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The White Mail | Project Gutenberg
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<h2 id="pg-header-heading" title="" data-webtasks-id="02a29159-aef8-469d">The Project Gutenberg eBook of <span lang="en" data-webtasks-id="169f1459-bf13-45ea">The White Mail</span></h2>
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<div class="container" id="pg-machine-header" data-webtasks-id="20c9b48a-db8c-497d">
<p data-webtasks-id="72b3334e-86a2-4212"><strong data-webtasks-id="a754f8f4-6aed-4b8e">Title</strong>: The White Mail<br data-webtasks-id="c9b7b7bb-aa5f-43eb"></p>
<div id="pg-header-authlist" data-webtasks-id="4ceb95c7-5e5c-4dd2">
<p data-webtasks-id="3a94b1c6-d9da-43d6"><strong data-webtasks-id="3c8b0b91-e149-4a24">Author</strong>: Cy Warman</p>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="85663b85-ba0e-4608"><strong data-webtasks-id="d111c661-5df6-45c4">Release date</strong>: July 23, 2023 [eBook #71261]</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b7072f89-a608-4b13"><strong data-webtasks-id="49be4c41-a32f-4188">Language</strong>: English</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="57b86e35-ea35-4215"><strong data-webtasks-id="d829f12b-4473-4dc0">Original publication</strong>: United States: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1899</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="144a2d70-3347-4218"><strong data-webtasks-id="7f364bff-6268-496b">Credits</strong>: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library and University of California.)</p>
</div>
<div id="pg-start-separator" data-webtasks-id="3d247ec1-8cb0-4cb3">
<span data-webtasks-id="835ea60b-d14a-4ca6">*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WHITE MAIL ***</span>
</div>
</section><div style="margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em" data-webtasks-id="8b8d7d86-69bc-450b"></div>
<div class="figcenter hide" style="width: 35%" data-webtasks-id="85653472-b21c-480a">
<img alt="Cover" src="images/cover.jpg" id="id-2647550796048836915" data-webtasks-id="e2349c75-7bac-4b46"></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="8a18804f-20ee-4eff">
<p class="ph1" data-webtasks-id="3de79b9e-0133-49b0">THE WHITE MAIL</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="9fb2b76b-4da3-4313">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="97cc3853-c0dd-4c30">
<h1 class="p2" data-webtasks-id="ccf20e26-34e4-41c1"> <span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="2d69c7e4-b2b6-4c2f">The White Mail</span></h1>
<p class="no-indent center p2" data-webtasks-id="1da7af6a-e5c6-4ef5">BY</p>
<p class="ph2" data-webtasks-id="c63bbbc3-9fd5-4ddd">CY WARMAN</p>
<p class="pb6" data-webtasks-id="d705a8e5-58d7-4d9a"> </p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 75px;" data-webtasks-id="28d36ad0-5418-4116">
<img alt="Publishers Logo" src="images/i_logo.jpg" title="" width="75" id="id-7279775892271860081" data-webtasks-id="df1a66c6-85b1-451a"></div>
<p class="p4" data-webtasks-id="b1329643-7569-4df1"> </p>
<p class="ph2 p6" data-webtasks-id="5b6bcdd2-2607-44b6">NEW YORK<br data-webtasks-id="177b623a-e9ed-4de7">
CHARLES SCRIBNER’S SONS<br data-webtasks-id="214c8be1-73c7-4f3f">
1899</p></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="35bbae03-652d-4be1">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="9727f554-c257-43e5">
<p class="no-indent center" data-webtasks-id="eb3f2535-74b2-4936"><i data-webtasks-id="8486e55e-804b-40f8">Copyright, 1899</i>,<br data-webtasks-id="183f3184-e4f4-4dab">
<span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="8c2bfe5e-abf4-42bb">By Charles Scribner’s Sons</span>.<br data-webtasks-id="9a45adfc-b768-433b">
<br data-webtasks-id="b63e2044-88b9-46ac">
<br data-webtasks-id="4edb8934-c553-42a9">
University Press:<br data-webtasks-id="46ab454e-8988-4e75">
<span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="3ffb8af1-e945-4335">John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.</span></p></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="7d33e760-d61b-4005">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="5f377a68-eb91-4b56">
<p class="no-indent center" data-webtasks-id="8be41fcd-b0e5-47ad"><i data-webtasks-id="d9aae65d-01bc-43c5">TO</i><br data-webtasks-id="1281baf2-db11-4e78">
<br data-webtasks-id="ec6feeb6-299f-4d6c">
BRYAN WARMAN<br data-webtasks-id="10aae03b-bfaf-41bd">
<br data-webtasks-id="4bc56254-7b85-4810">
<span class="smaller" data-webtasks-id="72cced20-d92f-40b1">WITH A FATHER’S LOVE</span></p></div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="39c48a06-2ebf-4831">
<p class="ph2" data-webtasks-id="aadae3ae-c79c-42f8">CONTENTS</p>
<p class="no-indent center" data-webtasks-id="5411baba-50c6-46cc">——◆——</p>
<table data-webtasks-id="626fd3a1-9896-4597">
<tbody data-webtasks-id="116444f2-5f66-446d"><tr data-webtasks-id="9170a412-1ce1-445b"><td class="tdbr smaller" data-webtasks-id="08a1e107-911b-4d55">CHAPTER</td>
<td data-webtasks-id="d9062a6e-3ef5-4a9e"> </td>
<td class="tdc smaller" data-webtasks-id="09cdd9b4-5560-413c">PAGE</td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="b79c6152-450b-4291"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="f52efe1b-65c9-40ef">I.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="f5c7bca7-cad8-4663"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="1dc79cf2-7e3e-493e">The Passing of the Watchman</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="8b503c10-a65f-47f1"><a href="#Page_1" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="4d60a38e-1e72-4e1f">1</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="783b1c29-26a8-4685"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="fe90cb32-b43e-4100">II.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="d9a196c0-2762-4cb0"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="e8ecffa6-faf2-4390">Again the Reaper</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="e2b36830-3fcc-4325"><a href="#Page_8" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="5f48010f-e443-47a2">8</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="e36d11ed-5745-416d"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="aa005f42-7f9f-461c">III.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="36c1fa32-f231-4950"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="1531aef5-4fa1-466f">Sleeping out</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="265015b6-3174-4894"><a href="#Page_13" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="f92db37d-aecd-419c">13</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="71fab625-b1a3-4dd6"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="326d0cd2-0779-4ac6">IV.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="72ba45c4-533f-4534"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="a0534cc2-f9fa-4e32">The Flood</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="e529737d-97b7-4d65"><a href="#Page_21" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="0c170bcd-c5ab-45d9">21</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="84718dc8-f5ce-40e0"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="a1c973be-b649-472d">V.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="ca84170f-276e-48d4"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="7695aa56-ac01-4c79">Tommy’s Requisition</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="23f6f97f-33e3-456a"><a href="#Page_30" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="3f7979df-2dfe-4409">30</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="7351a240-518b-4201"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="03b15d07-03ca-49f0">VI.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="b58294d0-de36-4c5d"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="1943bbba-9ec3-46e7">They hoist the Flag</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="268e5526-4f04-48af"><a href="#Page_35" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="70befe5c-cede-4b4c">35</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="aa67e253-77d1-480d"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="6b66e764-9a17-4bc6">VII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="5c24b86a-ea18-4c01"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="85d78368-a497-4200">The Labor Question</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="da8f19c8-db51-4c70"><a href="#Page_40" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="b3d36308-2426-4b88">40</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="8cd8ed3e-a5b3-4a52"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="1e590c4d-0eca-4ab3">VIII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="0c6a8239-d930-42c4"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="8cdf1d03-10cf-4602">Little Jack’s Promotion</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="a841a3a0-f67f-443c"><a href="#Page_44" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="f54c938e-ea0a-4e64">44</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="30c00b04-28e5-4083"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="b1e17343-5b1e-4b81">IX.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="366430b4-3dc6-4dc9"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="156b8e45-78ef-458e">Tommy flags the White Mail</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="94a6162a-4f1f-4ab6"><a href="#Page_49" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="6860d8fd-4a72-4d8c">49</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="4a64dd18-45e3-46ce"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="82ed5e53-ac64-41f8">X.