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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..042d5b2 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #67496 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/67496) diff --git a/old/67496-0.txt b/old/67496-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c4edbb2..0000000 --- a/old/67496-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,849 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Over the Wire, by Eugene Jones - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Over the Wire - -Author: Eugene Jones - -Release Date: February 25, 2022 [eBook #67496] - -Language: English - -Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark. This file was produced from - images generously made available by The Internet Archive. - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE WIRE *** - - - Over the Wire - - By Eugene Jones - - -Snow and ice on that mountain. Nothing but snow. The wind drove it -with a howl against the windows, where it stuck on the warm panes. -Sometimes I could just make out the blur of the semaphore lights and -sometimes I couldn’t. All day the blizzard had dumped its swirling -load about us, and now, when night closed down, the storm took the -tower in its teeth, shaking it like you’ve seen a dog shake a rat. - -Oh, we were warm and cozy enough with our stove red hot. Which was -more than Donaldson, the agent at Hastings, could say. His wire talk -was rotten, chattery, and he told us he’d run out of coal. Looked like -he’d freeze to death, according to him. But Big Ben prophesied grimly -that Donaldson could take care of himself, so we might as well save -our worries. - -I don’t suppose you ever heard of Big Ben, but that is your loss. -Every soul on the Mountain Division knew him. His Morse snapped out -like a track torpedo, fast, too, but accurate, staccato, with a smooth -flow as if a machine had hold of the key. Dots and dashes were part of -him, for, after years of it, he could express himself better that way. - -Sort of feeling for the language, I suppose. I’ve seen the same gift -since, but never to the extent Ben possessed it. Why, he could come -mighty close to telling the color of your eyes over a telegraph-wire. - -He and I had worked tower BB-17 on the Mountain Division for three -years, and during that time I never saw him flurried. Once a freight, -running extra, got by us—dispatcher tangled up his train-sheet. Forty -minutes later a relay came into stop her or she’d meet 87 on the big -grade. - -It takes just forty minutes to run from our tower to Hastings, further -down the line. Hastings is the last station with a siding before the -grade. In other words, the freight ought to have been getting her O. -K. from Hastings right then. - -Was Ben excited? Not one little bit. - -Donaldson caught his first call. Clear as a bell it was. And Donaldson -had time to flag the freight. - -But the particular night I’m speaking of, my side partner appeared a -bit uneasy, which was enough to set my think-tank working. He’d drop -down alongside the key for a moment; then he’d wander over to the -windows, trying to pierce the blizzard. - -He was a big man with a hearty laugh and a mouth full of teeth and a -whiskered chin full of determination. His red hair, as brilliant as -the glow in his corn-cob pipe, usually stood on end. But his eyes were -gray and pleasant; that is, generally they were. Yet I’ve noticed ’em -hard as rocks, drilling into you with a gleam in ’em like you see -jumping across a spark-gap. Right now they were anxious. - -Perhaps that wasn’t so strange, either, for all day long, from the -length of the division, had come bunches of trouble. A snowshed out -here; a freight ditched there; hell to pay everywhere. - -Wires were down, too. Not a word could we get below Hastings or north -of the junction. Toward night every siding was overflowing with -deadheaded rolling stock. You see, the big grade—it’s four and a half -per cent in places—handicaps us because even our best oil-burners -won’t haul much tonnage on it in a blizzard. They can’t make steam. - -And this particular frolic of the elements promised to beat anything -that had struck us in twenty years. At 10 P.M. the chief dispatcher -ordered the line cleared for the night, barring No. 77 southbound, -which was to make her run as usual. I reckon you’ve heard of that -train—the Cumberland Limited, all steel and solid Pullman? She was to -follow a snow-plow, and headquarters gossip filtering to us hinted she -might find the blizzard a bit of a teaser. - -Suddenly Big Ben turned on me. “Jim,” said he, “I don’t like it. -What’s the old man thinking of to let 77 through? Have you heard what -she’s carrying to-night?” - -I allowed I hadn’t. - -“Well, there’s something like one hundred thousand in gold in her -express-car. Government consignment. I got it straight. What a chance -for a hold-up! Remember that cut below Hastings?” He shook his massive -head dubiously. “It’s been done before.” - -As if to emphasize his words, the storm swooped down with renewed -energy until the tower swayed like a lighthouse. Great guns! how the -wind shrieked at us. How the snow thudded against the windows. And -when you _hear_ snow, you know there’s a double-headed gale behind it. - -About that time our call came over the wire: “N-H, N-H, N-H.” - -As Ben jumped in, I put down my paper to listen. I find it’s a good -thing to pay pretty strict attention to anything on a night like that. -It keeps you from seeing shadows that aren’t there, and hearing sounds -which your common sense tells you must be the wind. - -Presently came the professional dot and dash of Donaldson down at -Hastings. Now Donaldson, next to Big Ben, was a star operator, and the -two of ’em could talk better and with more satisfaction over a stretch -of singing wire than if they were sitting together in a parlor. - -Even _I_ knew Donaldson’s style, although I wasn’t more than middling -expert. There were tricks in his stuff such as shortening his o’s, but -his Morse ran mighty smooth. I read off the message to myself. - -“Freezing