrible headway of pursuer and pursued, driving now frightfully +into the beaming head of No. 1. + +With the Johnson bar over and the drivers dancing a gallop backward; +with the sand striking fire, and the rails burning under it; with the +old Sky-Scraper shivering again in a terrific struggle, and Burns +twisting the heads off the brake-rods; with every trick of old +Sinclair's cunning, and his boy duplicating every one of them in the cab +of No. 1--still they came together. It was too fearful a momentum to +overcome, when minutes mean miles and tons are reckoned by thousands. + +They came together; but instead of an appalling wreck--destruction and +death--it was only a bump. No. 1 had the speed when they met; and it was +a car of coal dumped a bit sudden and a nose on Georgie's engine like a +full-back's after a centre rush. The pilot doubled back into the ponies, +and the headlight was scoured with nut, pea, and slack; but the stack +was hardly bruised. + +The minute they struck, Georgie Sinclair, making fast, and, leaping from +his cab, ran forward in the dark, panting with rage and excitement. +Burns, torch in hand, was himself just jumping down to get forward. His +face wore its usual grin, even when Georgie assailed him with a torrent +of abuse. + +"What do you mean, you red-headed lubber?" he shouted, with much the +lungs of his father. "What are you doing switching coal here on the main +line?" + +In fact, Georgie called the astonished fireman everything he could think +of, until his father, who was blundering forward on his side of the +engine, hearing the voice, turned, and ran around behind the tender to +take a hand himself. + +"Mean?" he roared above the blow of his safety. "Mean?" he bellowed in +the teeth of the wind. "Mean? Why, you impudent, empty-headed, +ungrateful rapscallion, what do you mean coming around here to abuse a +man that's saved you and your train from the scrap?" + +And big Dick Burns, standing by with his torch, burst into an Irish +laugh, fairly doubled up before the nonplussed boy, and listened with +great relish to the excited father and excited son. It was not hard to +understand Georgie's amazement and anger at finding Soda-Water Sal +behind three cars of coal half-way between stations on the main line and +on his time--and that the fastest time on the division. But what amused +Burns most was to see the imperturbable old Dad pitching into his boy +with as much spirit as the young man himself showed. + +It was because both men were scared out of their wits; scared over their +narrow escape from a frightful wreck; from having each killed the other, +maybe--the son the father, and the father the son. + +For brave men do get scared; don't believe anything else. But between +the fright of a coward and the fright of a brave man there is this +difference: the coward's scare is apparent before the danger, that of +the brave man after it has passed; and Burns laughed with a tremendous +mirth, "at th' two o' thim a-jawin'," as he expressed it. + +No man on the West End could turn on his pins quicker than Georgie +Sinclair, though, if his hastiness misled him. When it all came clear he +climbed into the old cab--the cab he himself had once gone against death +in--and with stumbling words tried to thank the tall Irishman, who still +laughed in the excitement of having won. + +And when Neighbor next day, thoughtful and taciturn, heard it all, he +very carefully looked Soda-Water Sal all over again. + +"Dad," said he, when the boys got through telling it for the last time, +"she's a better machine than I thought she was." + +"There isn't a better pulling your coaches," maintained Dad Sinclair, +stoutly. + +"I'll put her on the main line, Dad, and give you the 168 for the +cut-off. Hm?" + +"The 168 will suit me, Neighbor; any old tub--eh, Foley?" said Dad, +turning to the cheeky engineer, who had come up in time to hear most of +the talk. The old fellow had not forgotten Foley's sneer at Soda-Water +Sal when he rechristened her. But Foley, too, had changed his mind, and +was ready to give in. + +"That's quite right, Dad," he acknowledged. "You can get more out of any +old tub on the division than the rest of us fellows can get out of a +Baldwin consolidated. I mean it, too. It's the best thing I ever heard +of. What are you going to do for Burns, Neighbor?" asked Foley, with his +usual assurance. + +"I was thinking I would give him Soda-Water Sal, and put him on the +right side of the cab for a freight run. I reckon he earned it last +night." + +In a few minutes Foley started off to hunt up Burns. + +"See here, Irish," said he, in his off-hand way, "next time you catch a +string of runaways just remember to climb up the ladder and set your +brakes before you couple; it will save a good deal of wear and tear on +the pilot-bar--see? I hear you're going to get a run; don't fall out +the window when you get over on the right." + +And that's how Burns was made an engineer, and how Soda-Water Sal was +rescued from the disgrace of running on the trolley. + + + + +The McWilliams Special + + +It belongs to the Stories That Never Were Told, this of the McWilliams +Special. But it happened years ago, and for that matter McWilliams is +dead. It wasn't grief that killed him, either; though at one time his +grief came uncommonly near killing us. + +It is an odd sort of a yarn, too; because one part of it never got to +headquarters, and another part of it never got from headquarters. + +How, for instance, the mysterious car was ever started from Chicago on +such a delirious schedule, how many men in the service know that even +yet? + +How, for another instance, Sinclair and Francis took the ratty old car +reeling into Denver with the glass shrivelled, the paint blistered, the +hose burned, and a tire sprung on one of the Five-Nine's drivers--how +many headquarters slaves know that? + +Our end of the story never went in at all. Never went in because it was +not deemed--well, essential to the getting up of the annual report. We +could have raised their hair; they could have raised our salaries; but +they didn't; we didn't. + +In telling this story I would not be misunderstood; ours is not the only +line between Chicago and Denver: there are others, I admit it. But there +is only one line (all the same) that could have taken the McWilliams +Special, as we did, out of Chicago at four in the evening and put it in +Denver long before noon the next day. + +A communication came from a great La Salle Street banker to the +president of our road. Next, the second vice-president heard of it; but +in this way: + +"Why have you turned down Peter McWilliams's request for a special to +Denver this afternoon?" asked the president. + +"He wants too much," came back over the private wire. "We can't do it." + +After satisfying himself on this point the president called up La Salle +Street. + +"Our folks say, Mr. McWilliams, we simply can't do it." + +"You must do it." + +"When will the car be ready?" + +"At three o'clock." + +"When must it be in Denver?" + +"Ten o'clock to-morrow morning." + +The president nearly jumped the wire. + +"McWilliams, you're crazy. What on earth do you mean?" + +The talk came back so low that the wires hardly caught it. There were +occasional outbursts such as, "situation is extremely critical," "grave +danger," "acute distress," "must help me out." + +But none of this would ever have moved the president had not Peter +McWilliams been a bigger man than most corporations; and a personal +request from Peter, if he stuck for it, could hardly be refused; and for +this he most decidedly stuck. + +"I tell you it will turn us upside-down," stormed the president. + +"Do you recollect," asked Peter McWilliams, "when your infernal old pot +of a road was busted eight years ago--you were turned inside out then, +weren't you? and hung up to dry, weren't you?" + +The president did recollect; he could not decently help recollecting. +And he recollected how, about that same time, Peter McWilliams had one +week taken up for him a matter of two millions floating, with a personal +check; and carried it eighteen months without security, when money could +not be had in Wall Street on government bonds. + +Do you--that is, have you heretofore supposed that a railroad belongs to +the stockholders? Not so; it belongs to men like Mr. McWilliams, who own +it when they need it. At other times they let the stockholders carry +it--until they want it again. + +"We'll do what we can, Peter," replied the president, desperately +amiable. "Good-bye." + +I am giving you only an inkling of how it started. Not a word as to how +countless orders were issued, and countless schedules were cancelled. +Not a paragraph about numberless trains abandoned _in toto_, and +numberless others pulled and hauled and held and annulled. The +McWilliams Special in a twinkle tore a great system into great +splinters. + +It set master-mechanics by the ears and made reckless falsifiers of +previously conservative trainmen. It made undying enemies of rival +superintendents, and incipient paretics of jolly train-dispatchers. It +shivered us from end to end and stem to stern, but it covered 1026 miles +of the best steel in the world in rather better than twenty hours and a +blaze of glory. + +"My word is out," said the president in his message to all +superintendents, thirty minutes later. "You will get your division +schedule in a few moments. Send no reasons for inability to make it; +simply deliver the goods. With your time-report, which comes by Ry. M. +S., I want the names and records of every member of every train-crew and +every engine-crew that haul the McWilliams car." Then followed +particular injunctions of secrecy; above all, the newspapers must not +get it. + +But where newspapers are, secrecy can only be hoped for--never attained. +In spite of the most elaborate precautions to preserve Peter +McWilliams's secret--would you believe it?--the evening papers had half +a column--practically the whole thing. Of course they had to guess at +some of it, but for a newspaper-story it was pretty correct, just the +same. They had, to a minute, the time of the start from Chicago, and +hinted broadly that the schedule was a hair-raiser; something to make +previous very fast records previous very slow records. And--here in a +scoop was the secret--the train was to convey a prominent Chicago +capitalist to the bedside of his dying son, Philip McWilliams, in +Denver. Further, that hourly bulletins were being wired to the +distressed father, and that every effort of science would be put forth +to keep the unhappy boy alive until his father could reach Denver on the +Special. Lastly, it was hoped by all the evening papers (to fill out the +half first column scare) that sunrise would see the anxious parent well +on towards the gateway of the Rockies. + +Of course the morning papers from the Atlantic to the Pacific had the +story repeated--scare-headed, in fact--and the public were laughing at +our people's dogged refusal to confirm the report or to be interviewed +at all on the subject. The papers had the story, anyway. What did they +care for our efforts to screen a private distress which insisted on so +paralyzing a time-card for 1026 miles? + +When our own, the West End of the schedule, came over the wires there +was a universal, a vociferous, kick. Dispatchers, superintendent of +motive-power, train-master, everybody, protested. We were given about +seven hours to cover 400 miles--the fastest percentage, by-the-way, on +the whole run. + +"This may be grief for young McWilliams, and for his dad," grumbled the +chief dispatcher that evening, as he cribbed the press dispatches going +over the wires about the Special, "but the grief is not theirs alone." + +Then he made a protest to Chicago. What the answer was none but himself +ever knew. It came personal, and he took it personally; but the manner +in which he went to work clearing track and making a card for the +McWilliams Special showed better speed than the train itself ever +attempted--and he kicked no more. + +After all the row, it seems incredible, but they never got ready to +leave Chicago till four o'clock; and when the McWilliams Special lit +into our train system, it was like dropping a mountain-lion into a bunch +of steers. + +Freights and extras, local passenger-trains even, were used to being +side-tracked; but when it came to laying out the Flyers and (I whisper +this) the White Mail, and the Manila express, the oil began to sizzle in +the journal-boxes. The freight business, the passenger traffic--the +mail-schedules of a whole railway system were actually knocked by the +McWilliams Special into a cocked hat. + +From the minute it cleared Western Avenue it was the only thing talked +of. Divisional headquarters and car tink shanties alike were bursting +with excitement. + +On the West End we had all night to prepare, and at five o'clock next +morning every man in the operating department was on edge. At precisely +3.58 A.M. the McWilliams Special stuck its nose into our division, and +Foley--pulled off No. 1 with the 466--was heading her dizzy for +McCloud. Already the McWilliams had made up thirty-one minutes on the +one hour delay in Chicago, and Lincoln threw her into our hands with a +sort of "There, now! You fellows--are you any good at all on the West +End?" And we thought we were. + +Sitting in the dispatcher's office, we tagged her down the line like a +swallow. Harvard, Oxford, Zanesville, Ashton--and a thousand people at +the McCloud station waited for six o'clock and for Foley's muddy cap to +pop through the Blackwood bluffs; watched him stain the valley maples +with a stream of white and black, scream at the junction switches, tear +and crash through the yards, and slide hissing and panting up under our +nose, swing out of his cab, and look at nobody at all but his watch. + +We made it 5.59 A.M. Central Time. The miles, 136; the minutes, 121. The +schedule was beaten--and that with the 136 miles the fastest on the +whole 1026. Everybody in town yelled except Foley; he asked for a chew +of tobacco, and not getting one handily, bit into his own piece. + +While Foley melted his weed George Sinclair stepped out of the +superintendent's office--he was done in a black silk shirt, with a blue +four-in-hand streaming over his front--stepped out to shake hands with +Foley, as one hostler got the 466 out of the way, and another backed +down with a new Sky-Scraper, the 509. + +But nobody paid much attention to all this. The mob had swarmed around +the ratty, old, blind-eyed baggage-car which, with an ordinary way-car, +constituted the McWilliams Special. + +"Now what does a man with McWilliams's money want to travel special in +an old photograph-gallery like that for?" asked Andy Cameron, who was +the least bit huffed because he hadn't been marked up for the run +himself. "You better take him in a cup of hot coffee, Sinkers," +suggested Andy to the lunch-counter boy. "You might get a ten-dollar +bill if the old man isn't feeling too badly. What do you hear from +Denver, Neighbor?" he asked, turning to the superintendent of motive +power. "Is the boy holding out?" + +"I'm not worrying about the boy holding out; it's whether the Five-Nine +will hold out." + +"Aren't you going to change engines and crews at Arickaree?" + +"Not to-day," said Neighbor, grimly; "we haven't time." + +Just then Sinkers rushed at the baggage-car with a cup of hot coffee for +Mr. McWilliams. Everybody, hoping to get a peep at the capitalist, made +way. Sinkers climbed over the train chests which were lashed to the +platforms and pounded on the door. He pounded hard, for he hoped and +believed that there was something in it. But he might have pounded