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="d784175a-c5aa-462a"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="d360dc5b-3485-4ce3">Tommy McGuire sees the City</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="6cd8c41f-19f8-42f5"><a href="#Page_55" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="9792c5fa-9029-4c3a">55</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="9379f0eb-74e6-4e36"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="e6b24bf7-fbe5-4618">XI.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="f2f43fde-818e-4c48"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="6fb99ba0-a0fc-47a4">The Hold-up at Casey’s Tank</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="53c086df-1cf7-427f"><a href="#Page_67" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="9ff6d309-fe61-477a">67</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="4970285d-dada-436a"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="457b0075-c706-482c">XII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="c0f3293c-e220-45da"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="aa0b41ca-9f83-4dc2">McGuire goes West</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="a175a034-7496-4eb6"><a href="#Page_82" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="73150294-1b1a-4547">82</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="ceb44e27-26a9-4ac4"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="96462f8f-3b31-4db1">XIII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="12cc5d2c-245e-4103"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="509e2025-3243-4ef3">McGuire learns Telegraphy</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="9f055e07-4328-4908"><a href="#Page_90" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="b5e811e6-d575-40d5">90</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="293fe08a-c92e-472c"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="23020b76-478c-4e4c">XIV.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="a1ef35d8-72f2-4430"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="bac3efad-df60-49d7">Station-master McGuire</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="69de1efd-c4f3-4843"><a href="#Page_99" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="d0f829b8-750f-4d66">99</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="dcf16cf9-0a01-4578"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="9b6603e7-0814-47b9">XV.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="5ae700ef-da2c-4ef2"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="551a61e0-18c3-4a4a">The Coming of the Sioux</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="fa493fae-7e63-4d97"><a href="#Page_108" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="cadfdc75-bf83-4bd3">108</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="629b0432-e36a-4562"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="abd36215-62cd-4248">XVI.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="552206ee-a21f-464e"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="ca87b424-ab27-44f6">McGuire goes Switching</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="2a943520-2f0a-4628"><a href="#Page_119" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="7810ae64-5b98-4823">119</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="ab4bb95f-7a7a-4a33"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="65c4e9f2-1ba8-4be0">XVII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="290d4010-d274-40d2"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="c4fc1bca-ef98-4c59">Snowbound</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="66a18f5b-f8f4-468b"><a href="#Page_132" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="5f9c5f32-67b3-45f6">132</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="a59d6a0e-4ff1-490f"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="93fe7a6f-8aeb-4b69">XVIII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="b828005c-b741-421c"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="6effb4b3-cc05-49dc">Breaking the Trail</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="48459bf0-5dfb-4130"><a href="#Page_151" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="6e5d7fe4-c638-4bce">151</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="abe2d81d-14a4-405c"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="ec760834-0376-4847">XIX.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="d2b732a5-b6b9-41b2"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="1778dfcb-55fa-41ab">A New Line</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="608fb473-329b-47af"><a href="#Page_157" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="c2b8fe85-e2c9-4ed6">157</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="e13c5ddd-e84f-45f1"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="c2b59d10-6518-4c7a">XX.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="abd4ad60-7005-424b"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="97c986f3-4eba-426f">Coming Home</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="5155eddc-cff6-4693"><a href="#Page_161" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="5273c589-9e96-4133">161</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="7d26a5d6-7ec4-4c25"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="c1bf874f-347a-4d05">XXI.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="7d5734d3-663b-4413"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="e1d79aee-99ff-4a92">On a Rolling Sea</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="5ee9a002-79e1-4aa9"><a href="#Page_171" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="0428f2fa-1b0f-4065">171</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="2cdaae40-7856-4b39"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="d30fffa2-94ac-4289">XXII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="e198da5d-74ff-4c31"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="b9388989-2f1a-4ca9">The New President</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="bb01270c-ca2b-4324"><a href="#Page_176" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="b422017f-889c-447e">176</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="662a8359-d46b-48a9"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="cb8f06f8-6598-4316">XXIII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="9c707b70-bb71-4801"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="4badbe75-3f05-4b06">The Maid of Erin</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="7ff85652-28cb-400a"><a href="#Page_184" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="830d5ff8-0993-4181">184</a></td></tr>
<tr data-webtasks-id="ea1c40fb-d605-4fb6"><td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="8a0d5f78-68ea-4ac7">XXIII.</td>
<td class="tdl" data-webtasks-id="db983125-b7a0-420c"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="770bbf72-898f-475c">Over the Big Bridge</span></td>
<td class="tdbr" data-webtasks-id="3ddf91c8-67cd-4a71"><a href="#Page_194" class="pginternal" data-webtasks-id="8835d2ec-cd52-4d97">194</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="cb5c5faf-bd1c-4447">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="a694700a-32f5-4df8">
<p data-webtasks-id="234b56fd-e821-46b0"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_1" data-webtasks-id="d6abc159-9152-4b0f">[Pg 1]</span></p>
<p class="ph1 nobreak" id="The_White_Mail" data-webtasks-id="6fb958df-74d9-44f8">The White Mail</p>
</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 75px;" data-webtasks-id="939d0488-4ea4-4148">
<img alt="Publishers Logo" src="images/i_logo.jpg" title="" width="75" id="id-6958710300791954351" data-webtasks-id="2e01200c-bf44-4637"></div>
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="54c60663-5b68-40e9">
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I" data-webtasks-id="54051b1a-f3f3-4b12">CHAPTER I</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="1efc90f6-6feb-43ff">THE PASSING OF THE WATCHMAN</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="ab6fd1b6-8d7e-4d8c"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="3e90a644-1ac9-4537"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="c2918482-516e-44ac">D</span>enis McGuire</span> lived at Lick Skillet,
on the ridge between the east and west
forks of Silver Creek, midway between Troy
and St. Jacobs, twenty-two miles east of St.
Louis—Vandalia line. Denis McGuire was
the section boss, Tommy McGuire was his
only heir, Mrs. McGuire, in addition to being
Tommy’s mother, made herself generally
useful about the house.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0a0c5263-ce1f-4ecd">Lick Skillet possessed a saw-mill and a
blacksmith shop, and contained, if we count
the “nigger” who drove Jim Anderson’s bull
team at the mill, twenty-seven souls.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="01fbc92a-f25e-4b0a">Denis McGuire was an honest Irishman,
industrious and sober, except on Saturday
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_2" data-webtasks-id="16015fb9-2cb7-4d53">[Pg 2]</span>nights, and possibly Sunday. He was unable
to read or write, even his own name. Heidelberg,
the station agent at St. Jacobs, the
eastern terminus of McGuire’s section, kept his
books and accounts and the time of the men.
In return for this kindness McGuire used to do
odd spurts of manual toil for Heidelberg.