cold down here, Ben. Lonely, too. Damn lonely. What do you -get on 77?” - -The big man at the table cut in: “Brace up; 77 on time. Nothing to -bother her to-night except the storm. All freight deadheaded.” - -That seemed to satisfy Donaldson, for there was a long silence broken -only by the whine of the wind and the _thud_, _thud_ of driven snow. I -had just picked up the paper again when “N-H, N-H, N-H,” snapped at -us. - -The crispness of dots and dashes suggested excitement. Ben -acknowledged deliberately, but when he closed the wire I saw a -narrowing of his eyes. - -Donaldson was in a hurry. “Going to quit to-morrow,” he began. “Can’t -stand this joint. Say, there’s two of you up there. You’re lucky. Old -man will have to come across with an assistant or I quit. Do you know -you’re the nearest white man to me? Just me alone here. No night for a -man to be alone. Hold on, I think I hear somebody in the waiting-room. -Maybe I’ll have company.” - -But he opened up again the next moment with: “Good Lord, must be going -off my nut. Nobody in the waiting-room. It’s the wind. I tell you this -place is like the north pole. If I could only hear a fire crackling. -Say, there it goes again. No, I’m way off; that’s a fact. I’ll have to -look around. Do you notice anything funny in the wind? I seem to. Why -the devil didn’t they put shades on these windows? What’s the matter -with me anyhow?” - -Ben went back at him, calm as a summer’s day. “Hold on, old man; take -some whisky. It’s your nerves. Get a grip on yourself.” - -“All right,” answered Donaldson, his wire-talk becoming calmer. “Yes, -I’ll take the whisky. Let me know about 77.” - -That was all for a while, but Ben eyed me through the fumes of his -pipe. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “Not a bit. Never knew Donaldson -to wildcat before. Wonder if there _is_ anything wrong?” - -I didn’t say what was on my mind, for the shriek of the storm -interrupted. So we just sat still and looked at each other and -wondered what it would be like if either of _us_ weren’t there. - -Somehow I couldn’t get rid of the picture of Hastings station—a little -frame building backed up against a cliff, with a siding cutting in -behind it and the banked curve of the main line stretching away before -it. A few farmers used the station, but a water-tank was its real -excuse for existence. - -I could see how the snow had half-buried it, and how Donaldson, -veteran that he was, might hear strange sounds in the gale. I could -see a great many things right then, but the sight wasn’t pleasant. - -Snow, snow and more snow, and icy rails and low, hurrying clouds you -felt were brushing against the tower. “Listen!” I snapped. - -Ben jumped to his feet. “This won’t do. Here, you quit listening or -you’ll be as bad as Donaldson.” Then he came over to me. “I guess it’s -just as well there’re two of us,” he said very quietly. “Try the -junction for a report on 77.” - -I took the key with a sense of awe—only a couple of slim wires between -us and the world, and a thousand chances for the storm to tear ’em -down. But if we felt it, what about Donaldson? What about Donaldson, -anyway? - -The junction answered after a bit, though there was no life in the -sending. “McFlin,” nodded Ben. “I know his style. Ask him whether the -orders for 77 stand.” - -I did. - -“Sure,” clicked McFlin; “77 on time. Pass her through. Rotten night, -isn’t it? They got a plow leading the limited like a blind baby. -So-long.” - -That was at eleven two. Twenty minutes later Donaldson started after -us again, but it was a chattering, wild Donaldson; a new Donaldson who -tumbled his letters over each other. - -“N-H, N-H, N-H,” he stuttered, even after I had opened the wire. “N-H, -N-H.” - -I sent him a string of Rs a mile long before he acknowledged. Then: - -“What’s the matter with you up there?” he clicked. “Gone to sleep? But -you can’t sleep now; you’ve got to talk to me or I’ll be ready for the -queer house. Something is walking up and down outside my window. I’ve -seen it twice. It can’t be a man, and animals don’t prowl about in a -storm like this. Listen to that wind. I tell you it’s walking around -the station. What am I saying? Do you believe in ghosts? It was in the -waiting-room a while back, but it got out before I had a shot at it. -What would you do if you were down here alone, snowed in like a damned -Eskimo? What would you do if it started to walk—” - -Big Ben strode across the room. “Give me the key,” he thundered. His -eyes were hard gray now, like rock, with little points of fire in -them, and it seemed he would smash the instrument as he crashed down -with Donaldson’s call. - -“Stop that!” went the dots and dashes, clear cut, fast, but Lordy, -they had a punch behind ’em. “Pull yourself together. Take some more -whisky. Wake up. Remember you’re an operator. You’ve got to handle the -Limited to-night. No more of that. You know damn well nothing is -walking around down there except you. Rub some snow in your face. Wake -up, I say. I’ll talk to you as much as you like, but no more spook -stuff.” - -“You’re right,” came the slower response. “I won’t bother you any -more. Nevertheless, it’s walking around here. Maybe I’ll get a shot at -it. I’ll let you know if I do.” - -That was all, and Ben and I looked across the table into each other’s -eyes. “Well?” I questioned. - -He shook himself as if trying to get rid of something clinging. “Oh, -Donaldson is getting old,” he muttered. “It’s lonely down there, and -his fire’s out. That’s what I make of it. - -“When the wind howls, and you’re on a night shift in a God-forsaken -spot like Hastings, you’re mighty apt to hear and see a little more -’an you’ve any business to.” - -The next word that came flashing over the wire left no doubt in our -minds. Either Donaldson was clean crazy or—well, he _must_ be crazy! - -“Ever see a face half black and half white?” stuttered our instrument. -“I had a shot at it. It’s still walking.” - -Ben waited an instant then sent “J-J,” Donaldson’s call, steady for -three minutes. But he might as well have opened the window and yelled -out