till +his coffee froze for all the impression it made on the sleepy +McWilliams. + +"Hasn't the man trouble enough without tackling your chiccory?" sang out +Felix Kennedy, and the laugh so discouraged Sinkers that he gave over +and sneaked away. + +At that moment the editor of the local paper came around the depot +corner on the run. He was out for an interview, and, as usual, just a +trifle late. However, he insisted on boarding the baggage-car to tender +his sympathy to McWilliams. + +The barricades bothered him, but he mounted them all, and began an +emergency pound on the forbidding blind door. Imagine his feelings when +the door was gently opened by a sad-eyed man, who opened the ball by +shoving a rifle as big as a pinch-bar under the editorial nose. + +"My grief, Mr. McWilliams," protested the interviewer, in a trembling +voice, "don't imagine I want to hold you up. Our citizens are all +peaceable--" + +"Get out!" + +"Why, man, I'm not even asking for a subscription; I simply want to +ten--" + +"Get out!" snapped the man with the gun; and in a foam the newsman +climbed down. A curious crowd gathered close to hear an editorial +version of the ten commandments revised on the spur of the moment. Felix +Kennedy said it was worth going miles to hear. "That's the coldest deal +I ever struck on the plains, boys," declared the editor. "Talk about +your bereaved parents. If the boy doesn't have a chill when that man +reaches him, I miss my guess. He acts to me as if he was afraid his +grief would get away before he got to Denver." + +Meantime Georgie Sinclair was tying a silk handkerchief around his +neck, while Neighbor gave him parting injunctions. As he put up his foot +to swing into the cab the boy looked for all the world like a jockey toe +in stirrup. Neighbor glanced at his watch. + +"Can you make it by eleven o'clock?" he growled. + +"Make what?" + +"Denver." + +"Denver or the ditch, Neighbor," laughed Georgie, testing the air. "Are +you right back there, Pat?" he called, as Conductor Francis strode +forward to compare the Mountain Time. + +"Right and tight, and I call it five-two-thirty now. What have you, +Georgie?" + +"Five-two-thirty-two," answered Sinclair, leaning from the cab window. +"And we're ready." + +"Then go!" cried Pat Francis, raising two fingers. + +"Go!" echoed Sinclair, and waved a backward smile to the crowd, as the +pistons took the push and the escapes wheezed. + +A roar went up. The little engineer shook his cap, and with a flirting, +snaking slide, the McWilliams Special drew slipping away between the +shining rails for the Rockies. + +Just how McWilliams felt we had no means of knowing; but we knew our +hearts would not beat freely until his infernal Special should slide +safely over the last of the 266 miles which still lay between the +distressed man and his unfortunate child. + +From McCloud to Ogalalla there is a good bit of twisting and slewing; +but looking east from Athens a marble dropped between the rails might +roll clear into the Ogalalla yards. It is a sixty-mile grade, the +ballast of slag, and the sweetest, springiest bed under steel. + +To cover those sixty miles in better than fifty minutes was like picking +them off the ponies; and the Five-Nine breasted the Morgan divide, +fretting for more hills to climb. + +The Five-Nine--for that matter any of the Sky-Scrapers are built to +balance ten or a dozen sleepers, and when you run them light they have a +fashion of rooting their noses into the track. A modest up-grade just +about counters this tendency; but on a slump and a stiff clip and no +tail to speak of, you feel as if the drivers were going to buck up on +the ponies every once in a while. However, they never do, and Georgie +whistled for Scarboro' junction, and 180 miles and two waters, in 198 +minutes out of McCloud; and, looking happy, cussed Mr. McWilliams a +little, and gave her another hatful of steam. + +It is getting down a hill, like the hills of the Mattaback Valley, at +such a pace that pounds the track out of shape. The Five-Nine lurched at +the curves like a mad woman, shook free with very fury, and if the +baggage-car had not been fairly loaded down with the grief of +McWilliams, it must have jumped the rails a dozen times in as many +minutes. + +Indeed, the fireman--it was Jerry MacElroy--twisting and shifting +between the tender and the furnace, looked for the first time grave, and +stole a questioning glance from the steam-gauge towards Georgie. + +But yet he didn't expect to see the boy, his face set ahead and down the +track, straighten so suddenly up, sink in the lever, and close at the +instant on the air. Jerry felt her stumble under his feet--caught up +like a girl in a skipping-rope--and grabbing a brace looked, like a wise +stoker, for his answer out of his window. There far ahead it rose in hot +curling clouds of smoke down among the alfalfa meadows and over the +sweep of willows along the Mattaback River. The Mattaback bridge was on +fire, with the McWilliams Special on one side and Denver on the other. + +Jerry MacElroy yelled--the engineer didn't even look around; only +whistled an alarm back to Pat Francis, eased her down the grade a bit, +like a man reflecting, and watched the smoke and flames that rose to bar +the McWilliams Special out of Denver. + +The Five-Nine skimmed across the meadows without a break, and pulled up +a hundred feet from the burning bridge. It was an old Howe truss, and +snapped like popcorn as the flames bit into the rotten shed. + +Pat Francis and his brakeman ran forward. Across the river they could +see half a dozen section-men chasing wildly about throwing impotent +buckets of water on the burning truss. + +"We're up against it, Georgie," cried Francis. + +"Not if we can get across before the bridge tumbles into the river," +returned Sinclair. + +"You don't mean you'd try it?" + +"Would I? Wouldn't I? You know the orders. That bridge is good for an +hour yet. Pat, if you're game, I'll run it." + +"Holy smoke," mused Pat Francis, who would have run the river without +any bridge at all if so ordered. "They told us to deliver the goods, +didn't they?" + +"We might as well be starting, Pat," suggested Jerry MacElroy, who +deprecated losing good time. "There'll be plenty of time to talk after +we get into Denver, or the Mattaback." + +"Think quick, Pat," urged Sinclair; his safety was popping murder. + +"Back her up, then, and let her go," cried Francis; "I'd just as lief +have that baggage-car at the bottom of the river as on my hands any +longer." + +There was some sharp tooting, then the McWilliams Special backed; backed +away across the meadow, halted, and screamed hard enough to wake the +dead. Georgie was trying to warn the section-men. At that instant the +door of the baggage-car opened and a sharp-featured young man peered +out. + +"What's the row--what's all this screeching about, conductor?" he asked, +as Francis passed. + +"Bridge burning ahead there." + +"Bridge burning!" he cried, looking nervously forward. "Well, that's a +deal. What you going to do about it?" + +"Run it. Are you McWilliams?" + +"McWilliams? I wish I was for just one minute. I'm one of his clerks." + +"Where is he?" + +"I left him on La Salle Street yesterday afternoon." + +"What's your name?" + +"Just plain Ferguson." + +"Well, Ferguson, it's none of my business, but as long as we're going to +put you into Denver or into the river in about a minute, I'm curious to +know what the blazes you're hustling along this way for." + +"Me? I've got twelve hundred thousand dollars in gold coin in this car +for the Sierra Leone National Bank--that's all. Didn't you know that +five big banks there closed their doors yesterday? Worst panic in the +United States. That's what I'm here for, and five huskies with me eating +and sleeping in this car," continued Ferguson, looking ahead. "You're +not going to tackle that bridge, are you?" + +"We are, and right off. If there's any of your huskies want to drop out, +now's their chance," said Pat Francis, as Sinclair slowed up for his +run. + +Ferguson called his men. The five with their rifles came cautiously +forward. + +"Boys," said Ferguson, briefly. "There's a bridge afire ahead. These +guys are going to try to run it. It's not in your contract, that kind of +a chance. Do you want to get off? I stay with the specie, myself. You +can do exactly as you please. Murray, what do you say?" he asked, +addressing the leader of the force, who appeared to weigh about two +hundred and sixty. + +"What do I say?" echoed Murray, with decision, as he looked for a soft +place to alight alongside the track. "I say I'll drop out right here. I +don't mind train robbers, but I don't tackle a burning bridge--not if I +know it," and he jumped off. + +"Well, Peaters," asked Ferguson, of the second man, coolly, "do you want +to stay?" + +"Me?" echoed Peaters, looking ahead at the mass of flame leaping +upward--"me stay? Well, not in a thousand years. You can have my gun, +Mr. Ferguson, and send my check to 439 Milwaukee Avenue, if you please. +Gentlemen, good-day." And off went Peaters. + +And off went every last man of the valorous detectives except one lame +fellow, who said he would just as lief be dead as alive anyway, and +declared he would stay with Ferguson and die rich! + +Sinclair, thinking he might never get another chance, was whistling +sharply for orders. Francis, breathless with the news, ran forward. + +[Illustration: "SINCLAIR WAS WHISTLING SHARPLY FOR ORDERS"] + +"Coin? How much? Twelve hundred thousand. Whew!" cried Sinclair. "Swing +up, Pat. We're off." + +The Five-Nine gathered herself with a spring. Even the engineer's heart +quailed as they got headway. He knew his business, and he knew that if +only the rails hadn't buckled they were perfectly safe, for the heavy +truss would stand a lot of burning before giving way under a swiftly +moving train. Only, as they flew nearer, the blaze rolling up in dense +volume looked horribly threatening. After all it was foolhardy, and he +felt it; but he was past the stopping now, and he pulled the choker to +the limit. It seemed as if she never covered steel so fast. Under the +head she now had the crackling bridge was less than five hundred--four +hundred--three hundred--two hundred feet, and there was no longer time +to think. With a stare, Sinclair shut off. He wanted no push or pull on +the track. The McWilliams Special was just a tremendous arrow, shooting +through a truss of fire, and half a dozen speechless men on either side +of the river waiting for the catastrophe. + +Jerry MacElroy crouched low under the gauges. Sinclair jumped from his +box and stood with a hand on the throttle and a hand on the air, the +glass crashing around his head like hail. A blast of fiery air and +flying cinders burned and choked him. The engine, alive with danger, +flew like a great monkey along the writhing steel. So quick, so black, +so hot the blast, and so terrific the leap, she stuck her nose into +clean air before the men in the cab could rise to it. + +There was a heave in the middle like the lurch of a sea-sick steamer, +and with it the Five-Nine got her paws on cool iron and solid ground, +and the Mattaback and the blaze--all except a dozen tongues which licked +the cab and the roof of the baggage-car a minute--were behind. Georgie +Sinclair, shaking the hot glass out of his hair, looked ahead through +his frizzled eyelids and gave her a full head for the western bluffs of +the valley; then looked at his watch. + +It was the hundred and ninetieth mile-post just at her nose, and the +dial read eight o'clock and fifty-five minutes to a second. There was an +hour to the good and seventy-six miles and a water to cover; but they +were seventy-six of the prettiest miles under ballast anywhere, and the +Five-Nine reeled them off like a cylinder-press. Seventy-nine minutes +later Sinclair whistled for the Denver yards. + +There was a tremendous commotion among the waiting engines. If there was +one there were fifty big locomotives waiting to charivari the McWilliams +Special. The wires had told the story in Denver long before, and as the +Five-Nine sailed ponderously up the gridiron every mogul, every +consolidated, every ten-wheeler, every hog, every switch-bumper, every +air-hose screamed an uproarious welcome to Georgie Sinclair and the +Sky-Scraper. + +They had broken every record from McCloud to Denver, and all knew it; +but as the McWilliams Special drew swiftly past, every last man in the +yards stared at her cracked, peeled, blistered, haggard looks. + +"What the deuce have you bit into?" cried the depot-master, as the +Five-Nine swept splendidly up and stopped with her battered eye hard on +the depot clock. + +"Mattaback bridge is burned; had to crawl over on the stringers," +answered Sinclair, coughing up a cinder. + +"Where's McWilliams?" + +"Back there sitting on his grief, I reckon." + +While the crew went up to register, two big four-horse trucks backed up +to the baggage-car, and in a minute a dozen men were rolling specie-kegs +out of the door, which was smashed in, as being quicker than to tear +open the barricades. + +Sinclair, MacElroy, and Francis with his brakeman were surrounded by a +crowd of railroad men. As they stood answering questions, a big +prosperous-looking banker, with black rings under his eyes, pushed in +towards them, accompanied by the lame fellow, who had missed the chance +of a lifetime to die rich, and by Ferguson, who had told the story. + +The banker shook hands with each one of the crews. "You've saved us, +boys. We needed it. There's a mob of five thousand of the worst-scared +people in America clamoring at the doors; and, by the eternal, now we're +fixed for every one of them. Come up to the bank. I want you to ride +right up with the coin, all of you." + +It was an uncommonly queer occasion, but an uncommonly enthusiastic one. +Fifty policemen made the escort and cleared the way for the trucks to +pull up across the sidewalk, so the porters could lug the kegs of gold +into the bank before the very eyes of the rattled depositors. + +In an hour the run was broken. But when the four railroad men left the +bank, after all sorts of hugging by excited directors, they carried not +only the blessings of the officials, but each in his vest pocket a +check, every one of which discounted the biggest voucher ever drawn on +the West End for a month's pay; though I violate no confidence in +stating that Georgie Sinclair's was bigger than any two of the others. +And this is how it happens that there hangs in the directors' room of +the Sierra Leone National a very creditable portrait of the kid +engineer. + +Besides paying tariff on the specie, the bank paid for a new coat of +paint for the McWilliams Special from caboose to pilot. She was the last +train across the Mattaback for two weeks. + + + + +The Million-Dollar Freight-Train + + +It was the second month of the strike, and not a pound of freight had +been moved; things looked smoky on the West End. + +The general superintendent happened to be with us when the news came. + +"You can't handle it, boys," said he, nervously. "What you'd better do +is to turn it over to the Columbian Pacific." + +Our contracting freight agent on the coast at that time was a fellow so +erratic that he was nicknamed Crazyhorse. Right in the midst of the +strike Crazyhorse wired that he had secured a big silk shipment for New +York. We were paralyzed. + +We had no engineers, no firemen, and no motive power to speak of. The +strikers were pounding our men, wrecking our trains, and giving us the +worst of it generally; that is, when we couldn't give it to them. Why +the fellow displayed his activity at that particular juncture still +remains a