Sometimes, on a Saturday afternoon, he would
set his car off at the end of his run, take his
men over (between trains) and shovel snow
and saw wood for the agent. In summer,
when they had their scythes out, they invariably
cut the weeds on the vacant lot between
the station and Heidelberg’s house, clipped
the lawn, and weeded the garden.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f87e9581-ea39-4e1a">Down by West Silver Creek bridge there was
a water tank and a pump, whose motive power
was a mule. Close by the bank of the lazy
little river stood the watchman’s shanty, narrow,
high, and painted red, like the tank, and
like hundreds of other shanties that were strung
along the line from St. Louis to Indianapolis.
Rain or shine old man Connor was always there
to show his white light to the engineer of the
Midnight Express, and a white flag to the men
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_3" data-webtasks-id="4a7a36d6-63ff-4fe8">[Pg 3]</span>on the White Mail in the morning. Beyond the
bridge, a round-faced lad of sixteen summers
trudged after the mule, who appeared always
to be going sidewise, as a boar goes to battle.
The round-faced boy was the old watchman’s
eldest son, a good-natured, lazy lad who could
not whistle a tune, but who was forever singing,
“The Hat Me Father Wore.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a1eef526-8b58-4be4">When the old man had walked across the
bridge and back, with his hands behind him,
glanced at the block on the figure-board to
see that the tank was full of water, filled his
red light and his white light, polished the
globes, and set them both burning by the door,
he would light his pipe and sit and gaze down
into the dirty delinquent river, that came
cautiously under the bridge, crept noiselessly
away and lost itself in the mournful, malarial
forest.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b1425e64-4a82-486a">Patient as a monk, solitary as a bandit,
lonely as an outcast, the faithful watchman
dwelt by the bridge. To the gray-haired driver
of the Midnight Express, whose black steed
lifted him in a short half hour out of the great
American bottoms, by the coal mines at Collinsville<span class="pagenum" id="Page_4" data-webtasks-id="6131f88e-b3e5-4e64">[Pg 4]</span>
and up to the tablelands of Troy, who
strained his eye around the curve at Hagler’s
Tank, he showed the friendly white light.
“Let her go,” it seemed to say, and the great
headlight, trembling down the long grade,
flashed a moment on the storm-stained face
of the old watchman, and was gone again.
Nor did he sleep or nod or close his eyes
until the dawn of day; until he had shown the
milk-white flag to the men on the White Mail
in the morning.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dc3d6beb-f345-40b1">But time will tell upon us all. It told upon
the bridge, upon the old man and the mule.
In spring the carpenters would come and fix
and brace the bridge, that had been racked and
strained by ice and flood. In spring the local
doctor gave the old man something for his
cough, and the old man cut a quaking asp and
fixed it in the stall for the mule to gnaw; for
its bark was the bitters the mule needed in
spring.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8bfdab32-073e-4361">At the far end of a raw, cold March the
old man fell sick of a fever; typhoid-pneumonia
the doctor called it, a cruel combination,
either half of which could kill.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="86a0d495-c77a-4ff2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_5" data-webtasks-id="71af7b59-b0ed-4704">[Pg 5]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="819e60f6-da28-4f5a">It was midsummer before he was able to
take his post at the bridge again.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9cb7670e-17b7-447d">In the autumn he had ague that shook his
bent frame and made his old bones ache. All
night he would watch in the little shanty, all
the morning shake with ague, and burn with
fever in the afternoon.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d513d1bc-8500-42f6">When winter came the ague went away, but
it left the old man bent and pale. His cough
grew worse, and finally a severe cold put him
on his back with pneumonia.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="75d1d0a7-ec48-4a46">When the day set down by the doctor for a
change, “one way or the other,” had arrived,
the medical expert lost nothing by the prediction.
Like the Oracle at Delphi that assured
the king that his war would wreck an empire,
without saying which empire, the doctor’s reputation
was reasonably safe. As the day wore
away the old man grew restless. At night the
fever came on. At midnight he leaped from
his bed, seized the lamp that stood upon the
little table near him, and rushed out into the
rain-swept night to show it to the driver of
the Midnight Express. When the train had
crashed over the cattle-guards at the road
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_6" data-webtasks-id="af769d5f-44aa-4e95">[Pg 6]</span>crossing, the watchman went back into the
house, but refused to go to bed again. “I
can’t go yet,” he said, “I must wait for the
White Mail.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fc727959-1d31-4671">They sent for the doctor, and the doctor told
them to send for the priest.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="15290b33-c0cf-4d3d">When the dawn came the old man opened
his eyes.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e616ec32-54be-40e2">“Me flag,” he cried, “where is me flag?”
and Mrs. Connor brought a clean white flag
and placed it in his hand.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b7bf7239-3ca6-485e">Now the White Mail that had come out of
the east in the afternoon, crossed Indiana in
the evening, and entered Illinois in the night,
dropped from the great prairie into the sag at
East Creek, lifted again, screamed across the
ridge, and plunged down the long hill towards
West Creek bridge.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="772b1450-4f59-4e05">The old watchman, hearing the roar and the
whistle, grasped his flag and darted from the
door. As he reached the open air the White
Mail went roaring past. A white ribbon of
steam fluttered from the engine dome and
floated far back along the top of the train.
The old man flourished his flag, staggered,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_7" data-webtasks-id="0164e02f-1c5a-4cad">[Pg 7]</span>swayed, fell into the arms of his wife, and they
carried him into the house again.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f361ea25-0a89-4461">When the priest came the old watchman was
sleeping with his cold hands crossed above his
breast and candles burning about his bed.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="82a397de-921d-42d5">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="105a64d8-ae1a-4e13">
<p data-webtasks-id="9b063d5b-1cda-4e4d"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_8" data-webtasks-id="e43cbb26-b7cc-4a9c">[Pg 8]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II" data-webtasks-id="363ae49a-f722-49bb">CHAPTER II</h2></div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="588dc962-e0ed-4d84">AGAIN THE REAPER</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="c4ae263b-836e-4ac7"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="e54c371f-18d7-4b71"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="d068daa8-2035-4b1b">A</span>t</span> the suggestion of the section boss, the
agent asked the roadmaster to put Jimmie
Connor on the bridge as watchman, and
give little Jack, his brother, the mule and the
tank.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0bde3bec-4c57-4b8a">After that, instead of the bent form of the
old man, the widow saw her boy coming up
from the bridge of a morning when the White
Mail had gone by.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fe7cafd8-41f8-4a9d">Everyone was kind to the boys and gave
them encouragement.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="730cb00f-5662-463d">Conductor Wise, who went up on the Midnight
Express and came down on the White
Mail, sent a dog to be company for the
young watchman. Charley Cope, who fired the
Highland Accommodation, gave little Jack a
long whip, and the foreman of the bridge gang
built a platform so that he could stand, or sit
in the centre of the “horse power” like the
driver of a threshing machine.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a47c4c0e-050f-4b13"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_9" data-webtasks-id="d6b3055f-fccd-445b">[Pg 9]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0c1bc073-6dc9-4ea0">But with all this kindness, the greatest measure
of help and comfort, encouragement and
amusement, came from little Tommy McGuire.