into the storm. The wire was either dead or Hastings wouldn’t -answer. - -Presently McFlin at the junction got busy. “Just O. K.’d 77,” he said. -“Devilish night. The Limited looked like a hunk of the mountain on -wheels. Bet the snow on the car-roofs gets scraped off on the top of -the tunnels. Happy dreams.” - -But we weren’t to indulge in any happy dreams for some time to come. -Hardly had McFlin shut up when “N-H, N-H, N-H” called Ben back. -“Lord,” he groaned, “hear that style? It’s Donaldson, but what’s -happened to him? I hate to listen to it.” - -Dull, lifeless, flat, came the dots and dashes from Hastings. “No -use,” clicked Donaldson. “This hide-and-seek is beyond me. Its face is -half black and half white, and bullets don’t worry it. I’m a gone -duck. Never mind me. Anyhow, hell is warm and not as lonesome as this. -I’m freezing, and that’s no ghost story.” - -“For God’s sake,” Ben’s reply flew forth, “can that stuff. Pull -yourself together, old man. Forget the face or whatever it is; 77’s on -time. Hold hard.” - -“Sure,” agreed Donaldson wearily, “I’ll handle the Limited. How’s the -storm up there?” - -“Quitting,” lied Ben, and went to the window. - -Then followed an hour of silence, with only the shriek of the wind and -the thud of snow. I reckon the two of us smoked considerable tobacco -during that hour, and we played a few games of checkers, too, but our -minds wandered. - -When at last we heard the shrill squeal of 77’s whistle above the -noise of the blizzard, we felt happy. Just to know there were other -people near us—believe me, that was some relief! - -Far off up the line we could make out the headlight of the Limited -like a blinking, misty moon creeping toward us. Ben glanced at his -semaphore levers. Down she bore on us, the din of her drivers muffled -by snow. - -There was the thunder of moving tons, a blast of cinders against the -tower windows, and a snaky line of black as the Pullmans flashed past -under their white-caps. We watched her red tail-lights around the -curve. - -“J-J, J-J, J-J,” clicked Ben, back at the table. And directly Hastings -answered in the same lifeless style. - -“Limited just passed O. K.,” went on my side partner. “How are you -feeling?” - -Donaldson’s wire-talk was worse than ever. “Fine,” he stuttered. -“Maybe I can hold out. The damn thing’s always near me. It’s cold -here. I’ve got my feet on the stove. Say, this stove is a joke. It’s -so empty it’s going to cave in pretty soon. Wait a minute, let me try -another shot.” - -Nothing more. Not another word, though we took turns at the key. And -when Ben relighted his pipe I didn’t like the look on his face. “Jim,” -he began, “there’s things in this world none of us can understand. I -reckon after all that maybe, I misjudged Donaldson; perhaps he’s up -against one of ’em.” - -“Quit!” I bellowed. “You watch yourself or you’ll be splitting a -switch, too. As you said a while back, Donaldson’s nervous and cold. -That’s what’s the matter with him; nothing else.” - -Ben, mumbling a reply, turned again to the window. If possible the -storm was worse. - -I don’t exactly remember how it happened; I must have dozed off about -then, being pretty tuckered out. Anyhow, the first thing I knew Ben -was shaking the life out of me. I’ll never forget the expression of -his face as I opened my eyes. - -His eyes were all red, his hands were working, his jaw set. “Wake up, -Jim,” he hissed. “I heard it, too. - -“No,” he went on as I instinctively looked toward the window. “Not -there; over the wire. Listen!” - -I listened, but for a long time nothing broke the vibrating stillness -of the tower. And I got to thinking it was another case of nerves. -Then, Father above us! may I never again hear such a sound! - -Our instrument started to whisper. You laugh, do you? But if you’d -been there you wouldn’t have laughed. We went over to the table on -tiptoe, hardly daring to breathe. The little steel bar trembled; moved -down; snapped back, barely closing the contact. - -It was like a dying man framing words he couldn’t utter. I followed in -my mind the course of the single, drumming wire over the trestles, -through the ravines, under the mountains. What manner of thing was -pressing the key at the other end? - -Ben dropped forward with an oath and pillowed his elbows on the table -as if his nearness might aid him. “Listen!” he begged. “Oh, Jim, -_listen_!” - -Presently the instrument quivered again, but this time the impulse was -stronger. Horribly flaccid, monotonously regular, like the labored -effort of an amateur, came the message which shall forever sear my -memory with unspeakable horror. - -“God—in—heaven—help me. I—can’t—stand—this. They—chained—cross— -ties—to—the—rails. They—will—ditch—the—Limited. I’m—done—for. -Hell—is—nearer—now. Help. Dear—God—help—me—” - -That was all. Ben tore at the key, sending out into the night, “J-J, -J-J, J-J,” until my head swam. - -But no response came; not the least flutter. Only agonizing, storm -shrieking silence. - -Then he gave it up and staggered to his feet. His face was as gray as -slate. “Jim,” he gasped, “Donaldson is dead! I know it. It was a dying -man who sent that message.” - -I grabbed him by the shoulders. “You fool!” I yelled. “He can’t be -dead—he sent it. Don’t you understand? They’re going to wreck the -Limited. Donaldson was telling us. He _may_ be wounded. We’ve got to -get to him.” - -Slowly, as if his body was awakening from sleep, the muscles in his -shoulders under my hand tightened. “Sure, I get you,” he whispered. -And before I knew what he was doing, he shook me off, rushing blindly -for the stairs. “Come on, Jim. For God’s sake, hurry!” he called. -“Bring my gun and some torpedoes. It’s only five miles by the road; -thirty down the mountain by the track. Let’s try the car—” - -I stopped long enough to be sure the revolver we kept in a drawer was -loaded, stuffed some torpedoes in my pocket, and followed him. Out -into the gale he sped to where he kept his little second-hand, -mud-spattered gas-wagon. I had always kidded him about it, laughed at -it; but now I prayed. - -Yes, funny when you think of