mystery. Perhaps he had a grudge against the road; if so, he +took an artful revenge. Everybody on the system with ordinary railroad +sense knew that our struggle was to keep clear of freight business until +we got rid of our strike. Anything valuable or perishable was especially +unwelcome. + +But the stuff was docked and loaded and consigned in our care before we +knew it. After that, a refusal to carry it would be like hoisting the +white flag; and that is something which never yet flew on the West End. + +"Turn it over to the Columbian," said the general superintendent; but +the general superintendent was not looked up to on our division. He +hadn't enough sand. Our head was a fighter, and he gave tone to every +man under him. + +"No," he thundered, bringing down his fist, "not in a thousand years! +We'll move it ourselves. Wire Montgomery, the general manager, that we +will take care of it. And wire him to fire Crazyhorse--and to do it +right off." And before the silk was turned over to us Crazyhorse was +looking for another job. It is the only case on record where a freight +hustler was discharged for getting business. + +There were twelve car-loads; it was insured for eighty-five thousand +dollars a car; you can figure how far the title is wrong, but you never +can estimate the worry that stuff gave us. It looked as big as twelve +million dollars' worth. In fact, one scrub-car tink, with the glory of +the West End at heart, had a fight over the amount with a sceptical +hostler. He maintained that the actual money value was a hundred and +twenty millions; but I give you the figures just as they went over the +wire, and they are right. + +What bothered us most was that the strikers had the tip almost as soon +as we had it. Having friends on every road in the country, they knew as +much about our business as we ourselves. The minute it was announced +that we should move the silk they were after us. It was a defiance; a +last one. If we could move freight--for we were already moving +passengers after a fashion--the strike might be well accounted beaten. + +Stewart, the leader of the local contingent, together with his +followers, got after me at once. + +"You don't show much sense, Reed," said he. "You fellows here are +breaking your necks to get things moving, and when this strike's over if +our boys ask for your discharge they'll get it. This road can't run +without our engineers. We're going to beat you. If you dare try to move +this stuff we'll have your scalp when it's over. You'll never get your +silk to Zanesville, I'll promise you that. And if you ditch it and make +a million dollar loss, you'll get let out anyway, my buck." + +"I'm here to obey orders, Stewart," I retorted. What was the use of +more? I felt uncomfortable; but we had determined to move the silk: +there was nothing more to be said. + +When I went over to the round-house and told Neighbor the decision he +said never a word, but he looked a great deal. Neighbor's task was to +supply the motive power. All that we had, uncrippled, was in the +passenger service, because passengers must be moved--must be taken care +of first of all. In order to win a strike you must have public opinion +on your side. + +"Nevertheless, Neighbor," said I, after we had talked a while, "we must +move the silk also." + +Neighbor studied; then he roared at his foreman. + +"Send Bartholomew Mullen here." He spoke with a decision that made me +think the business was done. I had never happened, it is true, to hear +of Bartholomew Mullen in the department of motive power; but the +impression the name gave me was of a monstrous fellow; big as Neighbor, +or old man Sankey, or Dad Hamilton. + +"I'll put Bartholomew ahead of it," muttered Neighbor, tightly. A boy +walked into the office. + +"Mr. Garten said you wanted to see me, sir," said he, addressing the +master mechanic. + +"I do, Bartholomew," responded Neighbor. + +The figure in my mind's eye shrunk in a twinkling. Then it occurred to +me that it must be this boy's father who was wanted. + +"You have been begging for a chance to take out an engine, Bartholomew," +began Neighbor, coldly; and I knew it was on. + +"Yes, sir." + +"You want to get killed, Bartholomew." + +Bartholomew smiled, as if the idea was not altogether displeasing. + +"How would you like to go pilot to-morrow for McCurdy? You to take the +44 and run as first Seventy-eight. McCurdy will run as second +Seventy-eight." + +"I know I could run an engine all right," ventured Bartholomew, as if +Neighbor were the only one taking the chances in giving him an engine. +"I know the track from here to Zanesville. I helped McNeff fire one +week." + +"Then go home, and go to bed, and be over here at six o'clock to-morrow +morning. And sleep sound; for it may be your last chance." + +It was plain that the master-mechanic hated to do it; it was simply +sheer necessity. + +"He's a wiper," mused Neighbor, as Bartholomew walked springily away. "I +took him in here sweeping two years ago. He ought to be firing now, but +the union held him back; that's why he hates them. He knows more about +an engine now than half the lodge. They'd better have let him in," said +the master-mechanic, grimly. "He may be the means of breaking their +backs yet. If I give him an engine and he runs it, I'll never take him +off, union or no union, strike or no strike." + +"How old is that boy?" I asked. + +"Eighteen; and never a kith or a kin that I know of. Bartholomew +Mullen," mused Neighbor, as the slight figure moved across the flat, +"big name--small boy. Well, Bartholomew, you'll know something more by +to-morrow night about running an engine, or a whole lot less; that's as +it happens. If he gets killed, it's your fault, Reed." + +He meant that I was calling on him for men when he absolutely couldn't +produce them. + +"I heard once," he went on, "about a fellow named Bartholomew being +mixed up in a massacree. But I take it he must have been an older man +than our Bartholomew--nor his other name wasn't Mullen, neither. I +disremember just what it was; but it wasn't Mullen." + +"Well, don't say I want to get the boy killed, Neighbor," I protested. +"I've plenty to answer for. I'm here to run trains--when there are any +to run; that's murder enough for me. You needn't send Bartholomew out on +my account." + +"Give him a slow schedule and I'll give him orders to jump early; that's +all we can do. If the strikers don't ditch him, he'll get through, +somehow." + +It stuck in my crop--the idea of putting the boy on a pilot engine to +take all the dangers ahead of that particular train; but I had a good +deal else to think of besides. From the minute the silk got into the +McCloud yards we posted double guards around. About twelve o'clock that +night we held a council of war, which ended in our running the train +into the out freight-house. The result was that by morning we had a new +train made up. It consisted of fourteen refrigerator-cars loaded with +oranges, which had come in mysteriously the night before. It was +announced that the silk would be held for the present and the oranges +rushed through. Bright and early the refrigerator-train was run down to +the ice-houses and twenty men were put to work icing the oranges. At +seven o'clock McCurdy pulled in the local passenger with engine 105. Our +plan was to cancel the local and run him right out with the oranges. +When he got in he reported the 105 had sprung a tire; it knocked our +scheme into a cocked hat. + +There was a lantern-jawed conference in the round-house. + +"What can you do?" asked the superintendent, in desperation. + +"There's only one thing I can do. Put Bartholomew Mullen on it with the +44, and put McCurdy to bed for No. 2 to-night," responded Neighbor. + +We were running first in, first out; but we took care to always have +somebody for 1 and 2 who at least knew an injector from an air-pump. + +It was eight o'clock. I looked into the locomotive stalls. The +first--the only--man in sight was Bartholomew Mullen. He was very busy +polishing the 44. He had good steam on her, and the old tub was +wheezing as if she had the asthma. The 44 was old; she was homely; she +was rickety; but Bartholomew Mullen wiped her battered nose as +deferentially as if she had been a spick-span, spider-driver, tail-truck +mail-racer. + +She wasn't much--the 44. But in those days Bartholomew wasn't much; and +the 44 was Bartholomew's. + +"How is she steaming, Bartholomew?" I sung out; he was right in the +middle of her. Looking up, he fingered his waste modestly and blushed +through a dab of crude petroleum over his eye. + +"Hundred and thirty, sir. She's a terrible free steamer, the old 44; I'm +all ready to run her out." + +"Who's marked up to fire for you, Bartholomew?" + +Bartholomew Mullen looked at me fraternally. + +"Neighbor couldn't give me anybody but a wiper," said Bartholomew, in a +sort of a wouldn't-that-kill-you tone. + +The unconscious arrogance of the boy quite knocked me, so soon had +honors changed his point of view. Last night a despised wiper; at +daybreak, an engineer; and his nose in the air at the idea of taking on +a wiper for fireman. And all so innocent. + +"Would you object, Bartholomew," I suggested, gently, "to a train-master +for fireman?" + +"I don't--think so, sir." + +"Thank you; because I am going down to Zanesville this morning myself +and I thought I'd ride with you. Is it all right?" + +"Oh yes, sir--if Neighbor doesn't care." + +I smiled. He didn't know who Neighbor took orders from; but he thought, +evidently, not from me. + +"Then run her down to the oranges, Bartholomew, and couple on, and we'll +order ourselves out. See?" + +The 44 really looked like a baby-carriage when we got her in front of +the refrigerators. However, after the necessary preliminaries, we gave a +very sporty toot and pulled out; in a few minutes we were sailing down +the valley. + +For fifty miles we bobbed along with our cargo of iced silk as easy as +old shoes; for I need hardly explain that we had packed the silk into +the refrigerators to confuse the strikers. The great risk was that they +would try to ditch us. + +I was watching the track as a mouse would a cat, looking every minute +for trouble. We cleared the gumbo cut west of the Beaver at a pretty +good clip, in order to make the grade on the other side. The bridge +there is hidden in summer by a grove of hackberrys. I had just pulled +open to cool her a bit when I noticed how high the backwater was on each +side of the track. Suddenly I felt the fill going soft under the +drivers--felt the 44 wobble and slew. Bartholomew shut off hard and +threw the air as I sprang to the window. The peaceful little creek ahead +looked as angry as the Platte in April water, and the bottoms were a +lake. + +Somewhere up the valley there had been a cloudburst, for overhead the +sun was bright. The Beaver was roaring over its banks and the bridge was +out. Bartholomew screamed for brakes; it looked as we were against +it--and hard. + +A soft track to stop on, a torrent of storm water ahead, and ten +hundred thousand dollars' worth of silk behind--not to mention +equipment. + +I yelled at Bartholomew and motioned for him to jump; my conscience is +clear on that point. The 44 was stumbling along, trying, like a drunken +man, to hang to the rotten track. + +"Bartholomew!" I yelled; but he was head out and looking back at his +train, while he jerked frantically at the air lever. I understood: the +air wouldn't work; it never will on those old tubs when you need it. The +sweat pushed out on me. I was thinking of how much the silk would bring +us after a bath in the Beaver. Bartholomew stuck to his levers like a +man in a signal-tower, but every second brought us closer to open water. +Watching him, intent only on saving his first train--heedless of saving +his life--I was really a bit ashamed to jump. While I hesitated, he +somehow got the brakes to set; the old 44 bucked like a bronco. + +It wasn't too soon. She checked her train nobly at the last, but I saw +nothing could keep her from the drink. I caught Bartholomew a terrific +slap and again I yelled; then, turning to the gangway, I dropped into +the soft mud on my side. The 44 hung low, and it was easy lighting. + +Bartholomew sprang from his seat a second later, but his blouse caught +in the teeth of the quadrant. He stooped quick as thought, and peeled +the thing over his head. But then he was caught with his hands in the +wristbands, and the ponies of 44 tipped over the broken abutment. + +Pull as he would, he couldn't get free. The pilot dipped into the +torrent slowly; but, losing her balance, the 44 kicked her heels into +the air like lightning, and shot with a frightened wheeze plump into the +creek, dragging her engineer after her. + +The head car stopped on the brink. Running across the track, I looked +for Bartholomew. He wasn't there; I knew he must have gone down with his +engine. + +Throwing off my gloves, I dove just as I stood, close to the tender, +which hung half submerged. I am a good bit of a fish under water, but no +self-respecting fish would be caught in that yellow mud. I realized, +too, the instant I struck the water that I should have dived on the +up-stream side. The current took me away whirling; when I came up for +air I was fifty feet below the pier. I felt it was all up with +Bartholomew as I scrambled out; but to my amazement, as I shook my eyes +open, the train crew were running forward, and there stood Bartholomew +on the track above me looking at the refrigerators. When I got to him he +explained to me how he was dragged in and had to tear the sleeves out of +his blouse under water to get free. + +The surprise is, how little fuss men make about such things when they +are busy. It took only five minutes for the conductor to hunt up a coil +of wire and a sounder for me, and by the time he got forward with it +Bartholomew was half-way up a telegraph-pole to help me cut in on a live +wire. Fast as I could I rigged a pony, and began calling the McCloud +dispatcher. It was a rocky send, but after no end of pounding I got him, +and gave orders for the wrecking-gang and for one more of Neighbor's +rapidly decreasing supply of locomotives. + +Bartholomew, sitting on a strip of fence which still rose above water, +looked forlorn. To lose the first engine he ever handled, in the +Beaver, was tough, and he was evidently speculating on his chances of +ever getting another. If there weren't tears in his eyes, there was +storm water certainly. But after the relief-engine had pulled what was +left of us back six miles to a siding, I made it my first business to +explain to Neighbor, nearly beside himself, that Bartholomew was not +only not at fault, but that he had actually saved the train by his +nerve. + +"I'll tell you, Neighbor," I suggested, when we got straightened around, +"give us the 109 to go ahead as pilot, and run the stuff around the +river division with Foley and the 216." + +"What'll you do with No. 6?" growled Neighbor. Six was the local +passenger, west. + +"Annul it west of McCloud," said I, instantly. "We've got this silk on +our hands now, and I'd move it if it tied up every passenger-train on +the division. If we can get the infernal stuff through, it will +practically beat the strike. If we fail, it will beat the company." + +By the time we backed to Newhall Junction, Neighbor had made up his mind +my way. Mullen and I climbed into the 109, and Foley with the 216, and +none too good a grace, coupled on to the silk, and, flying red signals, +we started again for Zanesville over the river division. + +Foley was always full of mischief. He had a better engine than ours, +anyway, and he took satisfaction the rest of the afternoon in