Round-faced, freckled, happy, careless, “onry,”
the neighbors called him. He found some
paint one day that the painters had left when
they painted the section house, painted the
white calf red and striped the goat like the zebra,
whose life-sized likeness adorned the blacksmith
shop.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0450134c-4e8b-4ca7">The agent, who was something of a philosopher,
always argued that Tommy McGuire was
not as bad as he was painted. He was not
wicked, but curious, Heidelberg said. When
he put precisely the same sized can to Jimmie
Connor’s dog that he put to his own dog, it
was not to punish the brutes, but merely to see
which would get home first, and settle a dispute
of long standing.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a1a68f76-4a00-4932">When he took his red spaniel under his
naked arm and dived from the top of the
bridge when the river was running bank full, it
was merely to see which could stay under water
longest, himself or the dog. And so, behind
all of his mischief, the agent was able to see a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10" data-webtasks-id="eb6b48e0-652d-4095">[Pg 10]</span>motive. It was the boy’s unquenchable thirst
for knowledge that made him want to explore
everything, from the cave in the bluff to the
crow’s nest in the top of the tallest sycamore.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cf5cb4f5-c87c-4c46">It may be that the Connor boys were no
better because of his visits, but they were happier;
he was company for them and made them
forget. He awed them with his wonderful feats
of climbing, diving, swimming, and jumping.
When Jimmie, the watchman, would shrink
back and hold his cap as the cars roared past,
Tommy McGuire would stand close to the rail
and laugh in the face of the screaming steed.
Once, just to see how it would feel, he hung
from the bridge by his legs while the Midnight
Express went by.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3b0faaa5-8250-44f7">One morning Mrs. Connor saw Jimmie swinging
down from the cab of a freight engine. His
feet slipped from the iron step, he fell, and his
mother put her hands over her eyes and
screamed. In a moment he was on his feet
again, waving his cap encouragingly to his
mother and signalling to the engine crew to go
ahead. But he was not unhurt. When they
removed his trousers they found that the flange
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11" data-webtasks-id="6a4b5e7c-881d-45d3">[Pg 11]</span>of a tank wheel had sliced the whole calf off
one of his legs right down to the bone.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6b04f37a-0b5b-4bc9">While the rest were busy with the wounded
boy, Tommy McGuire went down to the tank
to break the news to little Jack. “Don’t you
be afraid,” said he to the pale boy who was
two years his senior, “if anything happens to
Jimmie I’ll take care uv you. Dad says I’m
no good, mother says I’m sassy, Mis’ Dutton
says I’m ‘onry’ and the priest says I’m ‘incourageable,’
and I guess they’re all about
right, but you know me, Jack, eh? old man!
an’ you know I’ll do what I say.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="51bf8ca3-746e-4eb5">There were tears in the eyes of the pump boy
when Tommy took his two hands, gave him a
jerk forward, let him go and hit him a hard jab
in the ribs, and then, as he turned, gave him a
kick that looked worse than it was.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="11dec16f-7f70-4d4e">“An’ I’ve got a frien’ Jack me boy, ’at can
git us anythin’ from a push car to a private train—that’s
Mr. Heidelberg—he’s me frien’.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7c129e77-5398-414c">Ten days from the day the accident occurred,
they cut Jimmie’s leg off, but it was too late.
He never revived, and before the bewildered
children and the grief-sick mother could realize
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_12" data-webtasks-id="110ecb93-3632-48ec">[Pg 12]</span>what had happened, they had crossed his helpless
hands over his youthful breast and lighted
the candles.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7b729b8f-7fce-46d2">That night McGuire and his men came and
“waked” Jimmie, as they had waked his father
only a few short months before.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8ead055b-a64f-40e9">U. P. Burns came with his black pipe and his
black bottle and smoked and drank and sang
“come-all-ye” songs.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="b33d303c-8fa2-4950">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="e85ad97f-8eec-4534">
<p data-webtasks-id="c7bc6bf8-5a02-491f"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_13" data-webtasks-id="e140e194-b216-4d88">[Pg 13]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III" data-webtasks-id="0fa0052f-9141-4eb7">CHAPTER III</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3 no-indent" data-webtasks-id="ae89a10e-ced8-4570">SLEEPING OUT</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="c6d8d187-ae4c-41e1"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="dcf8e752-9f75-4f7c"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="29d272ed-220c-4f3d">T</span>he</span> world looked dark to the widow
Connor when her husband and her eldest
son were sleeping among the crosses in the
little Catholic graveyard.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="311310cf-d70d-4ac0">Mrs. McGuire sent Denis to see Heidelberg,
and when the roadmaster came up from East
St. Louis these three officials held an important
and animated meeting.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fc48208e-acfa-4126">This conference was interrupted by Tommy
McGuire, who burst in upon them like a
sunrise in the desert.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f1d3e5ec-04d7-4aea">“I got a scheme,” said he to the agent, who,
having grown up under a cloud similar to that
which hung over the freckled youth in front of
him, beamed upon the boy encouragingly and
bade him reveal his plans. “Yo’ see,” said
Tommy, ignoring the roadmaster (he never
noticed his father, probably because his father
never noticed him), “Jack can’t keep th’ pump,
’cause he can’t harness d’ mule, an’ he can’t
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14" data-webtasks-id="dadbfdb7-c737-4d88">[Pg 14]</span>mind d’ bridge ’cause it’s too lonesome. Now
I aint got nofin t’ do, an’ I can run d’ pump in
daytime, an’ Jack can sleep n ’en I can sleep in
d’ shanty nights, an’ Jack can wake me when
d’ Midnight Express goes by, n ’ne I can go t’
sleep agin.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ac19c3e5-81d3-457c">Tommy had talked very rapidly, and now as
he paused for breath he glanced at the roadmaster.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ed68b649-c3b9-47a6">“And who’s goin’ t’ ’arness th’ mule fur ye,
me lad?” asked the gruff official.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d65be735-d973-437e">Tommy gave him a dark look and turned to
the agent, as much as to say, “This is our end
of the road.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b44415c0-842f-4ed9">“I seen Mr. Collins,” he said to the station-master,
“an’ he’s goin’ t’ build me a platform
long side d’ stall so I can harness d’ mule and
jump on his back an’ go to me work ’thout
asken any odds uv U. P. er anybody, an’ till he
gets d’ platform done d’ mule can sleep in his
harness a few nights—taint no worse fur ’im
than fur me t’ sleep in me clothes, an’ that’s what
I’m goin’ to do.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="df9fc34f-6269-47ff">“Very well, Tommy,” said the agent, “you
wait outside and we will see what can be done.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5c829626-5f04-405f"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_15" data-webtasks-id="45cc82d9-bcac-4fe6">[Pg 15]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6b9c54f5-ab48-4bcf">“Well,” began the roadmaster, when the
august body had reconvened, “if ye’s fellies
wants to open a kindergarden, ye kin do it, but
mind, I tell ye, it’s agin me judgment t’ put a
lad like little Jack Connor watchin’ a bridge o’
nights.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="96e0a108-7c54-4911">“I’ll be responsible fur Jack,” said McGuire,
speaking for the first time; “th’ lad have the
head uv a man above his slender shoulders, an’
Pat Connor’s boy can be trusted, do ye mind
that?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c9f83cd5-a0f0-4eac">“And I’ll be responsible for Tommy McGuire,”
said the agent, looking at the father of
the freckled youth.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6ef5ac07-82e2-43e4">“He’s a tough kid that,” said the roadmaster,
“wud all jew respect to his mother.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="efb5cc3e-699f-4d7c">“Leave him to me,” said the station-master,
“he’s no whit tougher than I was at his age.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="062dd881-4599-41ec">When Tincher, the agent’s under-study, went
out to look for Tommy, to apprise him of what
he had overheard, the boy was not to be seen.