it, me praying! But I did—prayed it would -run; prayed there was gas and oil in it. - -Once away from the lee of the building, the storm wrapped around us, -flinging the snow in our faces, making us gasp for breath. We were -taking desperate chances and breaking all rules—this leaving a tower -vacant, but what could we do? What in God’s name could we do? - -When I caught up with Ben he was cranking the engine desperately. I -propped the shanty door open, though the blast of wind threatened to -fairly tear it from its hinges. - -Fortunately the radiator of the car had antifreezing mixture in it. -After an agonizing moment, the engine gave a couple of disgusted -coughs and died. But Ben went right on. He spun that thing till I was -dizzy as I sat with my hand on the throttle, feeding it raw gas. - -When there seemed no chance left, and I could see the Limited a -burning, blackened mass, and hear the cries of the injured, the engine -started, missing like thunder, to be sure. Ben leaped in beside me and -let in his clutch. - -Once beyond the shanty our headlights ended in a whirling bank of -snow, and the cold stabbed like a driven nail. But the engine was -running better now. - -How my side partner found the road, or how he kept that rickety piece -of junk from chucking us down a ravine I’ll never know. But he did. -Yes, by the grace of the Lord, he did. - -Pitching like a ship in a storm, sinking now and then up to our hubs, -we jounced on down that mountain. What everlasting miles of emptiness! -What biting pain as our ears and hands and noses turned red, then -white. - -Once we heard the shriek of the Limited below us on the grade; once we -saw the flash of her furnace door. Seconds turned into minutes; -minutes into hours. Would we be in time? I set my teeth and prayed -some more. - -Ah, we had hit the last stretch and through the smother we could see -the semaphore lights of Hastings station. Also the light in the -building itself. Our car snorted and groaned as Ben fed it the gas, -skidding to the edge of a precipice or flinging us half out of our -seats, but we never thought of that. - -And now came the wail of the Limited’s whistle, this time above us. -Her headlight flickered across the cut, touching the station with -uncertain fingers. The semaphore was set green. - -I shivered, but not from cold. If only we had half a chance, but the -everlasting snow—how it clung to our wheels! And under it our -tire-chains spun gratingly in red clay which flecked the white of the -road like blood. - -Bearing down on Hastings station, gathering speed with each pound of -her drivers, thundered the Limited. We were playing the passage of a -minute against a pile of cross-ties—and the forfeit was death! - -Now we reached the nearest point to the right-of-way, and as we jerked -to a halt, a black figure appeared on the depot platform against the -light. I saw the flash of a gun and heard a bullet sing past. - -But Ben paid no heed. Throwing himself from the car, he floundered -over to the track. I ran toward the station, firing as I went. Once I -looked back. Ben was kneeling down, adjusting torpedoes under the very -pilot of the plow. - -Now there isn’t any use of my explaining how the Limited roared by, -her engineer satisfied with the green of the semaphore; nor how he -gave her the air when the torpedoes warned him. - -Nor, for that matter, of the futile pursuit of the bandits who had -intended to ditch her. All that came out in the morning paper. If I -remember, there was even a picture of the pile of cross-ties chained -to the track. - -The fact that will interest you is what we discovered in Hastings -station. Without bothering to explain to 77’s wondering crew, we -dashed into the waiting-room and threw open the door of the ticket -office. - -At the table sat Donaldson. He was stiff and rigid, and from an ugly -blotched hole in his neck there crept a frozen stream of blood. His -right hand still rested on the telegraph-key. - -“Good God!” I muttered. “Dead! He never moved after he was shot.” - -And then, somehow feeling Ben’s eyes upon me, I looked at him. His -smile was ghastly. - -“Sure?” he said. “I told you so back in the tower. He never moved -after he was shot? Then what about that message? How did he know about -the cross-ties?” - -“Shut up!” I shrieked. “Here, let’s get him out of this. We’ll go down -on 77. I’m through!” - - -[Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the January 31, 1920 issue -of All-Story Weekly magazine.] - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE WIRE *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, -and may not be used if you charge for an eBook, except by following -the terms of the trademark license, including paying royalties for use -of the Project Gutenberg trademark. 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Thus, we do not -necessarily keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper -edition. - -Most people start at our website which has the main PG search -facility: www.gutenberg.org - -This website includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, -including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary -Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to -subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/old/67496-0.zip b/old/67496-0.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 8b28312..0000000 --- a/old/67496-0.