crowding +us. Every mile of the way he was on our heels. I was throwing the coal +and distinctly remember. + +It was after dark when we reached the Beverly Hill, and we took it at a +lively pace. The strikers were not on our minds then; it was Foley who +bothered. + +When the long parallel steel lines of the upper yards spread before us, +flashing under the arc-lights, we were away above yard speed. Running a +locomotive into one of those big yards is like shooting a rapid in a +canoe. There is a bewildering maze of tracks lighted by red and green +lamps to be watched the closest. The hazards are multiplied the minute +you pass the throat, and a yard wreck is a dreadful tangle: it makes +everybody from road-master to flagmen furious, and not even Bartholomew +wanted to face an inquiry on a yard wreck. On the other hand, he +couldn't afford to be caught by Foley, who was chasing him out of pure +caprice. + +I saw the boy holding the throttle at a half and fingering the air +anxiously as we jumped through the frogs; but the roughest riding on +track so far beats the ties as a cushion that when the 109 suddenly +stuck her paws through an open switch we bounced against the roof of the +cab like footballs. I grabbed a brace with one hand and with the other +reached instinctively across to Bartholomew's side to seize the throttle +he held. But as I tried to shut him off he jerked it wide open in spite +of me, and turned with lightning in his eye. + +"No!" he cried, and his voice rang hard. The 109 took the tremendous +shove at her back and leaped like a frightened horse. Away we went +across the yard, through the cinders, and over the ties. My teeth have +never been the same since. I don't belong on an engine, anyway, and +since then I have kept off. At the moment I was convinced that the +strain had been too much--that Bartholomew was stark crazy. He sat +bouncing clear to the roof and clinging to his levers like a lobster. + +But his strategy was dawning on me; in fact, he was pounding it into me. +Even the shock and scare of leaving the track and tearing up the yard +had not driven from Bartholomew's noddle the most important feature of +our situation, which was, above everything, to _keep out of the way of +the silk-train_. + +I felt every moment more mortified at my attempt to shut him off. I had +done the trick of the woman who grabs the reins. It was even better to +tear up the yard than to stop for Foley to smash into and scatter the +silk over the coal-chutes. Bartholomew's decision was one of the traits +which make the runner: instant perception coupled to instant resolve. +The ordinary dub thinks what he should have done to avoid disaster after +it is all over; Bartholomew thought before. + +On we bumped, across frogs, through switches, over splits, and into +target rods, when--and this is the miracle of it all--the 109 got her +fore-feet on a split switch, made a contact, and, after a slew or two +like a bogged horse, she swung up sweet on the rails again, tender and +all. Bartholomew shut off with an under cut that brought us up double +and nailed her feet, with the air, right where she stood. + +We had left the track, ploughed a hundred feet across the yards, and +jumped on to another track. It is the only time I ever heard of its +happening anywhere, but I was on the engine with Bartholomew Mullen when +it was done. + +Foley choked his train the instant he saw our hind lights bobbing. We +climbed down and ran back. He had stopped just where we should have +stood if I had shut off. Bartholomew ran to the switch to examine it. +The contact light, green, still burned like a false beacon; and lucky it +did, for it showed the switch had been tampered with and exonerated +Bartholomew Mullen completely. The attempt of the strikers to spill the +silk right in the yards had only made the reputation of a new engineer. +Thirty minutes later the million-dollar train was turned over to the +eastern division to wrestle with, and we breathed, all of us, a good +bit easier. + +Bartholomew Mullen, now a passenger runner, who ranks with Kennedy and +Jack Moore and Foley and George Sinclair himself, got a personal letter +from the general manager complimenting him on his pretty wit; and he was +good enough to say nothing whatever about mine. + +We registered that night and went to supper together--Foley, Jackson, +Bartholomew, and I. Afterwards we dropped into the dispatcher's office. +Something was coming from McCloud, but the operators, to save their +lives, couldn't catch it. I listened a minute; it was Neighbor. Now +Neighbor isn't great on dispatching trains. He can make himself +understood over the poles, but his sending is like a boy's sawing +wood--sort of uneven. + +However, though I am not much on running yards, I claim to be able to +take the wildest ball that was ever thrown along the wire, and the chair +was tendered me at once to catch Neighbor's extraordinary passes at the +McCloud key. They came something like this: + + _To Opr._: + + Tell Massacree [_that was the word that stuck them all, and I + could perceive Neighbor was talking emphatically; he had + apparently forgotten Bartholomew's last name and was trying to + connect with the one he had disremembered the night + before_]--tell Massacree [_repeated Neighbor_] that he is + al-l-l right. Tell hi-m I give 'im double mileage for to-day + all the way through. And to-morrow he gets the 109 to keep. + + NEIGHB-B-OR. + + + + +Bucks + + +"I see a good deal of stuff in print about the engineer," said Callahan, +dejectedly. "What's the matter with the dispatcher? What's the matter +with the man who tells the engineer what to do--and just what to do? How +to do it--and exactly how to do it? With the man who sits shut in brick +walls and hung in Chinese puzzles, his ear glued to a receiver, and his +finger fast to a key, and his eye riveted on a train chart? The man who +orders and annuls and stops and starts everything within five hundred +miles of him, and holds under his thumb more lives every minute than a +brigadier does in a lifetime? For instance," asked Callahan, in his +tired way, "what's the matter with Bucks?" + + * * * * * + +Now, I myself never knew Bucks. He left the West End before I went on. +Bucks is second vice-president--which means the boss--of a +transcontinental line now, and a very great swell. But no man from the +West End who calls on Bucks has to wait for an audience, though bigger +men do. They talk of him out there yet. Not of General Superintendent +Bucks, which he came to be, nor of General Manager Bucks. On the West +End he is just plain Bucks; but Bucks on the West End means a whole lot. + +"He saved the company $300,000 that night the Ogalalla train ran away," +mused Callahan. Callahan himself is assistant superintendent now. + +"Three hundred thousand dollars is a good deal of money, Callahan," I +objected. + +"Figure it out yourself. To begin with, fifty passengers' lives--that's +$5000 apiece, isn't it?" Callahan had a cold-blooded way of figuring a +passenger's life from the company standpoint. "It would have killed +over fifty passengers if the runaway had ever struck 59. There wouldn't +have been enough left of 59 to make a decent funeral. Then the +equipment, at least $50,000. But there was a whole lot more than +$300,000 in it for Bucks." + +"How so?" + +"He told me once that if he hadn't saved 59 that night he would never +have signed another order anywhere on any road." + +"Why?" + +"Why? Because, after it was all over, he found out that his own mother +was aboard 59. Didn't you ever hear that? Well, sir, it was Christmas +Eve, and the year was 1884." + + * * * * * + +Christmas Eve everywhere; but on the West End it was just plain December +24th. + +"High winds will prevail for ensuing twenty-four hours. Station agents +will use extra care to secure cars on sidings; brakemen must use care to +avoid being blown from moving trains." + +That is about all Bucks said in his bulletins that evening; not a word +about Christmas or Merry Christmas. In fact, if Christmas had come to +McCloud that night they couldn't have held it twenty-four minutes, much +less twenty-four hours; the wind was too high. All the week, all the +day, all the night it had blown--a December wind; dry as an August noon, +bitter as powdered ice. It was in the early days of our Western +railroading, when we had only one fast train on the schedule--the St. +Louis-California Express; and only one fast engine on the division--the +101; and only one man on the whole West End--Bucks. + +Bucks was assistant superintendent and master-mechanic and train-master +and chief dispatcher and storekeeper--and a bully good fellow. There +were some boys in the service; among them, Callahan. Callahan was +seventeen, with hair like a sunset, and a mind quick as an air-brake. It +was his first year at the key, and he had a night trick under Bucks. + +Callahan claims it blew so hard that night that it blew most of the +color out of his hair. Sod houses had sprung up like dog-towns in the +buffalo grass during the fall. But that day homesteaders crept into +dugouts and smothered over buffalo chip fires. Horses and cattle huddled +into friendly pockets a little out of the worst of it, or froze mutely +in pitiless fence corners on the divides. Sand drove gritting down from +the Cheyenne hills like a storm of snow. Streets of the raw prairie +towns stared deserted at the sky. Even cowboys kept their ranches, and +through the gloom of noon the sun cast a coward shadow. It was a +wretched day, and the sun went down with the wind tuning into a gale, +and all the boys in bad humor--except Bucks. Not that Bucks couldn't get +mad; but it took more than a cyclone to start him. + +No. 59, the California Express, was late that night. All the way up the +valley the wind caught her quartering. Really the marvel is that out +there on the plains such storms didn't blow our toy engines clear off +the rails; for that matter they might as well have taken the rails, too, +for none of them went over sixty pounds. 59 was due at eleven o'clock; +it was half-past twelve when she pulled in and on Callahan's trick. But +Bucks hung around the office until she staggered up under the streaked +moonlight, as frowsy a looking train as ever choked on alkali. + +There was always a crowd down at the station to meet 59; she was the big +arrival of the day at McCloud, even if she didn't get in until eleven +o'clock at night. She brought the mail and the express and the +landseekers and the travelling men and the strangers generally; so the +McCloud livery men and hotel runners and prominent citizens and +prominent loafers and the city marshal usually came down to meet her. +But it was not so that night. The platform was bare. Not even the hardy +chief of police, who was town watch and city marshal all combined, +ventured out. + +The engineer swung out of his cab with the silence of an abused man. His +eyes were full of soda, his ears full of sand, his mustache full of +burrs, and his whiskers full of tumble-weeds. The conductor and the +brakemen climbed sullenly down, and the baggage-man shoved open his door +and slammed a trunk out on the platform without a pretence of sympathy. +Then the outgoing crew climbed aboard, and in a hurry. The +conductor-elect ran down-stairs from the register, and pulled his cap +down hard before he pushed ahead against the wind to give the engineer +his copy of the orders as the new engine was coupled up. The fireman +pulled the canvas jealously around the cab end. The brakeman ran +hurriedly back to examine the air connections, and gave his signal to +the conductor; the conductor gave his to the engineer. There were two +short, choppy snorts from the 101, and 59 moved out stealthily, evenly, +resistlessly into the teeth of the night. In another minute, only her +red lamps gleamed up the yard. One man still on the platform watched +them recede; it was Bucks. + +He came up to the dispatcher's office and sat down. Callahan wondered +why he didn't go home and to bed; but Callahan was too good a railroad +man to ask questions of a superior. Bucks might have stood on his head +on the stove, and it red-hot, without being pursued with inquiries from +Callahan. If Bucks chose to sit up out there on the frozen prairies, in +a flimsy barn of a station, and with the wind howling murder at twelve +o'clock past, and that on Chri--the twenty-fourth of December, it was +Bucks's own business. + +"I kind of looked for my mother to-night," said he, after Callahan got +his orders out of the way for a minute. "Wrote she was coming out pretty +soon for a little visit." + +"Where does your mother live?" + +"Chicago. I sent her transportation two weeks ago. Reckon she thought +she'd better stay home for Christmas. Back in God's country they have +Christmas just about this time of year. Watch out to-night, Jim. I'm +going home. It's a wind for your life." + +Callahan was making a meeting-point for two freights when the door +closed behind Bucks; he didn't even sing out "Good-night." And as for +Merry Chri--well, that had no place on the West End anyhow. + +"D-i, D-i, D-i, D-i," came clicking into the room. Callahan wasn't +asleep. Once he did sleep over the key. When he told Bucks, he made sure +of his time; only he thought Bucks ought to know. + +Bucks shook his head pretty hard that time. "It's awful business, Jim. +It's murder, you know. It's the penitentiary, if they should convict +you. But it's worse than that. If anything happened because you went to +sleep over the key, you'd have them on your mind all your life, don't +you know--forever. Men--and--and children. That's what I always think +about--the children. Maimed and scalded and burned. Jim, if it ever +happens again, quit dispatching; get into commercial work; mistakes +don't cost life there; don't try to handle trains. If it ever happens +with you, you'll kill yourself." + +That was all he said; it was enough. And no wonder Callahan loved him. + +The wind tore frantically around the station; but everything else was so +still. It was one o'clock now, and not a soul about but Callahan. D-i, +D-i, J, clicked sharp and fast. "Twelve or fourteen cars passed +here--just--now east--running a-a-a-" Callahan sprang up like a +flash--listened. What? R-u-n-n-i-n-g a-w-a-y? + +It was the Jackson operator calling; Callahan jumped to the key. "What's +that?" he asked, quick as lightning could dash it. + +"Twelve or fourteen cars coal passed here, fully forty miles an hour, +headed east, driven by the wi--" + +That was all J could send, for Ogalalla broke in. Ogalalla is the +station just west of Jackson. And with Callahan's copper hair raising +higher at every letter, this came from Ogalalla: "Heavy gust caught +twelve coal cars on side track, sent them out on main line off down the +grade." + +They were already past Jackson, eight miles away, headed east, and +running down hill. Callahan's eyes turned like hares to the train sheet. +59, going west, was due _that minute_ to leave Callendar. From Callendar +to Griffin is a twenty-miles' run. There is a station between, but in +those days no night operator. The runaway coal-train was then less than +thirty miles west of Griffin, coming down a forty-mile grade like a +cannon ball. If 59 could be stopped at Callendar, she could be laid by +in five minutes, out of the way of the certain destruction ahead of her +on the main line. Callahan seized the key, and began calling "Cn." He +pounded until the call burned into his fingers. It was an age before +Callendar answered; then Callahan's order flew: + +"Hold 59. Answer quick." + +And Callendar answered: "59 just pulling out of upper yard. Too late to +stop her. What's the matter?" + +Callahan