Of course he could not be expected to sit
quietly in the sun for nearly an hour, and he had
not. He had climbed to the top of the grain
elevator, he had mixed salt with U. P. Burns’s
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16" data-webtasks-id="2a202016-7079-4aab">[Pg 16]</span>tobacco, and pinned a “lost” notice to his
father’s coat that hung on the handle-bar of the
hand car. Then he had scattered shelled corn
for the miller’s pigs. He had discovered the
agent’s marking pot, and was now lying flat on
his stomach, reaching over the edge of the platform,
making zebras of all the white pigs in the
drove.</p>
<hr class="tb" data-webtasks-id="6afd288e-e14c-4187">
<p data-webtasks-id="84dcbb7d-bafa-47f4">The widow laughed and cried when Tommy
told her how it had all been arranged, and
Tommy’s mother, to his surprise, actually kissed
him. Even Denis McGuire was able to feel a
pardonable pride in the boy. Mrs. Dutton said
she was glad to “see th’ brat thryen to make
suthen uv hissilf.” The priest promised to pray
for him. “I’ll stand good for him here, father,”
the agent had said to the priest, “if you’ll
stand good hereafter,” and the priest had
promised.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d34ce6af-c9dd-4a01">The first day was all too short for Tommy,
though sad enough for Jack. By three o’clock
in the afternoon the tank was full and the mule
turned out to graze.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="53f2b0de-5843-45c4">Mr. Collins, the foreman of the bridge carpenters,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_17" data-webtasks-id="673e93f3-3122-4653">[Pg 17]</span>
had built a bunk in the little shanty, and
Mrs. McGuire and the widow had come down
to fix the bed for Tommy. The enthusiastic
boy gave Jack little time to hug his grief, but
kept talking of the future, of their importance to
the company and to Jack’s family. His plans
were not quite perfect in his own mind, but he
felt that in some way he must contribute to the
support of the widow’s family. He had no need
of money for himself. He had never had any
or cared to have, unless it would be to buy a
target rifle like Anderson’s boy had, or maybe
some firecrackers for the Fourth, and for
Christmas. But poor little Jack would not
enthuse. As often as Tommy looked up he
found his companion staring at him as if half
afraid.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2dd71410-7cdc-4b32">“Whatcher skeered about, Jack Connor?”
demanded Tommy, boxing the boy’s cap
off.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f9c27817-69c0-469c">“When ye goin’ to bed?” asked Jack, his
wild eyes growing wider as he pictured to himself
the loneliness of the place when Tommy
should go to sleep.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="61b2940a-9556-4c21">“Aw, shucks,” said Tommy, “I’m not goin’
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18" data-webtasks-id="c9079309-4b55-4c2a">[Pg 18]</span>t’ bed at all; come outside an’ le’s build a bonfire
to keep th’ skeeters off.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1b3b5136-14ee-477e">They made such a fire of dry brush and driftwood
that when the Midnight Express came
round the curve at Hagler’s tank the engineer
thought the bridge was burning, and shut off.
But a moment later little Jack was at the end
of the bridge moving the white light up and
down, as he had seen his father do, and the
driver opened the throttle again. Despite
the fact that Tommy was close behind him, the
timid boy began to tremble and draw back as
the headlight glared in his face. Tommy seized
the signal lamp and stood smiling in the face
of the driver as the great engine struck the
bridge and roared past, shaking the earth for
rods around. Away the wild steed went, out
toward the morning. She had started fresh
and clean from the Mississippi, she would slake,
for a brief moment, her burning thirst at the
Ambraw, and at dawn drink of the waters of
the Wabash.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="903deb1d-a22e-42cb">When the red lights on the rear of the flying
train had drawn close together and finally
dropped over the bridge, Tommy turned to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19" data-webtasks-id="d56214ec-3024-400e">[Pg 19]</span>find little Jack crouching at the door of the
shanty.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ce790ad3-e1a2-4627">“’Smatter uv you, Jack Connor?” demanded
the freckled boy. “Guess I better tie you
under th’ bridge till yo’ git ust to the cars.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8a0826e3-3b82-466a">They put the white light down on the floor,
and began to practise their writing lesson;
learning to write their names so they could sign
the pay rolls when the car came up the road
again. Tommy started to sing, “The Hat Me
Father Wore,” but remembering suddenly that
this was the only song Jimmie Connor had ever
tried to sing, he changed off to “Jerry Ile the
Kayre,”—</p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="43534a35-f932-4a65">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="e70e5b61-8e9b-4b99">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="c43b03b9-2073-476b">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="49255b54-fe67-4562">“Wid a big soljer coat</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="541b319b-5883-4234">Buttoned up to me troat,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="b8890856-f3e1-4eb4">All danger I would dare</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="042da394-d013-45e9">Thin jint ahead an’ cinter back;</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="530d8ea8-069c-4c32">Oh! Jerry go ile th’ Kayre.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="d3373626-76b3-4c7e">But try as he would Tommy could not keep
the clouds away from the face of his friend.
The poor lad seemed half dazed by the dreadful
scenes through which he had passed. It
was nearly morning. The bonfire had burned
down to gray ashes, and the boys were sleepy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dc91277b-c9ab-44a9">Tommy took the red light, shook it, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20" data-webtasks-id="14e08e51-8775-43f4">[Pg 20]</span>turned it up. A lost dog over by the saw-mill
set up that awful unearthly howl that boys are
wont to connect in some way with abandoned
farms and funerals. A hoot-owl hooted on the
top of the tank, and little Jack began to cry.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="038cdd3f-724c-4a88">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="64e4ed59-2472-4bf1">
<p data-webtasks-id="dfa5be81-74fd-4e27"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_21" data-webtasks-id="fd8be46d-687d-4374">[Pg 21]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV" data-webtasks-id="fd9d7ef7-64d4-456d">CHAPTER IV</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="20c22075-0643-4505">THE FLOOD</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="26e7c667-83ad-44c0"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="37abbbcd-0e5a-4396"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="807cab05-7a80-45bb">“W</span>hen</span> the White Mail came out of the
east, carrying signals for the sun on
the following morning, the driver looked down
on a pair of very dirty faces at the end of West
Creek bridge. The white flag fluttered in the
morning breeze, and little Jack’s arm shook like
an aspen branch as the big engine struck the
bridge and thundered by. Tommy, who feared
nothing, day or night, stood near him, pushing
him encouragingly as he shrank from the flying
train. When they had walked across the bridge
and back, to see that no sparks had fallen from
the quivering ash-pan, they returned to the
pump. The old mule had been harnessed before
it was light, from the new platform that
Tommy had designed and the boss carpenter
had built. He had stopped short and fallen
dead asleep the moment the boys left him to
flag the fast mail. He was now rudely awakened
by Tommy, who hit him a sharp cut with
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_22" data-webtasks-id="5f938624-ff86-4ca8">[Pg 22]</span>the long whip, as he climbed to his place on
the platform.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c6a4868e-78d4-4b9f">In a little while the sun came up over the
tree-tops and touched the water tank. Little
Mary Connor came down the track, bringing
breakfast for the boys, and they were glad to
see her. When she had fixed the plates and
poured the hot, black coffee into the bright tin
cups, she allowed Tommy to lift her onto the
platform, where she encouraged the mule while
the boys had breakfast.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7d1ac2e7-5873-4aa1">“Say, Jack, old man; this is great,” said
Tommy, taking a long pull at the bracing beverage.
Jack gave his companion a furtive
glance, but deigned no reply—not even a smile.