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/67496-h.zip b/old/67496-h.zip Binary files differdeleted file mode 100644 index 308b42e..0000000 --- a/old/67496-h.zip +++ /dev/null diff --git a/old/67496-h/67496-h.htm b/old/67496-h/67496-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index b630686..0000000 --- a/old/67496-h/67496-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,961 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<head> - <meta charset="UTF-8" /> - <title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Over the Wire, by Eugene Jones</title> - <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover" /> - <style> - body { margin-left:8%; margin-right:8%; } - p { text-indent:1.15em; margin-top:0.1em; margin-bottom:0.1em; text-align:justify; } - .ce { text-align:center; text-indent:0; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:auto; margin-right:auto; } - .wi001 { margin-left:12%; width:75% } - .x-ebookmaker .wi001 { margin-left:17%; width:65% } - .mt01 { margin-top:1em; } - .mb01 { margin-bottom:1em; } - h1 { text-align:center; font-weight:normal; font-size:1.4em; margin-top:1em; } - .tn { background-color:linen; font-size:0.8em; border:1px solid silver; margin-top:1.8em; margin-left:8%; margin-bottom:1em; width:80%; padding:0.4em 2%; } - </style> -</head> -<body> -<p style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Over the Wire, by Eugene Jones</p> -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Over the Wire</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Eugene Jones</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: February 25, 2022 [eBook #67496]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>Produced by: Roger Frank and Sue Clark. This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive.</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE WIRE ***</div> -<div class='ce'> -<h1 style='margin-bottom:0em;'>Over the Wire </h1> -<div style='font-size:1.1em;margin-bottom:2em;'>By Eugene Jones </div> -</div> -<div id='i001' class='mt01 mb01 wi001'> - <img src='images/illus-fpc.jpg' alt='' style='width:100%' /> -</div> -<p>Snow and ice on that mountain. Nothing but snow. The wind drove it -with a howl against the windows, where it stuck on the warm panes. -Sometimes I could just make out the blur of the semaphore lights and -sometimes I couldn’t. All day the blizzard had dumped its swirling -load about us, and now, when night closed down, the storm took the -tower in its teeth, shaking it like you’ve seen a dog shake a rat.</p> - -<p>Oh, we were warm and cozy enough with our stove red hot. Which was -more than Donaldson, the agent at Hastings, could say. His wire talk -was rotten, chattery, and he told us he’d run out of coal. Looked like -he’d freeze to death, according to him. But Big Ben prophesied grimly -that Donaldson could take care of himself, so we might as well save -our worries.</p> - -<p>I don’t suppose you ever heard of Big Ben, but that is your loss. -Every soul on the Mountain Division knew him. His Morse snapped out -like a track torpedo, fast, too, but accurate, staccato, with a smooth -flow as if a machine had hold of the key. Dots and dashes were part of -him, for, after years of it, he could express himself better that way.</p> - -<p>Sort of feeling for the language, I suppose. I’ve seen the same gift -since, but never to the extent Ben possessed it. Why, he could come -mighty close to telling the color of your eyes over a telegraph-wire.</p> - -<p>He and I had worked tower BB-17 on the Mountain Division for three -years, and during that time I never saw him flurried. Once a freight, -running extra, got by us—dispatcher tangled up his train-sheet. Forty -minutes later a relay came into stop her or she’d meet 87 on the big -grade.</p> - -<p>It takes just forty minutes to run from our tower to Hastings, further -down the line. Hastings is the last station with a siding before the -grade. In other words, the freight ought to have been getting her O. -K. from Hastings right then.</p> - -<p>Was Ben excited? Not one little bit.</p> - -<p>Donaldson caught his first call. Clear as a bell it was. And Donaldson -had time to flag the freight.</p> - -<p>But the particular night I’m speaking of, my side partner appeared a -bit uneasy, which was enough to set my think-tank working. He’d drop -down alongside the key for a moment; then he’d wander over to the -windows, trying to pierce the blizzard.</p> - -<p>He was a big man with a hearty laugh and a mouth full of teeth and a -whiskered chin full of determination. His red hair, as brilliant as -the glow in his corn-cob pipe, usually stood on end. But his eyes were -gray and pleasant; that is, generally they were. Yet I’ve noticed ’em -hard as rocks, drilling into you with a gleam in ’em like you see -jumping across a spark-gap. Right now they were anxious.</p> - -<p>Perhaps that wasn’t so strange, either, for all day long, from the -length of the division, had come bunches of trouble. A snowshed out -here; a freight ditched there; hell to pay everywhere.</p> - -<p>Wires were down, too. Not a word could we get below Hastings or north -of the junction. Toward night every siding was overflowing with -deadheaded rolling stock. You see, the big grade—it’s four and a half -per cent in places—handicaps us because even our best oil-burners -won’t haul much tonnage on it in a blizzard. They can’t make steam.</p> - -<p>And this particular frolic of the elements promised to beat anything -that had struck us in twenty years. At 10 P.M. the chief dispatcher -ordered the line cleared for the night, barring No. 77 southbound, -which was to make her run as usual. I reckon you’ve heard of that -train—the Cumberland Limited, all steel and solid Pullman? She was to -follow a snow-plow, and headquarters gossip filtering to us hinted she -might find the blizzard a bit of a teaser.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Big Ben turned on me. “Jim,” said he, “I don’t like it. -What’s the old man thinking of to let 77 through? Have you heard what -she’s carrying to-night?”</p> - -<p>I allowed I hadn’t.</p> - -<p>“Well, there’s something like one hundred thousand in gold in her -express-car. Government consignment. I got it straight. What a chance -for a hold-up! Remember that cut below Hastings?” He shook his massive -head dubiously. “It’s been done before.”</p> - -<p>As if to emphasize his words, the storm swooped down with renewed -energy until the tower swayed like a lighthouse. Great guns! how the -wind shrieked at us. How the snow thudded against the windows. And -when you <i>hear</i> snow, you know there’s a double-headed gale behind it.</p> - -<p>About that time our call came over the wire: “N-H, N-H, N-H.”