struck the table with his clinched fist, looked wildly about +him, then sprang from the chair, ran to the window, and threw up the +sash. The moon shone a bit through the storm of sand, but there was not +a soul in sight. There were lights in the round-house a hundred yards +across the track. He pulled a revolver--every railroad man out there +carried one those days--and, covering one of the round-house windows, +began firing. It was a risk. There was one chance, maybe, to a thousand +of his killing a night man. But there were a thousand chances to one +that a whole train-load of men and women would be killed inside of +thirty minutes if he couldn't get help. He chose a window in the +machinists' section, where he knew no one usually went at night. He +poured bullets into the unlucky casement as fast as powder could carry +them. Reloading rapidly, he watched the round-house door; and, sure +enough, almost at once, it was cautiously opened. Then he fired into +the air--one, two, three, four, five, six--and he saw a man start for +the station on the dead run. He knew, too, by the tremendous sweep of +his legs that it was Ole Anderson, the night foreman, the man of all +others he wanted. + +"Ole," cried the dispatcher, waving his arms frantically as the giant +Swede leaped across the track and looked up from the platform below, "go +get Bucks. I've got a runaway train going against 59. For your life, +Ole, run!" + +The big fellow was into the wind with the word. Bucks boarded four +blocks away. Callahan, slamming down the window, took the key, and began +calling Rowe. Rowe is the first station east of Jackson; it was now the +first point at which the runaway coal-train could be headed. + +"R-o R-o," he rattled. The operator must have been sitting on the wire, +for he answered at once. As fast as Callahan's fingers could talk, he +told Rowe the story and gave him orders to get the night agent, who, he +knew, must be down to sell tickets for 59, and pile all the ties they +could gather across the track to derail the runaway train. Then he +began thumping for Kolar, the next station east of Rowe, and the second +ahead of the runaways. He pounded and he pounded, and when the man at +Kolar answered, Callahan could have sworn he had been asleep--just from +the way he talked. Does it seem strange? There are many strange things +about a dispatcher's senses. "Send your night man to west switch +house-track, and open for runaway train. Set brakes hard on your empties +on siding, to spill runaways if possible. Do anything and everything to +keep them from getting by you. Work quick." + +Behind Kolar's O.K. came a frantic call from Rowe. "Runaways passed here +like a streak. Knocked the ties into toothpicks. Couldn't head them." + +Callahan didn't wait to hear any more. He only wiped the sweat from his +face. It seemed forever before Kolar spoke again. Then it was only to +say: "Runaways went by here before night man could get to switch and +open it." + +Would Bucks never come? And if he did come, what on earth could stop the +runaway train now? They were heading into the worst grade on the West +End. It averages one per cent. from Kolar to Griffin, and there we get +down off the Cheyenne Hills with a long reverse curve, and drop into the +canon of the Blackwood with a three per cent. grade. Callahan, almost +beside himself, threw open a north window to look for Bucks. Two men +were flying down Main Street towards the station. He knew them; it was +Ole and Bucks. + +But Bucks! Never before or since was seen on a street of McCloud such a +figure as Bucks, in his trousers and slippers, with his night-shirt free +as he sailed down the wind. In another instant he was bounding up the +stairs. Callahan told him. + +"What have you done?" he panted, throwing himself into the chair. +Callahan told him. Bucks held his head in his hands while the boy +talked. He turned to the sheet--asked quick for 59. + +"She's out of Callendar. I tried hard to stop her. I didn't lose a +second; she was gone." + +Barely an instant Bucks studied the sheet. Routed out of a sound sleep +after an eight-hour trick, and on such a night, by such a message--the +marvel was he could think at all, much less set a trap which should save +59. In twenty minutes from the time Bucks took the key the two trains +would be together--could he save the passenger? Callahan didn't believe +it. + +A sharp, quick call brought Griffin. We had one of the brightest lads on +the whole division at Griffin. Callahan, listening, heard Griffin +answer. Bucks rattled a question. How the heart hangs on the faint, +uncertain tick of a sounder when human lives hang on it! + +"Where are your section men?" asked Bucks. + +"In bed at the section house." + +"Who's with you?" + +"Night agent. Sheriff with two cowboy prisoners waiting to take 59." + +Before the last word came, Bucks was back at him: + + _To Opr._: + + Ask Sheriff release his prisoners to save passenger-train. Go + together to west switch house-track, open, and set it. Smash in + section tool-house, get tools. Go to point of house-track + curve, cut the rails, and point them to send runaway train from + Ogalalla over the bluff into the river. + + BUCKS. + +The words flew off his fingers like sparks, and another message crowded +the wire behind it: + + _To Agt._: + + Go to east switch, open, and set for passing-track. Flag 59, + and run her on siding. If can't get 59 into the clear, ditch + the runaways. + + BUCKS. + +They look old now. The ink is faded, and the paper is smoked with the +fire of fifteen winters and bleached with the sun of fifteen summers. +But to this day they hang there in their walnut frames, the original +orders, just as Bucks scratched them off. They hang there in the +dispatchers' offices in the new depot. But in their present swell +surroundings Bucks wouldn't know them. It was Harvey Reynolds who took +them off the other end of the wire--a boy in a thousand for that night +and that minute. The instant the words flashed into the room he +instructed the agent, grabbed an axe, and dashed out into the +waiting-room, where the sheriff, Ed Banks, sat with his prisoners, the +cowboys. + +"Ed," cried Harvey, "there's a runaway train from Ogalalla coming down +the line in the wind. If we can't trap it here, it'll knock 59 into +kindling-wood. Turn the boys loose, Ed, and save the passenger-train. +Boys, show the man and square yourselves right now. I don't know what +you're here for; but I believe it's to save 59. Will you help?" + +The three men sprang to their feet; Ed + +Banks slipped the handcuffs off in a trice. "Never mind the rest of it. +Save the passenger-train first," he roared. Everybody from Ogalalla to +Omaha knew Ed Banks. + +"Which way? How?" cried the cowboys, in a lather of excitement. + +Harvey Reynolds, beckoning as he ran, rushed out the door and up the +track, his posse at his heels, stumbling into the gale like lunatics. + +"Smash in the tool-house door," panted Harvey as they neared it. + +Ed Banks seized the axe from his hands and took command as naturally as +Dewey. + +"Pick up that tie and ram her," he cried, pointing to the door. "All +together--now." + +Harvey and the cowboys splintered the panel in a twinkling, and Banks, +with a few clean strokes, cut an opening. The cowboys, jumping +together, ran in and began fishing for tools in the dark. One got hold +of a wrench; the other, a pick. Harvey caught up a clawbar, and Banks +grabbed a spike-maul. In a bunch they ran for the point of the curve on +the house-track. It lies there close to the verge of a limestone bluff +that looms up fifty feet above the river. + +But it is one thing to order a contact opened, and another and very +different thing to open it, at two in the morning on December +twenty-fifth, by men who know no more about track-cutting than about +logarithms. Side by side and shoulder to shoulder the man of the law and +the men out of the law, the rough-riders and the railroad boy, pried and +wrenched and clawed and struggled with the steel. While Harvey and Banks +clawed at the spikes the cowboys wrestled with the nuts on the bolts of +the fish-plates. It was a baffle. The nuts wouldn't twist, the spikes +stuck like piles, sweat covered the assailants, Harvey went into a +frenzy. "Boys, we must work faster," he cried, tugging at the frosty +spikes; but flesh and blood could do no more. + +"There they come--there's the runaway train--do you hear it? I'm going +to open the switch, anyhow," Harvey shouted, starting up the track. +"Save yourselves." + +Heedless of the warning, Banks struggled with the plate-bolts in a +silent fury. Suddenly he sprang to his feet. "Give me the maul!" he +cried. + +Raising the heavy tool like a tack-hammer he landed heavily on the bolt +nuts; once, and again; and they flew in a stream like bullets over the +bluff. The taller cowboy, bending close on his knees, raised a yell. The +plates had given. Springing to the other rail, Banks stripped the bolts +even after the mad train had shot into the gorge above them. They drove +the pick under the loosened steel, and with a pry that bent the clawbar +and a yell that reached Harvey, trembling at the switch, they tore away +the stubborn contact, and pointed the rails over the precipice. + +The shriek of a locomotive whistle cut the wind. Looking east, Harvey +had been watching 59's headlight. She was pulling in on the siding. He +still held the switch open to send the runaways into the trap Bucks had +set, if the passenger-train failed to get into the clear; but there was +a minute yet--a bare sixty seconds--and Harvey had no idea of dumping +ten thousand dollars' worth of equipment into the river unless he had +to. + +Suddenly, up went the safety signals from the east end. The 101 was +coughing noisily up the passing-track--the line was clear. Banks and the +cowboys, waiting breathless, saw Harvey with a determined lurch close +the main-line contact. + +In the next breath the coalers, with the sweep of the gale in their +frightful velocity, smashed over the switch and on. A rattling whirl of +ballast and a dizzy clatter of noise, and before the frightened crew of +59 could see what was against them, the runaway train was passed--gone! + +"I wasn't going to stop here to-night," muttered the engineer, as he +stood with the conductor over Harvey's shoulder at the operator's desk a +minute later and wiped the chill from his forehead with a piece of +waste. "We'd have met them in the canon." + +Harvey was reporting to Bucks. Callahan heard it coming: "Rails cut, but +59 safe. Runaways went by here fully seventy miles an hour." + +It was easy after that. Griffin is the foot of the grade; from there on, +the runaway train had a hill to climb. Bucks had held 250, the local +passenger, side-tracked at Davis, thirty miles farther east. Sped by the +wind, the runaways passed Davis, though not at half their highest speed. +An instant later, 250's engine was cut loose, and started after them +like a scared collie. Three miles east of Davis they were overhauled by +the light engine. The fireman, Donahue, crawled out of the cab window, +along the foot-rail, and down on the pilot, caught the ladder of the +first car, and, running up, crept along to the leader and began setting +brakes. Ten minutes later they were brought back in triumph to Davis. + +When the multitude of orders was out of the way, Bucks wired Ed Banks to +bring his cowboys down to McCloud on 60. 60 was the east-bound passenger +due at McCloud at 5.30 A.M. It turned out that the cowboys had been +arrested for lassoing a Norwegian homesteader who had cut their wire. It +was not a heinous offence, and after it was straightened out by the +intervention of Bucks--who was the whole thing then--they were given +jobs lassoing sugar barrels in the train service. One of them, the tall +fellow, is a passenger conductor on the high line yet. + +It was three o'clock that morning--the twenty-fifth of December in small +letters, on the West End--before they got things decently straightened +out: there was so much to do--orders to make and reports to take. Bucks, +still on the key in his flowing robes and tumbling hair, sent and took +them all. Then he turned the seat over to Callahan, and getting up for +the first time in two hours, dropped into another chair. + +The very first thing Callahan received was a personal from Pat Francis, +at Ogalalla, conductor of 59. It was for Bucks: + + Your mother is aboard 59. She was carried by McCloud in the + Denver sleeper. Sending her back to you on 60. Merry Christmas. + +It came off the wire fast. Callahan, taking it, didn't think Bucks +heard; though it's probable he did hear. Anyway, Callahan threw the clip +over towards him with a laugh. + +"Look there, old man. There's your mother coming, after all your +kicking--carried by on 59." + +As the boy turned he saw the big dispatcher's head sink between his arms +on the table. Callahan sprang to his side; but Bucks had fainted. + + + + +Sankey's Double Header + + +The oldest man in the train service didn't pretend to say how long +Sankey had worked for the company. + +Pat Francis was a very old conductor; but old man Sankey was a veteran +when Pat Francis began braking. Sankey ran a passenger-train when Jimmie +Brady was running--and Jimmie afterwards enlisted and was killed in the +Custer fight. + +There was an odd tradition about Sankey's name. He was a tall, swarthy +fellow, and carried the blood of a Sioux chief in his veins. It was in +the time of the Black Hills excitement, when railroad men struck by the +gold fever were abandoning their trains, even at way-stations, and +striking across the divide for Clark's crossing. Men to run the trains +were hard to get, and Tom Porter, train-master, was putting in every man +he could pick up, without reference to age or color. + +Porter--he died at Julesburg afterwards--was a great jollier, and he +wasn't afraid of anybody on earth. + +One day a war-party of Sioux clattered into town. They tore around like +a storm, and threatened to scalp everything, even to the local tickets. +The head braves dashed in on Tom Porter, sitting in the dispatcher's +office up-stairs. The dispatcher was hiding under a loose plank in the +baggage-room floor; Tom, being bald as a sand-hill, considered himself +exempt from scalping-parties. He was working a game of solitaire when +they bore down on him, and interested them at once. That led to a +parley, which ended in Porter's hiring the whole band to brake on +freight-trains. Old man Sankey is said to have been one of that original +war-party. + +Now this is merely a caboose story--told on winter nights when trainmen +get stalled in the snow drifting down from the Sioux country. But what +follows is better attested. + +Sankey, to start with, had a peculiar name. An unpronounceable, +unspellable, unmanageable name. I never heard it; so I can't give it. It +was as hard to catch as an Indian cur, and that name made more trouble +on the pay-rolls than all the other names put together. Nobody at +headquarters could handle it; it was never turned in twice alike, and +they were always writing Tom Porter about the thing. Tom explained +several times that it was Sitting Bull's ambassador who was drawing that +money, and that he usually signed the pay-roll with a tomahawk. But +nobody at Omaha ever knew how to take a joke. + +The first time Tom went down he was called in very solemnly to explain +again about the name; and being in a hurry, and very tired of the whole +business, Tom spluttered: + +"Hang it, don't bother me any more about that name. If you can't read +it, make it Sankey, and be done with it." + +They took Tom at his word. They actually did make it Sankey; and that's +how