“Jimminy-crismus, why don’ yo’ eat?” shouted
Tommy. Jack was staring at his sister, who
looked so weird and ghost-like in her black
frock, with eyes that seemed too large for her,
and her white face hiding in a heap of hair.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e212a56c-3ad9-42ac">The boys were much refreshed by the hot
breakfast, and when Tommy helped little Mary
from the platform he was in a humor to tease
her. He even went so far as to pull her ear
gently and to pinch her cheeks,—to put life in
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23" data-webtasks-id="d7f95656-9df7-4218">[Pg 23]</span>’em, as he expressed it. Mary smiled and colored
slightly: the first faint flush of little girlhood.
She liked Tommy, and he liked her.
Rough and boisterous with boys, he was always
gentle and thoughtful with the little girls, and
Mary, to his mind, was the belle of Lick Skillet.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8736ad08-b44a-4c05">When Tommy had helped Mary over the
bridge, dropped the spaniel into the water for
his morning bath, and shied a few stones at the
kingfisher on the top of a telegraph pole, he
pushed Jack from the platform, ordered him to
bed, and began to tickle the mule with the long
lash. Little Jack declared that he was not
sleepy. “I’m boss o’ th’ day shif’, Mr. Jack,”
said Tommy, “an’ my talk goes,—you’re th’
night hawk,—sabe?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e26e2360-9b37-4e17">Jack went reluctantly to the bed that had
been fixed for the other boy, but had not been
used, and Tommy continued to larrup the mule
and watch the marker crawl down the figure-board
as the water crept toward the top of the
tank. At the end of an hour little Jack came
from the shanty, declaring that he was not
sleepy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ba89510a-9fb8-4289">“Well,” says Tommy, “if yo’ won’t sleep, yo’
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24" data-webtasks-id="956eb95c-e9c5-4d27">[Pg 24]</span>kin work,” and he gave Jack the whip. “This
ole giraft aint had no breakfast, an’ I guess
he’ll want some time th’ tank’s full.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6802da2c-66f7-4487">A half hour later Tommy returned with a big
feed of oats in a bag. When he reached the
west end of the bridge he stopped, put down
the bag, and made the woods ring with his
boyish laughter.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e1ee0fab-7cf1-4000">The old mule was lying peacefully in the endless
path, while little Jack, curled up like a bird
dog on the platform, was sound asleep.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="adbdc833-99d9-493f">Tommy took off his coat, fixed it under
Jack’s head for a pillow, and then cautiously
wakened the mule. He dared not use the lash
now, but, following close behind the mule,
prodded him persistently with the whip-handle.
Round and round they went, the marker crawled
down, the water up, and little Jack snored like
a saw-mill.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6756da87-611a-49fb">By twelve o’clock the big tank was full of
water, and the old mule was having his breakfast
and dinner all at one feed.</p>
<hr class="tb" data-webtasks-id="5bdddbc7-efea-4798">
<p data-webtasks-id="6e20645f-b0b3-4301">“I give yo’ fair warnin’, Mr. Jack Connor,”
said Tommy, swimming on his back, “if yo’
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25" data-webtasks-id="0e743d76-610e-4a32">[Pg 25]</span>don’ skin off yer duds an’ git in here I’ll come
up there an’ trow yo’ off d’ bridge, duds an’ all.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="55999c13-c5b9-495e">“I don’ feel like ut, Tommy,” said Jack, “t’
mar’ I’ll go in, maby.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f20af5b6-7a7f-4e3f">Tommy and the dog took a few dives from
the bridge, when Jack, who had been standing
guard, shouted to his companion to “hustle
on his duds” for Mary was coming down the
track with the dinner.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d6b7624f-5ead-4675">Tommy, properly attired, was waiting at the
narrow foot-bridge that lay across the ditch
from the grade to the little shanty. He took
the basket and the jug of buttermilk, and Mary,
young as she was, felt and appreciated these
little attentions from the young gallant. She
spread a newspaper on the little pine table and
put down the plates.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8850579b-a4e8-41be">“Watcher doin’ uv three plates, Mary?”
asked Jack.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5b04e84c-b9a8-48b3">“Mamma said I could hev dinner wif
you’uns,” said Mary, shyly.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e749b27c-f668-47cf">“’S matter uv yo’, Jack Connor? Think
girls never gits hungry?” demanded Tommy,
tumbling over his companion and rolling him
in the high grass.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f232832a-5749-4c56"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26" data-webtasks-id="b79e567c-026b-49f8">[Pg 26]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="33d8ea55-76aa-40d8">There was no fried chicken, no green peas,
no radishes, nor corn, nor bread and butter;
there was nothing—not even chicken bones—when
the banquet was over, for the dog had
eaten the bones.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e3a696d3-0828-4330">Mary picked up the dishes and the empty
jug, and when Tommy had climbed up in the
old sugar tree to see if the young birds were
out, she swept the little shanty and gathered a
bouquet of wild flowers and placed them in a
tomato can on the little table.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9e9efc79-ab01-4ce0">When Tommy had helped her over the
bridge the boys put the mule out to grass.
They tied his long reata to the rope that hung
from the water tank—the rope the fireman
pulls when the engine stops for water—and
then sat under the tank, playing mumblety-peg,
while the mule regaled himself on the
luxurious grass. Jack soon grew tired of the
sport, put his head on the oat-bag and fell
asleep. In a little while Tommy followed him,
for they were exceedingly comfortable and content
with the big tank full of water and their
own little tanks full of wholesome food and
buttermilk. They had scarcely begun to dream,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_27" data-webtasks-id="5d31653c-495f-4875">[Pg 27]</span>however, when an extra west came creeping up
over the ridge. The engineer was fanning
them down the long slope in order to be able
to lift them over the hill at Hagler’s tank, when
he observed the old pump mule slowly crossing
the track beyond the bridge. He sounded the
whistle and the mule stopped, with his hind
legs not far from the outer rail. The whistle
screamed frantically, and the brakeman climbed
out of the caboose to the top of the cars to be
near the brakes in case of danger. The boys
slept peacefully under the tank. The mule
raised his head and looked at the locomotive.
He had a placid contempt for screaming locomotives,
whose very breath of life was drawn
from tanks which he, and his kind, were forced
to fill. The travel-worn engine had ceased its
screaming and was now driving madly, and
with malice aforethought, toward the mule.
At the last moment—not from fear of the
machine, but because he hated it—the mule
moved a space away. This move on the part
of the mule tightened the rope slightly, so that
the pilot of the engine picked it up and
stretched it across the front end of the flying
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28" data-webtasks-id="30732b20-9aa2-4c2c">[Pg 28]</span>locomotive. A moment later the mule, at one
end of the rope, received a jerk that turned
him over, and the tank valve, at the other end
of the rope, was pulled wide open. A great
stream of water, as big around as one of the
boys, now shot down against the side of the
passing train, and, rebounding, spread out under
the tank. The boys, thus suddenly awakened
by the cold flood, which, before they could get
to their feet, began to roll them over and
almost smothered them, thought they must be in
the midst of a cloud-burst. The roar of the
train was so deafening they could not call to
each other. If they stood up, the weight of
the falling water knocked them down again.
When the train had gone by the noise grew
less terrific and Tommy fought his way to the
open air. A glance at the surroundings showed
him what had happened, and he hastily dragged
little Jack, drenched, half drowned, and thoroughly
frightened, from under the tank. One
end of the broken rope had wrapped around
the water-spout and held the valve open.