</p> - -<p>As Ben jumped in, I put down my paper to listen. I find it’s a good -thing to pay pretty strict attention to anything on a night like that. -It keeps you from seeing shadows that aren’t there, and hearing sounds -which your common sense tells you must be the wind.</p> - -<p>Presently came the professional dot and dash of Donaldson down at -Hastings. Now Donaldson, next to Big Ben, was a star operator, and the -two of ’em could talk better and with more satisfaction over a stretch -of singing wire than if they were sitting together in a parlor.</p> - -<p>Even <i>I</i> knew Donaldson’s style, although I wasn’t more than middling -expert. There were tricks in his stuff such as shortening his o’s, but -his Morse ran mighty smooth. I read off the message to myself.</p> - -<p>“Freezing cold down here, Ben. Lonely, too. Damn lonely. What do you -get on 77?”</p> - -<p>The big man at the table cut in: “Brace up; 77 on time. Nothing to -bother her to-night except the storm. All freight deadheaded.”</p> - -<p>That seemed to satisfy Donaldson, for there was a long silence broken -only by the whine of the wind and the <i>thud</i>, <i>thud</i> of driven snow. I -had just picked up the paper again when “N-H, N-H, N-H,” snapped at -us.</p> - -<p>The crispness of dots and dashes suggested excitement. Ben -acknowledged deliberately, but when he closed the wire I saw a -narrowing of his eyes.</p> - -<p>Donaldson was in a hurry. “Going to quit to-morrow,” he began. “Can’t -stand this joint. Say, there’s two of you up there. You’re lucky. Old -man will have to come across with an assistant or I quit. Do you know -you’re the nearest white man to me? Just me alone here. No night for a -man to be alone. Hold on, I think I hear somebody in the waiting-room. -Maybe I’ll have company.”</p> - -<p>But he opened up again the next moment with: “Good Lord, must be going -off my nut. Nobody in the waiting-room. It’s the wind. I tell you this -place is like the north pole. If I could only hear a fire crackling. -Say, there it goes again. No, I’m way off; that’s a fact. I’ll have to -look around. Do you notice anything funny in the wind? I seem to. Why -the devil didn’t they put shades on these windows? What’s the matter -with me anyhow?”</p> - -<p>Ben went back at him, calm as a summer’s day. “Hold on, old man; take -some whisky. It’s your nerves. Get a grip on yourself.”</p> - -<p>“All right,” answered Donaldson, his wire-talk becoming calmer. “Yes, -I’ll take the whisky. Let me know about 77.”</p> - -<p>That was all for a while, but Ben eyed me through the fumes of his -pipe. “I don’t like it,” he muttered. “Not a bit. Never knew Donaldson -to wildcat before. Wonder if there <i>is</i> anything wrong?”</p> - -<p>I didn’t say what was on my mind, for the shriek of the storm -interrupted. So we just sat still and looked at each other and -wondered what it would be like if either of <i>us</i> weren’t there.</p> - -<p>Somehow I couldn’t get rid of the picture of Hastings station—a little -frame building backed up against a cliff, with a siding cutting in -behind it and the banked curve of the main line stretching away before -it. A few farmers used the station, but a water-tank was its real -excuse for existence.</p> - -<p>I could see how the snow had half-buried it, and how Donaldson, -veteran that he was, might hear strange sounds in the gale. I could -see a great many things right then, but the sight wasn’t pleasant.</p> - -<p>Snow, snow and more snow, and icy rails and low, hurrying clouds you -felt were brushing against the tower. “Listen!” I snapped.</p> - -<p>Ben jumped to his feet. “This won’t do. Here, you quit listening or -you’ll be as bad as Donaldson.” Then he came over to me. “I guess it’s -just as well there’re two of us,” he said very quietly. “Try the -junction for a report on 77.”</p> - -<p>I took the key with a sense of awe—only a couple of slim wires between -us and the world, and a thousand chances for the storm to tear ’em -down. But if we felt it, what about Donaldson? What about Donaldson, -anyway?</p> - -<p>The junction answered after a bit, though there was no life in the -sending. “McFlin,” nodded Ben. “I know his style. Ask him whether the -orders for 77 stand.”</p> - -<p>I did.</p> - -<p>“Sure,” clicked McFlin; “77 on time. Pass her through. Rotten night, -isn’t it? They got a plow leading the limited like a blind baby. -So-long.”</p> - -<p>That was at eleven two. Twenty minutes later Donaldson started after -us again, but it was a chattering, wild Donaldson; a new Donaldson who -tumbled his letters over each other.</p> - -<p>“N-H, N-H, N-H,” he stuttered, even after I had opened the wire. “N-H, -N-H.”</p> - -<p>I sent him a string of Rs a mile long before he acknowledged. Then:</p> - -<p>“What’s the matter with you up there?” he clicked. “Gone to sleep? But -you can’t sleep now; you’ve got to talk to me or I’ll be ready for the -queer house. Something is walking up and down outside my window. I’ve -seen it twice. It can’t be a man, and animals don’t prowl about in a -storm like this. Listen to that wind. I tell you it’s walking around -the station. What am I saying? Do you believe in ghosts? It was in the -waiting-room a while back, but it got out before I had a shot at it. -What would you do if you were down here alone, snowed in like a damned -Eskimo? What would you do if it started to walk—”</p> - -<p>Big Ben strode across the room. “Give me the key,” he thundered. His -eyes were hard gray now, like rock, with little points of fire in -them, and it seemed he would smash the instrument as he crashed down -with Donaldson’s call.</p> - -<p>“Stop that!” went the dots and dashes, clear cut, fast, but Lordy, -they had a punch behind ’em. “Pull yourself together. Take some more -whisky. Wake up. Remember you’re an operator. You’ve got to handle the -Limited to-night. No more of that. You know damn well nothing is -walking around down there except you. Rub some snow in your face. Wake -up, I say. I’ll talk to you as much as you like, but no more spook -stuff.”</p> - -<p>“You’re right,” came the slower response. “I won’t bother you any -more. Nevertheless, it’s walking around here. Maybe I’ll get a shot at -it. I’ll let you know if I do.”