our oldest conductor came to bear the name of the famous singer. And +more I may say: good name as it was--and is--the Sioux never disgraced +it. + +Probably every old traveller on the system knew Sankey. He was not only +always ready to answer questions, but, what is much more, always ready +to answer the same question twice: it is that which makes conductors +gray-headed and spoils their chances for heaven--answering the same +questions over and over again. Children were apt to be a bit startled at +first sight of Sankey--he was so dark. But he had a very quiet smile, +that always made them friends after the second trip through the +sleepers, and they sometimes ran about asking for him after he had left +the train. + +Of late years--and it is this that hurts--these very same children, +grown ever so much bigger, and riding again to or from California or +Japan or Australia, will ask when they reach the West End about the +Indian conductor. + +But the conductors who now run the overland trains pause at the +question, checking over the date limits on the margins of the coupon +tickets, and, handing the envelopes back, will look at the children and +say, slowly, "He isn't running any more." + + * * * * * + +If you have ever gone over our line to the mountains or to the coast you +may remember at McCloud, where they change engines and set the diner in +or out, the pretty little green park to the east of the depot with a row +of catalpa-trees along the platform line. It looks like a glass of +spring water. + +If it happened to be Sankey's run and a regular West End day, sunny and +delightful, you would be sure to see standing under the catalpas a shy, +dark-skinned girl of fourteen or fifteen years, silently watching the +preparations for the departure of the Overland. + +And after the new engine had been backed, champing down, and harnessed +to its long string of vestibuled sleepers; after the air hose had been +connected and the air valves examined; after the engineer had swung out +of his cab, filled his cups, and swung in again; after the fireman and +his helper had disposed of their slice-bar and shovel, and given the +tender a final sprinkle, and the conductor had walked leisurely +forward, compared time with the engineer, and cried, "All Abo-o-o-ard!" + +Then, as your coach moved slowly ahead, you might notice under the +receding catalpas the little girl waving a parasol, or a handkerchief, +at the outgoing train--that is, at conductor Sankey; for she was his +daughter, Neeta Sankey. Her mother was Spanish, and died when Neeta was +a wee bit. Neeta and the Limited were Sankey's whole world. + +When Georgie Sinclair began pulling the Limited, running west opposite +Foley, he struck up a great friendship with Sankey. Sankey, though he +was hard to start, was full of early-day stories. Georgie, it seemed, +had the faculty of getting him to talk; perhaps because when he was +pulling Sankey's train he made extraordinary efforts to keep on +time--time was a hobby with Sankey. Foley said he was so careful of it +that when he was off duty he let his watch stop just to save time. + +Sankey loved to breast the winds and the floods and the snows, and if he +could get home pretty near on schedule, with everybody else late, he was +happy; and in respect of that, as Sankey used to say, Georgie Sinclair +could come nearer gratifying Sankey's ambition than any runner we had. + +Even the firemen used to observe that the young engineer, always neat, +looked still neater the days that he took out Sankey's train. By-and-by +there was an introduction under the catalpas; after that it was noticed +that Georgie began wearing gloves on the engine--not kid gloves, but +yellow dogskin--and black silk shirts; he bought them in Denver. + +Then--an odd way engineers have of paying compliments--when Georgie +pulled into town on No. 2, if it was Sankey's train, the big sky-scraper +would give a short, hoarse scream, a most peculiar note, just as they +drew past Sankey's house, which stood on the brow of the hill west of +the yards. Then Neeta would know that No. 2 and her father, and +naturally Mr. Sinclair, were in again, and all safe and sound. + +When the railway trainmen held their division fair at McCloud, there was +a lantern to be voted to the most popular conductor--a gold-plated +lantern with a green curtain in the globe. Cal Stewart and Ben Doton, +who were very swell conductors, and great rivals, were the favorites, +and had the town divided over their chances for winning it. + +But during the last moments Georgia Sinclair stepped up to the booth and +cast a storm of votes for old man Sankey. Doton's friends and Stewart's +laughed at first, but Sankey's votes kept pouring in amazingly. The +favorites grew frightened; they pooled their issues by throwing +Stewart's vote to Doton; but it wouldn't do. Georgie Sinclair, with a +crowd of engineers--Cameron, Moore, Foley, Bat Mullen, and Burns--came +back at them with such a swing that in the final round up they fairly +swamped Doton. Sankey took the lantern by a thousand votes, but I +understood it cost Georgie and his friends a pot of money. + +Sankey said all the time he didn't want the lantern, but, just the same, +he always carried that particular lantern, with his full name, Sylvester +Sankey, ground into the glass just below the green mantle. Pretty +soon--Neeta being then eighteen--it was rumored that Sinclair was +engaged to Miss Sankey--was going to marry her. And marry her he did; +though that was not until after the wreck in the Blackwood gorge, the +time of the Big Snow. + +It goes yet by just that name on the West End; for never was such a +winter and such a snow known on the plains and in the mountains. One +train on the northern division was stalled six weeks that winter, and +one whole coach was chopped up for kindling-wood. + +But the great and desperate effort of the company was to hold open the +main line, the artery which connected the two coasts. It was a hard +winter on trainmen. Week after week the snow kept falling and blowing. +The trick was not to clear the line; it was to keep it clear. Every day +we sent out trains with the fear we should not see them again for a +week. + +Freight we didn't pretend to move; local passenger business had to be +abandoned. Coal, to keep our engines and our towns supplied, we were +obliged to carry, and after that all the brains and the muscle and the +motive-power were centred on keeping 1 and 2, our through +passenger-trains, running. + +Our trainmen worked like Americans; there were no cowards on our rolls. +But after too long a strain men become exhausted, benumbed, +indifferent--reckless even. The nerves give out, and will power seems to +halt on indecision--but decision is the life of the fast train. + +None of our conductors stood the hopeless fight like Sankey. Sankey was +patient, taciturn, untiring, and, in a conflict with the elements, +ferocious. All the fighting-blood of his ancestors seemed to course +again in that struggle with the winter king. I can see him yet, on +bitter days, standing alongside the track, in a heavy pea-jacket and +Napoleon boots, a sealskin cap drawn snugly over his straight, black +hair, watching, ordering, signalling, while No. 1, with its frost-bitten +sleepers behind a rotary, struggled to buck through the ten and twenty +foot cuts, which lay bankful of snow west of McCloud. + +Not until April did it begin to look as if we should win out. A dozen +times the line was all but choked on us. And then, when snow-ploughs +were disabled and train crews desperate, there came a storm that +discounted the worst blizzard of the winter. As the reports rolled in on +the morning of the 5th, growing worse as they grew thicker, Neighbor, +dragged out, played out, mentally and physically, threw up his hands. +The 6th it snowed all day, and on Saturday morning the section men +reported thirty feet in the Blackwood canon. + +It was six o'clock when we got the word, and daylight before we got the +rotary against it. They bucked away till noon with discouraging results, +and came in with their gear smashed and a driving-rod fractured. It +looked as if we were beaten. + +No. 1 got into McCloud eighteen hours late; it was Sankey's and +Sinclair's run west. + +There was a long council in the round-house. The rotary was knocked out; +coal was running low in the chutes. If the line wasn't kept open for the +coal from the mountains it was plain we should be tied until we could +ship it from Iowa or Missouri. West of Medicine Pole there was another +big rotary working east, with plenty of coal behind her, but she was +reported stuck fast in the Cheyenne Hills. + +Foley made suggestions and Dad Sinclair made suggestions. Everybody had +a suggestion left; the trouble was, Neighbor said, they didn't amount to +anything, or were impossible. + +"It's a dead block, boys," announced Neighbor, sullenly, after everybody +had done. "We are beaten unless we can get No. 1 through to-day. Look +there; by the holy poker it's snowing again!" + +The air was dark in a minute with whirling clouds. Men turned to the +windows and quit talking; every fellow felt the same--at least, all but +one. Sankey, sitting back of the stove, was making tracings on his +overalls with a piece of chalk. + +"You might as well unload your passengers, Sankey," said Neighbor. +"You'll never get 'em through this winter." + +And it was then that Sankey proposed his Double Header. + +He devised a snow-plough which combined in one monster ram about all the +good material we had left, and submitted the scheme to Neighbor. +Neighbor studied it and hacked at it all he could, and brought it over +to the office. It was like staking everything on the last cast of the +dice, but we were in the state of mind which precedes a desperate +venture. It was talked over for an hour, and orders were finally given +by the superintendent to rig up the Double Header and get against the +snow as quick as it could be made ready. + +All that day and most of the night Neighbor worked twenty men on +Sankey's device. By Sunday morning it was in such shape that we began to +take heart. + +"If she don't get through she'll get back again, and that's what most of +'em don't do," growled Neighbor, as he and Sankey showed the new ram to +the engineers. + +They had taken the 566, George Sinclair's engine, for one head, and +Burns's 497 for the other. Behind these were Kennedy with the 314 and +Cameron with the 296. The engines were set in pairs, headed each way, +and buckled up like pack-mules. Over the pilots and stacks of the head +engines rose the tremendous ploughs which were to tackle the toughest +drifts ever recorded, before or since, on the West End. The ram was +designed to work both ways. Under the coal each tender was loaded with +pig-iron. + +The beleaguered passengers on No. 1, side-tracked in the yards, watched +the preparations Sankey was making to clear the line. Every amateur on +the train had his camera snapping at the ram. The town, gathered in a +single great mob, looked silently on, and listened to the frosty notes +of the sky-scrapers as they went through their preliminary manoeuvres. +Just as the final word was given by Sankey, in charge, the sun burst +through the fleecy clouds, and a wild cheer followed the ram out of the +western yard--it was good-luck to see the sun again. + +Little Neeta, up on the hill, must have seen them as they pulled out; +surely she heard the choppy, ice-bitten screech of the 566; that was +never forgotten whether the service was special or regular. Besides, the +head cab of the ram carried this time not only Georgie Sinclair but her +father as well. Sankey could handle a slice-bar as well as a punch, and +rode on the head engine, where, if anywhere, the big chances hovered. +What he was not capable of in the train service we never knew, because +he was stronger than any emergency that ever confronted him. + +Bucking snow is principally brute force; there is little coaxing. Just +west of the bluffs, like code signals between a fleet of cruisers, there +was a volley of sharp tooting, and in a minute the four ponderous +engines, two of them in the back motion, fires white and throats +bursting, steamed wildly into the canon. + +Six hundred feet from the first cut Sinclair's whistle signalled again; +Burns and Cameron and Kennedy answered, and then, literally turning the +monster ram loose against the dazzling mountain, the crews settled +themselves for the shock. + +At such a moment there is nothing to be done. If anything goes wrong +eternity is too close to consider. There comes a muffled drumming on the +steam-chests--a stagger and a terrific impact--and then the recoil like +the stroke of a trip-hammer. The snow shoots into the air fifty feet, +and the wind carries a cloud of fleecy confusion over the ram and out of +the cut. The cabs were buried in white, and the great steel frames of +the engines sprung like knitting-needles under the frightful blow. + +Pausing for hardly a breath, the signalling again began. Then the +backing; up and up and up the line; and again the massive machines were +hurled screaming into the cut. + +"You're getting there, Georgie," exclaimed Sankey, when the rolling and +lurching had stopped. No one else could tell a thing about it, for it +was snow and snow and snow; above and behind, and ahead and beneath. +Sinclair coughed the flakes out of his eyes and nose and mouth like a +baffled collie. He looked doubtful of the claim until the mist had blown +clear and the quivering monsters were again recalled for a dash. Then it +was plain that Sankey's instinct was right; they were gaining. + +Again they went in, lifting a very avalanche over the stacks, packing +the banks of the cut with walls hard as ice. Again as the drivers stuck +they raced in a frenzy, and into the shriek of the wind went the +unearthly scrape of the overloaded safeties. + +Slowly and sullenly the machines were backed again. + +"She's doing the work, Georgie," cried Sankey. "For that kind of a cut +she's as good as a rotary. Look everything over now while I go back and +see how the boys are standing it. Then we'll give her one more, and give +it the hardest kind." + +And they did give her one more--and another. Men at Santiago put up no +stouter fight than they made that Sunday morning in the canon of the +Blackwood. Once and twice more they went in. And the second time the +bumping drummed more deeply; the drivers held, pushed, panted, and +gained against the white wall--heaved and stumbled ahead--and with a +yell from Sinclair and Sankey and the fireman, the Double Header shot +her nose into the clear over the Blackwood gorge. As engine after engine +flew past the divided walls, each cab took up the cry--it was the +wildest shout that ever crowned victory. + +Through they went and half-way across the bridge before they could check +their monster catapult. Then at a half-full they shot it back at the +cut--it worked as well one way as the other. + +"The thing is done," declared Sankey. Then they got into position up the +line for a final shoot to clean the eastern cut and to get the head for +a dash across the bridge into the west end of the canon, where lay +another mountain of snow to split. + +"Look the machines over close, boys," said Sankey to the engineers. "If +nothing's sprung we'll take a full head across the gorge--the bridge +will carry anything--and buck the west cut. Then after we get No. 1 +through this afternoon Neighbor can get his baby cabs in here and keep +'em chasing all night; but it's done snowing," he added, looking into +the leaden sky. + +He had everything figured out for the master-mechanic--the shrewd, +kindly old man. There's no man on earth like