Tommy climbed upon the tank-ladder, extricated
the rope, and that closed the valve.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="89e744dd-eddd-45ba"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_29" data-webtasks-id="f1f7ecee-4a0d-4a18">[Pg 29]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2d16196c-87f2-417b">The old mule, which had caused all the trouble,
was hitched up again and started ’round on his
endless journey to put up the few hundreds of
barrels of water that had been wasted.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f43832b6-0ee4-45b0">Tommy and Jack stretched themselves on
the platform to encourage the mule and dry
their clothes.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="d517b5d3-e9e3-40eb">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="f4664097-8681-4960">
<p data-webtasks-id="100970f9-c798-42da"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_30" data-webtasks-id="6103387f-b6ee-4139">[Pg 30]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V" data-webtasks-id="a32a75e2-fa58-4a06">CHAPTER V</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="a0bba1e6-4952-4b6a">TOMMY’S REQUISITION</p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="d68515ae-c787-46c8">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="becc7090-cef3-44d1">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="5d2a704a-14d8-48f3">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="12bbdae5-3cb8-4985">“Ahn a winter’s mornin’ whin the wind was blowin’</div>
<div class="verse indent4" data-webtasks-id="8bf2f3cd-49d6-49c1">At a staid an’ stiddy gai-at,</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="8fd700f2-152c-4677">Did a Kayre sit sail wud a kayrgo laden</div>
<div class="verse indent4" data-webtasks-id="cda71723-4175-4312">Out of siction siventy-eight.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="54b5d8f8-a1d0-4cee"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="ead3cd9c-64ec-4c16"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="c969eaaa-238b-411f">“U</span>. P. Burns</span> stopped on the bridge and
cocked his ear. He knew the song and
the singer. It was U. P.’s day to walk the
track, and he was now inspecting the bridge
in an officious manner, not altogether pleasing
to the young gentlemen who held themselves
responsible for that structure—day and night.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="054b8026-0499-471a">“Hay, there! ol’ flatobacker!” cried
Tommy McGuire, from the top of a waving
elm, “d’ yo’ know the trains are all over-due
this morning?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f3ce1343-827e-49c2">“I know they’re all on time.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0ad3a00f-351b-4f22">“I say they’re all over-due,” insisted the
pump boy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d113c9d8-cd81-4181">“Well, what make ye tink so, Tommy?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cdb0aad0-cb42-4616">“’Cause they bin out all night—ha, ha, ha—yo’le<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31" data-webtasks-id="744ef093-1e35-47e6">[Pg 31]</span>
bum; that’s th’ time yo’ tuck th’ pin
hook.” And Tommy climbed still higher to be
out of reach of the rocks and sticks that the
track-walker sent up after him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9ab47989-c041-4218">This was the day following the “cloud-burst”
under the water tank: the morrow of
the second night’s watch. Little Jack, thoroughly
exhausted, was sleeping like a weary
soldier, regardless of mosquitoes, heat, ticks,
and red-ants. Tommy had filled the tank long
before the sun came up over the tree-tops.
The engineers, having heard of the struggles
and hardships of the young railroaders, were
taking water at Highland and Hagler’s whenever
it was possible to do so, in order to save
the water at Silver Creek.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="903a637a-a003-406c">The stationary engineer at Highland and the
mule at Hagler’s kicked, but it did no good.
The sympathy of the whole division was with
the agent’s <i data-webtasks-id="4bee5ccb-d532-47f3">protégé</i> at the tank, and the sad-faced
little watchman in the red shanty down
by the river.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5efad292-7b87-4034">Tommy and Mary waited dinner for nearly
an hour under the old elm that day.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="29ae9116-e336-4496">They waited until Tommy declared that he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32" data-webtasks-id="541c945f-aded-4fb2">[Pg 32]</span>could eat his whiskers, if he had any to eat,
and Jack was still asleep. At two o’clock the
watchman came out, bathed his mosquito-bitten
face in the river, had dinner—what was left of
it—and declared himself ready to relieve his
companion. But Tommy would not go to
sleep. He flagged a work-train and went up to
St. Jacobs.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0e76d751-7118-408e">“I want yo’ to write a request to the roadmaster,” said Tommy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c40c5bf9-a364-469a">“Ah! Tommy,” said the agent, “a requisition
for supplies so soon?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d434a590-58a3-43c6">“Well, things got t’ be fixed up a little down
there ’f we stay on d’ job.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6a089f0b-ff2c-4c48">“The Lord loveth a cheerful kicker,” said
the agent, looking down upon his young friend.
Seeing the agent with pen in hand, Tommy led
off,—</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7fddad1e-b986-4e20">“Screen door, an’ skeeter bar on d’
winder.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bd6ea989-f574-4a7a">The agent wrote it as nearly as possible as
Tommy gave the order.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b7c26f51-1fe6-49b7">“That’s so Jack kin sleep daytime,” he
explained.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5a431917-e3d4-44c9">“Very well.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8f087755-4885-4b5a"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_33" data-webtasks-id="c143b348-0d18-456c">[Pg 33]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="40d741d3-6902-4e78">“’Nother stool fur d’ table. That’s fur
Mary—but yo’ need’n say so. She brings d’
dinner, an’ she’s got a’ eat same as men.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="944b62a8-331d-4ccf">“Yes.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="69228aee-1931-43ca">“New giers fur d’ mule, an’ scissors to cut
his mane an’ tail.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="70b10a7c-cc55-4626">“Yes.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="db906a9b-966e-4ed3">“New oil can. De mule stepped on d’ ol’
one—but you need’n put that in d’ letter—tings
is s’posed to wear out sometime.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="71dcc69f-7976-4ce3">“Very well.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1c114878-25d0-42e5">“Red flag an’ white flag, red globe an’ a
white globe. Them’s fur extras.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b6d0f399-929b-482b">“Is that all?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="52fef946-c8fb-439b">“No. Five gallons signal oil. Might’s well
git enough while we’re at it.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="201c089d-cfdc-4885">“Yes, Tommy,” said the agent, “but you
must remember that all these supplies will be
charged up to you, and your reign at the river
will be successful or otherwise in proportion to
the expense of the station.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8f82a357-a6ed-4f91">“I don’t quite git yeh,” said Tommy, eyeing
the agent. “Yo’ don’t think fur a secont ’at
I’m goin’ t’ put up fur this truck?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="afe4d55a-de75-4765">“Not exactly, Tommy; but the company
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34" data-webtasks-id="a66234ee-1434-4662">[Pg 34]</span>holds you responsible for the property in your
charge, and you must be as economical—that
is, as saving—as if you were paying for them.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6134a725-0506-4d05">Tommy looked troubled.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="20a9cb79-4e11-4b58">“Do you think you really need all these
things?” asked the station-master.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="01399f59-8e80-4569">“Yes,” said Tommy, positively. He was
usually positive, one way or the other.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2582d868-0431-40a4">“Anything else?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="80b93563-6825-4697">“Well,” said Tommy, thoughtfully, “they
ort ’o be a ’Merican flag top ’o d’ tank an’ d’
fort.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fe091a44-ccb8-489d">“The company doesn’t furnish fireworks or
prepared patriotism for its employees, Tommy,
you know,” said the agent, looking seriously at
the ambitious young official.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5feac0fa-ef45-44d4">“Well, jist say, after th’ flag business, ’at your
deescrishunt or something ’at ’ill show they
don’t haf t’ fill that order,” said Tommy, nodding
his head to indicate his perfect satisfaction
with himself.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="676d794d-de2b-4a12">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="430acb39-fa8b-45ba">
<p data-webtasks-id="cbcc1049-cf62-4176"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35" data-webtasks-id="a376f464-3829-4345">[Pg 35]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI" data-webtasks-id="b9d55329-9ab8-4e80">CHAPTER VI</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="fc380c47-cfce-4f4f">THEY HOIST THE FLAG</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="bfd0d088-02de-4a82"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="0656aef9-a286-4512"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="7397e174-542a-4539">W</span>hen</span> the Highland accommodation
stopped for water, about a week after
Tommy had received the supplies which he
had requested, the express messenger kicked
off a long bundle marked “Tent, West Silver
Creek Bridge. (D. H.)”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9d281751-1e15-46d3">When the train pulled out a couple of Mr.