</p> - -<p>That was all, and Ben and I looked across the table into each other’s -eyes. “Well?” I questioned.</p> - -<p>He shook himself as if trying to get rid of something clinging. “Oh, -Donaldson is getting old,” he muttered. “It’s lonely down there, and -his fire’s out. That’s what I make of it.</p> - -<p>“When the wind howls, and you’re on a night shift in a God-forsaken -spot like Hastings, you’re mighty apt to hear and see a little more -’an you’ve any business to.”</p> - -<p>The next word that came flashing over the wire left no doubt in our -minds. Either Donaldson was clean crazy or—well, he <i>must</i> be crazy!</p> - -<p>“Ever see a face half black and half white?” stuttered our instrument. -“I had a shot at it. It’s still walking.”</p> - -<p>Ben waited an instant then sent “J-J,” Donaldson’s call, steady for -three minutes. But he might as well have opened the window and yelled -out into the storm. The wire was either dead or Hastings wouldn’t -answer.</p> - -<p>Presently McFlin at the junction got busy. “Just O. K.’d 77,” he said. -“Devilish night. The Limited looked like a hunk of the mountain on -wheels. Bet the snow on the car-roofs gets scraped off on the top of -the tunnels. Happy dreams.”</p> - -<p>But we weren’t to indulge in any happy dreams for some time to come. -Hardly had McFlin shut up when “N-H, N-H, N-H” called Ben back. -“Lord,” he groaned, “hear that style? It’s Donaldson, but what’s -happened to him? I hate to listen to it.”</p> - -<p>Dull, lifeless, flat, came the dots and dashes from Hastings. “No -use,” clicked Donaldson. “This hide-and-seek is beyond me. Its face is -half black and half white, and bullets don’t worry it. I’m a gone -duck. Never mind me. Anyhow, hell is warm and not as lonesome as this. -I’m freezing, and that’s no ghost story.”</p> - -<p>“For God’s sake,” Ben’s reply flew forth, “can that stuff. Pull -yourself together, old man. Forget the face or whatever it is; 77’s on -time. Hold hard.”</p> - -<p>“Sure,” agreed Donaldson wearily, “I’ll handle the Limited. How’s the -storm up there?”</p> - -<p>“Quitting,” lied Ben, and went to the window.</p> - -<p>Then followed an hour of silence, with only the shriek of the wind and -the thud of snow. I reckon the two of us smoked considerable tobacco -during that hour, and we played a few games of checkers, too, but our -minds wandered.</p> - -<p>When at last we heard the shrill squeal of 77’s whistle above the -noise of the blizzard, we felt happy. Just to know there were other -people near us—believe me, that was some relief!</p> - -<p>Far off up the line we could make out the headlight of the Limited -like a blinking, misty moon creeping toward us. Ben glanced at his -semaphore levers. Down she bore on us, the din of her drivers muffled -by snow.</p> - -<p>There was the thunder of moving tons, a blast of cinders against the -tower windows, and a snaky line of black as the Pullmans flashed past -under their white-caps. We watched her red tail-lights around the -curve.</p> - -<p>“J-J, J-J, J-J,” clicked Ben, back at the table. And directly Hastings -answered in the same lifeless style.</p> - -<p>“Limited just passed O. K.,” went on my side partner. “How are you -feeling?”</p> - -<p>Donaldson’s wire-talk was worse than ever. “Fine,” he stuttered. -“Maybe I can hold out. The damn thing’s always near me. It’s cold -here. I’ve got my feet on the stove. Say, this stove is a joke. It’s -so empty it’s going to cave in pretty soon. Wait a minute, let me try -another shot.”</p> - -<p>Nothing more. Not another word, though we took turns at the key. And -when Ben relighted his pipe I didn’t like the look on his face. “Jim,” -he began, “there’s things in this world none of us can understand. I -reckon after all that maybe, I misjudged Donaldson; perhaps he’s up -against one of ’em.”</p> - -<p>“Quit!” I bellowed. “You watch yourself or you’ll be splitting a -switch, too. As you said a while back, Donaldson’s nervous and cold. -That’s what’s the matter with him; nothing else.”</p> - -<p>Ben, mumbling a reply, turned again to the window. If possible the -storm was worse.</p> - -<p>I don’t exactly remember how it happened; I must have dozed off about -then, being pretty tuckered out. Anyhow, the first thing I knew Ben -was shaking the life out of me. I’ll never forget the expression of -his face as I opened my eyes.</p> - -<p>His eyes were all red, his hands were working, his jaw set. “Wake up, -Jim,” he hissed. “I heard it, too.</p> - -<p>“No,” he went on as I instinctively looked toward the window. “Not -there; over the wire. Listen!”</p> - -<p>I listened, but for a long time nothing broke the vibrating stillness -of the tower. And I got to thinking it was another case of nerves. -Then, Father above us! may I never again hear such a sound!</p> - -<p>Our instrument started to whisper. You laugh, do you? But if you’d -been there you wouldn’t have laughed. We went over to the table on -tiptoe, hardly daring to breathe. The little steel bar trembled; moved -down; snapped back, barely closing the contact.</p> - -<p>It was like a dying man framing words he couldn’t utter. I followed in -my mind the course of the single, drumming wire over the trestles, -through the ravines, under the mountains. What manner of thing was -pressing the key at the other end?</p> - -<p>Ben dropped forward with an oath and pillowed his elbows on the table -as if his nearness might aid him. “Listen!” he begged. “Oh, Jim, -<i>listen</i>!”</p> - -<p>Presently the instrument quivered again, but this time the impulse was -stronger. Horribly flaccid, monotonously regular, like the labored -effort of an amateur, came the message which shall forever sear my -memory with unspeakable horror.</p> - -<p>“God—in—heaven—help me. I—can’t—stand—this. -They—chained—cross—ties—to—the—rails. They—will—ditch—the —Limited. -I’m—done—for. Hell—is—nearer—now. Help. Dear—God—help—me—”</p> -<p>That was all. Ben tore at the key, sending out into the night, “J-J, -J-J, J-J,” until my head swam.</p> - -<p>But no response came; not the least flutter. Only agonizing, storm -shrieking silence.