a good Indian; and for that +matter none like a bad one. Sankey knew by a military instinct just what +had to be done and how to do it. If he had lived he was to have been +assistant superintendent. That was the word which leaked from +headquarters after he got killed. + +And with a volley of jokes between the cabs, and a laughing and a +yelling between toots, down went Sankey's Double Header again into the +Blackwood gorge. + +At the same moment, by an awful misunderstanding of orders, down came +the big rotary from the West End with a dozen cars of coal behind it. +Mile after mile it had wormed east towards Sankey's ram, burrowed +through the western cut of the Blackwood, crashed through the drift +Sankey was aiming for, and whirled then out into the open, dead against +him, at forty miles an hour. Each train, in order to make the grade and +the blockade, was straining the cylinders. + +Through the swirling snow which half hid the bridge and swept between +the rushing ploughs Sinclair saw them coming--he yelled. Sankey saw them +a fraction of a second later, and while Sinclair struggled with the +throttle and the air, Sankey gave the alarm through the whistle to the +poor fellows in the blind pockets behind. But the track was at the +worst. Where there was no snow there were whiskers; oil itself couldn't +have been worse to stop on. It was the old and deadly peril of fighting +blockades from both ends on a single track. + +The great rams of steel and fire had done their work, and with their +common enemy overcome they dashed at each other frenzied across the +Blackwood gorge. + +The fireman at the first cry shot out the side. Sankey yelled at +Sinclair to jump. But George shook his head: he never would jump. +Without hesitating an instant, Sankey caught him in his arms, tore him +from the levers, planted a mighty foot, and hurled Sinclair like a block +of coal through the gangway out into the gorge. The other cabs were +already emptied; but the instant's delay in front cost Sankey's life. +Before he could turn the rotary crashed into the 566. They reared like +mountain lions, and pitched headlong into the gorge; Sankey went under +them. + +He could have saved himself; he chose to save George. There wasn't time +to do both; he had to choose and he chose instinctively. Did he, maybe, +think in that flash of Neeta and of whom she needed most--of a young and +a stalwart protector better than an old and a failing one? I do not +know; I know only what he did. + +Every one who jumped got clear. Sinclair lit in twenty feet of snow, and +they pulled him out with a rope; he wasn't scratched; even the bridge +was not badly strained. No. 1 pulled over it next day. Sankey was +right: there was no more snow; not enough to hide the dead engines on +the rocks: the line was open. + +There never was a funeral in McCloud like Sankey's. George Sinclair and +Neeta followed together; and of mourners there were as many as there +were people. Every engine on the division carried black for thirty days. + +His contrivance for fighting snow has never yet been beaten on the high +line. It is perilous to go against a drift behind it--something has to +give. + +But it gets there--as Sankey got there--always; and in time of blockade +and desperation on the West End they still send out Sankey's Double +Header; though Sankey--so the conductors tell the children, travelling +east or travelling west--Sankey isn't running any more. + + + + +Siclone Clark + + +"There goes a fellow that walks like Siclone Clark," exclaimed Duck +Middleton. Duck was sitting in the train-master's office with a group of +engineers. He was one of the black-listed strikers, and runs an engine +now down on the Santa Fe. But at long intervals Duck gets back to +revisit the scenes of his early triumphs. The men who surrounded him +were once at deadly odds with Duck and his chums, though now the ancient +enmities seem forgotten, and Duck--the once ferocious Duck--sits +occasionally among the new men and gossips about early days on the West +End. + +"Do you remember Siclone, Reed?" asked Duck, calling to me in the +private office. + +"Remember him?" I echoed. "Did anybody who ever knew Siclone forget +him?" + +"I fired passenger for Siclone twenty years ago," resumed Duck. "He +walked just like that fellow; only he was quicker. I reckon you fellows +don't know what a snap you have here now," he continued, addressing the +men around him. "Track fenced; ninety-pound rails; steel bridges; stone +culverts; slag ballast; sky-scrapers. No wonder you get chances to haul +such nobs as Lilioukalani and Schley and Dewey, and cut out ninety miles +an hour on tangents. + +"When I was firing for Siclone the road-bed was just off the scrapers; +the dumps were soft; pile bridges; paper culverts; fifty-six-pound +rails; not a fence west of Buffalo gap, and the plains black with Texas +steers. We never closed our cylinder cocks; the hiss of the steam +frightened the cattle worse than the whistle, and we never knew when we +were going to find a bunch of critters on the track. + +"The first winter I came out was great for snow, and I was a tenderfoot. +The cuts made good wind-breaks, and whenever there was a norther they +were chuck full of cattle. Every time a train ploughed through the snow +it made a path on the track. Whenever the steers wanted to move they +would take the middle of the track single file, and string out mile +after mile. Talk about fast schedules and ninety miles an hour. You had +to poke along with your cylinders spitting, and just whistle and +yell--sort of blow them off into the snow-drifts. + +"One day Siclone and I were going west on 59, and we were late; for that +matter we were always late. Simpson coming against us on 60 had caught a +bunch of cattle in the rock-cut, just west of the Sappie, and killed a +couple. When we got there there must have been a thousand head of steers +mousing around the dead ones. Siclone--he used to be a cowboy, you +know--Siclone said they were holding a wake. At any rate, they were +still coming from every direction and as far as you could see. + +"'Hold on, Siclone, and I'll chase them out,' I said. + +"'That's the stuff, Duck,' says he. 'Get after them and see what you can +do.' He looked kind of queer, but I never thought anything. I picked up +a jack-bar and started up the track. + +"The first fellow I tackled looked lazy, but he started full quick when +I hit him. Then he turned around to inspect me, and I noticed his horns +were the broad-gauge variety. While I whacked another the first one put +his head down and began to snort and paw the ties; then they all began +to bellow at once; it looked smoky. I dropped the jack-bar and started +for the engine, and about fifty of them started for me. + +"I never had an idea steers could run so; you could have played checkers +on my heels all the way back. If Siclone hadn't come out and jollied +them, I'd never have got back in the world. I just jumped the pilot and +went clear over against the boiler-head. Siclone claimed I tried to +climb the smoke-stack; but he was excited. Anyway, he stood out there +with a shovel and kept the whole bunch off me. I thought they would kill +him; but I never tried to chase range steers on foot again. + +"In the spring we got the rains; not like you get now, but cloud-bursts. +The section men were good fellows, only sometimes we would get into a +storm miles from a section gang and strike a place where we couldn't see +a thing. + +"Then Siclone would stop the train, take a bar, and get down ahead and +sound the road-bed. Many and many a wash-out he struck that way which +would have wrecked our train and wound up our ball of yarn in a minute. +Often and often Siclone would go into his division without a dry thread +on him. + +"Those were different days," mused the grizzled striker. "The old boys +are scattered now all over this broad land. The strike did it; and you +fellows have the snap. But what I wonder, often and often, is whether +Siclone is really alive or not." + + +I + +Siclone Clark was one of the two cowboys who helped Harvey Reynolds and +Ed Banks save 59 at Griffin the night the coal-train ran down from +Ogalalla. They were both taken into the service; Siclone, after a while, +went to wiping. + +When Bucks asked his name, Siclone answered, "S. Clark." + +"What's your full name?" asked Bucks. + +"S. Clark." + +"But what does S. stand for?" persisted Bucks. + +"Stands for Cyclone, I reckon; don't it?" retorted the cowboy, with some +annoyance. + +It was not usual in those days on the plains to press a man too closely +about his name. There might be reasons why it would not be esteemed +courteous. + +"I reckon it do," replied Bucks, dropping into Siclone's grammar; and +without a quiver he registered the new man as Siclone Clark; and his +checks always read that way. The name seemed to fit; he adopted it +without any objection; and, after everybody came to know him, it fitted +so well that Bucks was believed to have second sight when he named the +hair-brained fireman. He could get up a storm quicker than any man on +the division, and, if he felt so disposed, stop one quicker. + +In spite of his eccentricities, which were many, and his headstrong way +of doing some things, Siclone Clark was a good engineer, and deserved a +better fate than the one that befell him. Though--who can tell?--it may +have been just to his liking. + +The strike was the worst thing that ever happened to Siclone. He was one +of those big-hearted, violent fellows who went into it loaded with +enthusiasm. He had nothing to gain by it; at least, nothing to speak of. +But the idea that somebody on the East End needed their help led men +like Siclone in; and they thought it a cinch that the company would have +to take them all back. + +The consequence was that, when we staggered along without them, men like +Siclone, easily aroused, naturally of violent passions, and with no +self-restraint, stopped at nothing to cripple the service. And they +looked on the men who took their places as entitled neither to liberty +nor life. + +When our new men began coming from the Reading to replace the strikers, +every one wondered who would get Siclone Clark's engine, the 313. +Siclone had gently sworn to kill the first man who took out the 313--and +bar nobody. + +Whatever others thought of Siclone's vaporings, they counted for a good +deal on the West End; nobody wanted trouble with him. + +Even Neighbor, who feared no man, sort of let the 313 lay in her stall +as long as possible, after the trouble began. + +Nothing was said about it. Threats cannot be taken cognizance of +officially; we were bombarded with threats all the time; they had long +since ceased to move us. Yet Siclone's engine stayed in the round-house. + +Then, after Foley and McTerza and Sinclair, came Fitzpatrick from the +East. McTerza was put on the mails, and, coming down one day on the +White Flyer, he blew a cylinder-head out of the 416. + +Fitzpatrick was waiting to take her out when she came stumping in on one +pair of drivers--for we were using engines worse than horseflesh then. +But of course the 416 was put out. The only gig left in the house was +the 313. + +I imagine Neighbor felt the finger of fate in it. The mail had to go. +The time had come for the 313; he ordered her fired. + +"The man that ran this engine swore he would kill the man that took her +out," said Neighbor, sort of incidentally, as Fitz stood by waiting for +her to steam. + +"I suppose that means me," said Fitzpatrick. + +"I suppose it does." + +"Whose engine is it?" + +"Siclone Clark's." + +Fitzpatrick shifted to the other leg. + +"Did he say what I would be doing while this was going on?" + +Something in Fitzpatrick's manner made Neighbor laugh. Other things +crowded in and no more was said. + +No more was thought in fact. The 313 rolled as kindly for Fitzpatrick as +for Siclone, and the new engineer, a quiet fellow like Foley, only a +good bit heavier, went on and off her with never a word for anybody. + +One day Fitzpatrick dropped into a barber shop to get shaved. In the +next chair lay Siclone Clark. Siclone got through first, and, stepping +over to the table to get his hat, picked up Fitzpatrick's, by mistake, +and walked out with it. He discovered his change just as Fitz got out of +his chair. Siclone came back, replaced the hat on the table--it had +Fitzpatrick's name pasted in the crown--took up his own hat, and, as +Fitz reached for his, looked at him. + +Everyone in the shop caught their breaths. + +"Is your name Fitzpatrick?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Mine is Clark." + +Fitzpatrick put on his hat. + +"You're running the 313, I believe?" continued Siclone. + +"Yes, sir." + +"That's my engine." + +"I thought it belonged to the company." + +"Maybe it does; but I've agreed to kill the man that takes her out +before this trouble is settled," said Siclone, amiably. + +Fitzpatrick met him steadily. "If you'll let me know when it takes +place, I'll try and be there." + +"I don't jump on any man without fair warning; any of the boys will tell +you that," continued Siclone. "Maybe you didn't know my word was out?" + +Fitzpatrick hesitated. "I'm not looking for trouble with any man," he +replied, guardedly. "But since you're disposed to be fair about notice, +it's only fair to you to say that I did know your word was out." + +"Still you took her?" + +"It was my orders." + +"My word is out; the boys know it is good. I don't jump any man without +fair warning. I know you now, Fitzpatrick, and the next time I see you, +look out," and without more ado Siclone walked out of the shop greatly +to the relief of the barber, if not of Fitz. + +Fitzpatrick may have wiped a little sweat from his face; but he said +nothing--only walked down to the round-house and took out the 313 as +usual for his run. + +A week passed before the two men met again. One night Siclone with a +crowd of the strikers ran into half a dozen of the new men, Fitzpatrick +among them, and there was a riot. It was Siclone's time to carry out his +intention, for Fitzpatrick would have scorned to try to get away. No +tree ever breasted a tornado more sturdily than the Irish engineer +withstood Siclone; but when Ed Banks got there with his wrecking crew +and straightened things out, Fitzpatrick was picked up for dead. That +night Siclone disappeared. + +Warrants were gotten out and searchers put after him; yet nobody could +or would apprehend him. It was generally understood that the sudden +disappearance was one of Siclone's freaks. If the ex-cowboy had so +determined he would not have hidden to keep out of anybody's way. I have +sometimes pondered whether shame hadn't something to do with it. His +tremendous physical strength was fit for so much better things than +beating other men that maybe he, himself, sort of realized it after the +storm had passed. + +Down east of the depot grounds at McCloud stands, or stood, a great +barnlike hotel, built in boom days, and long a favorite resting-place +for invalids and travellers en route to California by easy stages. It +was nicknamed the barracks. Many railroad men boarded there, and the new +engineers liked it because it was close to the round-house and away from +the strikers. + +Fitzpatrick, without a whine or a complaint, was put to bed in the +barracks, and Holmes Kay, one of our staff surgeons, was given charge of +the case; a trained nurse was provided besides. Nobody thought the +injured man would live. But after every care was given him, we turned +our attention to the troublesome task of operating the road. + +The 313, whether it happened so, or whether Neighbor thought it well to +drop the disputed machine temporarily, was not taken out again for three +weeks. She was looked on as a hoodoo, and nobody wanted her. Foley +refused point-blank one day to take her, claiming that he had troubles +of his own. Then, one day, something happened to McTerza's engine; we +were stranded for a locomotive, and the 313 was brought out for McTerza; +he didn't like it a bit. + +Meantime nothing had been seen or heard of Siclone. That, in fact, was +the reason Neighbor urged for using his engine; but it seemed as if +every time the 313 went out it brought out Siclone, not to speak of +worse things. + +That morning about three o'clock the unlucky engine was coupled on to +the White Flyer. The night boy at the barracks always got up a hot lunch +for the incoming and outgoing crews on the mail run, and that morning +when he was through he forgot to turn off the lamp under his +coffee-tank. It overheated the counter, and in a few minutes the +wood-work was ablaze. If the frightened boy had emptied the coffee on +the counter he could have put the fire out; but instead he ran out to +give the alarm, and started up-stairs to arouse the guests. + +There were at least fifty people asleep in the house, travelling and +railway men. Being a wooden building it was a quick prey, and in an +incredibly short time the flames were leaping through the second-story +windows. + +When I got down men were jumping in every direction from the burning +hotel. Railroaders swarmed around, busy with schemes for getting the +people out, for none are more quick-witted in time of panic. Short as +the opportunity was there were many pretty rescues, until the flames, +shooting up, cut off the stairs, and left the helpers nothing for it but +to stand and watch the destruction of the long, rambling building. Half +a dozen of us looked from the dispatchers' offices in the second story +of the depot. We had agreed that the people were all out, when Foley +below gave a cry and pointed to the south gable. Away up under the eaves +at the third-story window we saw a face--it was Fitzpatrick. + +Everybody had forgotten Fitzpatrick and his nurse. Behind, as the flames +lighted the opening, we could see the nurse struggling to get him to the +window. It was plain that the engineer was in no condition to help +himself; the two men were in deadly peril; a great cry went up. + +The crowd swarmed like ants around to the south end; a dozen men called +for ladders; but there were no ladders. They called for volunteers to go +in after the two men; but the stairs were long since a furnace. There +were men in plenty to take any kind of chance, however slight, but no +chance offered. + +The nurse ran to and from the window, seeking a loop-hole for escape. +Fitzpatrick dragged himself higher on the casement to get out of the +smoke which rolled over him in choking bursts, and looked down on the +crowd. They begged him to jump--held out their arms frantically. The two +men again side by side waved a hand; it looked like a farewell. There +was no calling from them, no appeal. The nurse would not desert his +charge, and we saw it all. + +Suddenly there was a cry below, keener than the confused shouting of +the crowd, and one running forward parted the men at the front and, +clearing the fence, jumped into the yard under the burning gable. + +Before people recognized him a lariat was swinging over his head--it was +Siclone Clark. The rope left his arm like a slung-shot and flew straight +at Fitzpatrick. Not seeing, or confused, he missed it, and the rope, +with a groan from the crowd, settled back. The agile cowboy caught it +again into a loop and shot it upward, that time fairly over +Fitzpatrick's head. + +"Make fast!" roared Siclone. Fitzpatrick shouted back, and the two men +above drew taut. Hand over hand Siclone Clark crept up, like a monkey, +bracing his feet against the smoking clapboards, edging away from the +vomiting windows, swinging on the single strand of horse-hair, and +followed by a hundred prayers unsaid. + +Men who didn't know what tears were tried to cry out to keep the choking +from their throats. It seemed an age before he covered the last five +feet, and the men above caught frantically at his hands. + +Drawing himself over the casement, he was lost with them a moment; +then, from behind a burst of smoke, they saw him rigging a maverick +saddle on Fitzpatrick; saw Fitzpatrick lifted by Clark and the nurse +over the sill, lowered like a wooden tie, whirling and swinging, down +into twenty arms below. Before the trainmen had got the engineer loose, +the nurse, following, slid like a cat down the incline; but not an +instant too soon. A tongue of flame lit the gable from below and licked +the horse-hair up into a curling, frizzling thread; and Siclone stood +alone in the upper casement. + +It seemed for the moment he stood there the crowd would go mad. The +shock and the shouting seemed to confuse him; it may have been the hot +air took his breath. They yelled to him to jump; but he swayed +uncertainly. Once, an instant after that, he was seen to look down; then +he drew back from the casement. I never saw him again. + +The flames wrapped the building in a yellow fury; by daylight the big +barracks were a smouldering pile of ruins. So little water was thrown +that it was nearly nightfall before we could get into the wreck. The +tragedy had blotted out the feud between the strikers and the new men. +Side by side they worked, as side by side Siclone and Fitzpatrick had +stood in the morning, striving to uncover the mystery of the missing +man. Next day twice as many men were in the ruins. + +Fitzpatrick, while we were searching, called continually for Siclone +Clark. We didn't tell him the truth; indeed, we didn't know it; nor do +we yet know it. Every brace, every beam, every brick was taken from the +charred pile. Every foot of cinders, every handful of ashes sifted; but +of a human being the searchers found never a trace. Not a bone, not a +key, not a knife, not a button which could be identified as his. Like +the smoke which swallowed him up, he had disappeared completely and +forever. + + * * * * * + +Is he alive? I cannot tell. + +But this I know. + +Years afterwards Sidney Blair, head of our engineering department, was +running a line, looking then, as we are looking yet, for a coast outlet. + +He took only a flying camp with him, travelling in the lightest kind of +order, camping often with the cattlemen he ran across. + +One night, away down in the Panhandle, they fell in with an outfit +driving a bunch of steers up the Yellow Grass trail. Blair noted that +the foreman was a character. A man of few words, but of great muscular +strength; and, moreover, frightfully scarred. + +He was silent and inclined to be morose at first, but after he learned +Blair was from McCloud he unbent a bit, and after a time began asking +questions which indicated a surprising familiarity with the northern +country and with our road. In particular, this man asked what had become +of Bucks, and, when told what a big railroad man he had grown, asserted, +with a sudden bitterness and without in any way leading up to it, that +with Bucks on the West End there never would have been a strike. + +Sitting at their camp-fire while their crews mingled, Blair noticed in +the flicker of the blaze how seamed the throat and breast of the +cattleman were; even his sinewy forearms were drawn out of shape. He +asked, too, whether Blair recollected the night the barracks burned; but +Blair at that time was east of the river, and so explained, though he +related to the cowboy incidents of the fire which he had heard, among +others the story of Fitzpatrick and Siclone Clark. + +"And Fitzpatrick is alive and Siclone is dead," said Blair, in +conclusion. But the cowboy disputed him. + +"You mean Clark is alive and Fitzpatrick is dead," said he. + +"No," contended Sidney, "Fitzpatrick is running an engine up there now. +I saw him within three months." But the cowboy was loath to conviction. + +Next morning their trails forked. The foreman seemed disinclined to part +from the surveyors, and while the bunch was starting he rode a long way +with Blair, talking in a random way. Then, suddenly wheeling, he waved a +good-bye with his heavy Stetson and, galloping hard, was soon lost to +the north in the ruts of the Yellow Grass. + +When Blair came in he told Neighbor and me about it. Blair had never +seen Siclone Clark, and so was no judge as to his identity; but Neighbor +believes yet that Blair camped that night way down in the Panhandle +with no other than the cowboy engineer. + +Once again, that only two years ago, something came back to us. + +Holmes Kay, one of our staff of surgeons, the man, in fact, who took +care of Fitzpatrick, enlisted in Illinois and went with the First to +Cuba. They got in front of Santiago just after the hard fighting of July +1st, and Holmes was detailed for hospital work among Roosevelt's men, +who had suffered severely the day before. + +One of the wounded, a sergeant, had sustained a gunshot wound in the +jaw, and in the confusion had received scant attention. Kay took hold of +him. He was a cowboy, like most of the rough-riders, and after his jaw +was dressed Kay made some remark about the hot fire they had been +through before the block-house. + +"I've been through a hotter before I ever saw Cuba," answered the +rough-rider, as well as he could through his bandages. The remark +directed Kay's attention to the condition of his breast and neck, which +were a mass of scars. + +"Where are you from?" asked Holmes. + +"Everywhere." + +"Where did you get burned that way?" + +"Out on the plains." + +"How?" + +But the poor fellow went off into a delirium, and to the surgeon's +amazement began repeating train orders. Kay was paralyzed at the way he +talked our lingo--and a cowboy. When he left the wounded man for the +night he resolved to question him more closely the next day; but the +next day orders came to rejoin his regiment at the trenches. The +surrender shifted things about, and Kay, though he made repeated +inquiry, never saw the man again. + +Neighbor, when he heard the story, was only confirmed in his belief that +the rough-rider was Siclone Clark. I give you the tales as they came to +me, and for what you may make of them. + +I myself believe that if Siclone Clark is still alive he will one day +yet come back to where he was best known and, in spite of his faults, +best liked. They talk of him out there as they do of old man Sankey. + +I say I believe if he lives he will one day come back. The day he does +will be a great day in McCloud. On that day Fitzpatrick will have to +take down the little tablet which he placed in the brick facade of the +hotel which now stands on the site of the old barracks. For, as that +tablet now stands, it is sacred to the memory of Siclone Clark. + + +THE END + + + + +BY FREDERIC REMINGTON + + +SUNDOWN LEFLARE. + +Short Stories. Illustrations by the Author. + +Sundown Leflare is not idealized in Mr. Remington's handling of him. He +is presented just as he is, with his good-humor and shrewdness and +indomitable pluck, and also with all his superstition and his knavery. +But he is a very realistic, very human character, and one whom we would +see and read more of hereafter.--_Boston Journal._ + + +CROOKED TRAILS. + +Illustrated by the Author. + +Mr. Remington as author and artist presents a perfect +combination.--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ + +Picture and text go to form a whole which the reader could not well +grasp were it not for the supplementary quality of each in its bearing +upon the other.--_Albany Journal._ + + +PONY TRACKS. + +Illustrated by the Author. + +This is a spicy account of real experiences among Indians and cowboys on +the plains and in the mountains, and will be read with a great deal of +interest by all who are fond of an adventurous life. No better +illustrated book of frontier adventure has been published.--_Boston +Journal._ + + + + +BY RICHARD HARDING DAVIS + + +A YEAR FROM A REPORTER'S NOTE-BOOK. + +Illustrated by R. CATON WOODVILLE, T. de THULSTRUP, and FREDERIC +REMINGTON, and from Photographs taken by the Author. + +THREE GRINGOS IN VENEZUELA AND CENTRAL AMERICA. + +Illustrated. + + +ABOUT PARIS. + +Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON. + + +THE PRINCESS ALINE. + +Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON. + + +THE EXILES, AND OTHER STORIES. + +Illustrated. + + +VAN BIBBER, AND OTHERS. + +Illustrated by C. D. GIBSON + + +THE WEST FROM A CAR-WINDOW. + +Illustrated by FREDERIC REMINGTON. + +OUR ENGLISH COUSINS. + +Illustrated. + + +THE RULERS OF THE MEDITERRANEAN. + +Illustrated. + +Mr. Davis has eyes to see, is not a bit afraid to tell what he sees, and +is essentially good natured.... Mr. Davis's faculty of appreciation and +enjoyment is fresh and strong: he makes vivid pictures.--_Outlook_, N. +Y. + +Richard Harding Davis never writes a short story that he does not prove +himself a master of the art.--_Chicago Times._ + + + + +BY JOHN FOX, Jr. + + +A MOUNTAIN EUROPA. + +With Portrait. + + The story is well worth careful reading for its literary art + and its truth to a phase of little-known American life.--_Omaha + Bee_. + + +THE KENTUCKIANS. + +A Novel. Illustrated by W. T. SMEDLEY. + + This, Mr. Fox's first long story, sets him well in view, and + distinguishes him as at once original and sound. He takes the + right view of the story-writer's function and the wholesale + view of what the art of fiction can rightfully + attempt.--_Independent_, N. Y. + + +"HELL FER SARTAIN," and Other Stories. + + Mr. Fox has made a great success of his pictures of the rude + life and primitive passions of the people of the mountains of + West Virginia and Kentucky. His sketches are short but graphic; + he paints his scenes and his hill people in terse and simple + phrases and makes them genuinely picturesque, giving us + glimpses of life that are distinctively American.--_Detroit + Free Press_. + + +A CUMBERLAND VENDETTA, and Other Stories. + +Illustrated. + + These stories are tempestuously alive, and sweep the + heart-strings with a master-hand.--_Watchman_, Boston. + + + + +BY FRANK R. STOCKTON + + +THE ASSOCIATE HERMITS. + +A Novel. Illustrated by A. B. FROST. + + If there is a more droll or more delightful writer now living + than Mr. Frank R. Stockton we should be slow to make his + acquaintance, on the ground that the limit of safety might be + passed.... Mr. Stockton's humor asserts itself admirably, and + the story is altogether enjoyable.--_Independent_, N. Y. + + The interest never flags, and there is nothing intermittent + about the sparkling humor.--_Philadelphia Press_. + + +THE GREAT STONE OF SARDIS. + +A Novel. Illustrated by PETER NEWELL. + + The scene of Mr. Stockton's novel is laid in the twentieth + century, which is imagined as the culmination of our era of + science and invention. The main episodes are a journey to the + centre of the earth by means of a pit bored by an automatic + cartridge, and a journey to the North Pole beneath the ice of + the Polar Seas. These adventures Mr. Stockton describes with + such simplicity and conviction that the reader is apt to take + the story in all seriousness until he suddenly runs into some + gigantic pleasantry of the kind that was unknown before Mr. + Stockton began writing, and realizes that the novel is a grave + and elaborate bit of fooling, based upon the scientific fads of + the day. The book is richly illustrated by Peter Newell, the + one artist of modern times who is suited to interpret Mr. + Stockton's characters and situations. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Nerve of Foley, by Frank H. 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