</p> - -<p>Then he gave it up and staggered to his feet. His face was as gray as -slate. “Jim,” he gasped, “Donaldson is dead! I know it. It was a dying -man who sent that message.”</p> - -<p>I grabbed him by the shoulders. “You fool!” I yelled. “He can’t be -dead—he sent it. Don’t you understand? They’re going to wreck the -Limited. Donaldson was telling us. He <i>may</i> be wounded. We’ve got to -get to him.”</p> - -<p>Slowly, as if his body was awakening from sleep, the muscles in his -shoulders under my hand tightened. “Sure, I get you,” he whispered. -And before I knew what he was doing, he shook me off, rushing blindly -for the stairs. “Come on, Jim. For God’s sake, hurry!” he called. -“Bring my gun and some torpedoes. It’s only five miles by the road; -thirty down the mountain by the track. Let’s try the car—”</p> - -<p>I stopped long enough to be sure the revolver we kept in a drawer was -loaded, stuffed some torpedoes in my pocket, and followed him. Out -into the gale he sped to where he kept his little second-hand, -mud-spattered gas-wagon. I had always kidded him about it, laughed at -it; but now I prayed.</p> - -<p>Yes, funny when you think of it, me praying! But I did—prayed it would -run; prayed there was gas and oil in it.</p> - -<p>Once away from the lee of the building, the storm wrapped around us, -flinging the snow in our faces, making us gasp for breath. We were -taking desperate chances and breaking all rules—this leaving a tower -vacant, but what could we do? What in God’s name could we do?</p> - -<p>When I caught up with Ben he was cranking the engine desperately. I -propped the shanty door open, though the blast of wind threatened to -fairly tear it from its hinges.</p> - -<p>Fortunately the radiator of the car had antifreezing mixture in it. -After an agonizing moment, the engine gave a couple of disgusted -coughs and died. But Ben went right on. He spun that thing till I was -dizzy as I sat with my hand on the throttle, feeding it raw gas.</p> - -<p>When there seemed no chance left, and I could see the Limited a -burning, blackened mass, and hear the cries of the injured, the engine -started, missing like thunder, to be sure. Ben leaped in beside me and -let in his clutch.</p> - -<p>Once beyond the shanty our headlights ended in a whirling bank of -snow, and the cold stabbed like a driven nail. But the engine was -running better now.</p> - -<p>How my side partner found the road, or how he kept that rickety piece -of junk from chucking us down a ravine I’ll never know. But he did. -Yes, by the grace of the Lord, he did.</p> - -<p>Pitching like a ship in a storm, sinking now and then up to our hubs, -we jounced on down that mountain. What everlasting miles of emptiness! -What biting pain as our ears and hands and noses turned red, then -white.</p> - -<p>Once we heard the shriek of the Limited below us on the grade; once we -saw the flash of her furnace door. Seconds turned into minutes; -minutes into hours. Would we be in time? I set my teeth and prayed -some more.</p> - -<p>Ah, we had hit the last stretch and through the smother we could see -the semaphore lights of Hastings station. Also the light in the -building itself. Our car snorted and groaned as Ben fed it the gas, -skidding to the edge of a precipice or flinging us half out of our -seats, but we never thought of that.</p> - -<p>And now came the wail of the Limited’s whistle, this time above us. -Her headlight flickered across the cut, touching the station with -uncertain fingers. The semaphore was set green.</p> - -<p>I shivered, but not from cold. If only we had half a chance, but the -everlasting snow—how it clung to our wheels! And under it our -tire-chains spun gratingly in red clay which flecked the white of the -road like blood.</p> - -<p>Bearing down on Hastings station, gathering speed with each pound of -her drivers, thundered the Limited. We were playing the passage of a -minute against a pile of cross-ties—and the forfeit was death!</p> - -<p>Now we reached the nearest point to the right-of-way, and as we jerked -to a halt, a black figure appeared on the depot platform against the -light. I saw the flash of a gun and heard a bullet sing past.</p> - -<p>But Ben paid no heed. Throwing himself from the car, he floundered -over to the track. I ran toward the station, firing as I went. Once I -looked back. Ben was kneeling down, adjusting torpedoes under the very -pilot of the plow.</p> - -<p>Now there isn’t any use of my explaining how the Limited roared by, -her engineer satisfied with the green of the semaphore; nor how he -gave her the air when the torpedoes warned him.</p> - -<p>Nor, for that matter, of the futile pursuit of the bandits who had -intended to ditch her. All that came out in the morning paper. If I -remember, there was even a picture of the pile of cross-ties chained -to the track.</p> - -<p>The fact that will interest you is what we discovered in Hastings -station. Without bothering to explain to 77’s wondering crew, we -dashed into the waiting-room and threw open the door of the ticket -office.</p> - -<p>At the table sat Donaldson. He was stiff and rigid, and from an ugly -blotched hole in his neck there crept a frozen stream of blood. His -right hand still rested on the telegraph-key.</p> - -<p>“Good God!” I muttered. “Dead! He never moved after he was shot.”</p> - -<p>And then, somehow feeling Ben’s eyes upon me, I looked at him. His -smile was ghastly.</p> - -<p>“Sure?” he said. “I told you so back in the tower. He never moved -after he was shot? Then what about that message? How did he know about -the cross-ties?”</p> - -<p>“Shut up!” I shrieked. “Here, let’s get him out of this. We’ll go down -on 77. I’m through!”</p> - -<div class="tn"> - <p style='text-indent:0'>Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in - the January 31, 1920 issue of <i>All-Story Weekly</i> magazine.</p> -</div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OVER THE WIRE ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg™ electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG™ -concept and trademark. 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