Collins’s men climbed up the water tank. After
sighting and measuring for a while the men
came down and asked: “Where’s your flag?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e13af012-a63d-4dca">“We aint go’ no flag,” said the pump boy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3c7701db-2197-4e45">“Well, we’ve been sent here to put up a
flag. What’s in that bundle?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ef12457e-3997-41bb">“Tent!” yelled Tommy, after examining
the tag. “Hully smoke, Jack, we’re goin’ t’
have a tent,” cried he, enthusiastically, as he
began to cut the twine about the bundle.
Tommy’s eyes widened when he shook the
bundle open and found a big silk banner wearing
the stars and stripes. “D’ flag! d’ flag,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36" data-webtasks-id="f6fb9087-9927-4311">[Pg 36]</span>Jack!” he cried excitedly, as he threw the little
watchman down and began to roll him up in
the silk that lay upon the grass.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6da5aea4-0d41-48ab">The company storekeeper had run a blue
pencil through the flag in Tommy’s requisition,
and then headed a subscription to buy what the
boy wanted. Every trainman on the division,
agents, operators, section men—in fact, all
who heard of the thing, were eager to contribute,
so that the best and biggest flag that
could be bought and used in such a place, took
less than half the money. The balance was
spent for red fire and noise, so that the boys at
the bridge, who never knew what it was to have
a holiday—who knew it was Sunday once a
week because the Highland local didn’t run—could
amuse themselves and the people of Lick
Skillet without losing any time.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8451c170-c048-4f25">The following day was the Fourth, and the
first train up from St. Louis brought the fireworks.
It was a great day; the biggest in the
history of the settlement, and Tommy McGuire,
who had been stoned and chased, freckled
Tommy, “Onry Tommy,” whom the priest
called “incourageable,” who had been voted a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37" data-webtasks-id="e7f9f4c5-7f04-4124">[Pg 37]</span>thoroughly worthless boy by all the females in
the community—save his mother and little
Mary—was easily the captain. And what
pleased the agent, Tommy’s champion, who
had driven down to the Skillet to see the show,
was the fact that Tommy wore his honors easily.
There was nothing of the swaggerer about him.
To be sure, he awed the other boys, especially
the farmer boys from a little way back, and he
held the eyes of all the little girls, who envied
Mary Connor, who was ever near the master of
ceremonies, partly because she felt a sort of
security in his company and partly from force
of habit, for they were constant companions
now. This fact did not escape the notice of
the agent. It was a good sign, he said, to see
a boy throwing a line out early in life.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a4fc9347-f874-41b5">Once, when the big flag had become entangled
about the pole, Tommy ran up the
pump ladder and over the roof of the tank to
loosen it. Then, to save time, he slid down a
long rope that reached from the roof to within
ten feet of the ground. Every one was watching
the boy, and when he dropped Mary put
her hands to her eyes and said, “Oh!” and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38" data-webtasks-id="629c7aad-cef7-42d6">[Pg 38]</span>then she blushed and all the other girls
laughed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="279ddd65-12c9-4c84">The station agent, who, instead of going to
St. Louis to celebrate, had complimented the
community by his presence, was, by common
consent, the guest of honor. The section men
brought a push-car load of lumber and built a
big table, upon which the Widow Connor and
Mrs. McGuire heaped the best products of
their well-worked gardens. There was spring
chicken, butter, and buttermilk. The agent
stood at the head of the table, Tommy at his
right, and little Mary, by a mere accident, at
his left. In addition to keeping one eye on the
agent and the other on Mary, Tommy looked
out for every one. He was especially solicitous
for Mrs. Dutton, who had given him the name
of “Onry” Tommy, and saw that her plate was
kept loaded. He even expressed a regret that
the priest could not be there “to git a square
once in his life.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="59a5e3cb-ea30-405e">By the middle of the afternoon the news of
the “celebration” at the bridge had filtered out
among the farmers and reached up to St. Jacobs
and down to Troy, and those who had made no
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39" data-webtasks-id="07cfa135-7fce-41e9">[Pg 39]</span>arrangements to enjoy the Fourth, came to the
water tank that evening to see the fireworks.
Tommy had caused the section men to lay
boards along one side of the bridge, and when
it was dark, having the multitude, to the number
of two or three hundred souls, including
“Anderson’s nigger,” stationed at a distance,
he stood upon the bridge and burned money.
If he had dazzled the youth of the community,
male and female, by day, he awed them at
night. Standing there on the bridge in a blaze
of glory, with Mary by his side, making it
thunder and lightning, sending sizzling sky-rockets
over the tops of tall trees, shooting
burning bullets into the blue above, Tommy
McGuire was easily the emperor of Lick Skillet,
grand, picturesque, and awful.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="a8d1e8a2-bf42-41ed">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="8a1cae34-2fb6-44fa">
<p data-webtasks-id="32060476-f976-4bdf"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_40" data-webtasks-id="d1cd06ae-2845-4de6">[Pg 40]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII" data-webtasks-id="e2d54dae-63bb-45e8">CHAPTER VII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="4b5be9f6-908e-4f37">THE LABOR QUESTION</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="1b8cf605-9bcd-4368"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="6280bfc8-110a-4090"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="e7b732c8-b2ea-4163">“S</span>ay</span>, Jack, d’ roadmaster won’t know this
mule,” said Tommy, standing off and
looking the animal over. “Mr. Heidelberg
says they’s just one thing ’at looks onryer ’n a
long-haired mule, ’at’s a short-haired woman.
Women an’ horses should be trimmed alike,
an’ men an’ mules.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="285bc431-a1da-4d4e">With that Tommy put away his clippers and
started the mule on his circular journey. The
ingenious pump boy had grown tired of the
narrow platform in the centre of the circle and
conceived the idea of bringing a camp stool
and sitting in the shadow of a tree just outside
the ring. Immediately the mule walked to the
far side of the circle and stopped. Tommy
whipped him around the ring and tried it again.
The mule stopped. Now up to this point it
had made no great difference where the boy sat,
but he would conquer the mule. He made a
blind for the mule’s off eye, so that he could
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41" data-webtasks-id="0b282088-8df9-48a8">[Pg 41]</span>not see the driver as he went past, but, to his
surprise, on the other side of the circle it was
the near eye the mule used. He changed it.
The mule went around to where he had been
stopping, stopped, turned his head until his
open eye was brought to bear upon his master,
gave a deep sigh, and settled down to rest.
Tommy was angry. He now put a blind over
both the mule’s eyes, and the animal refused to
budge. Tommy gave him a few sharp cracks
and gave it up. He thought on the matter a
great deal. It was the first time he had failed
utterly; the first time he had ever been conquered;
and by a mule! It was humiliating.
He made a dummy and set it where he had
been sitting, started the mule going and dodged
behind a sycamore near where the mule was
wont to stop. The animal pulled round to the
effigy, shied a little, came nearer, smelled of it,
snorted, and then began coolly to eat the stuffing
out of it—some wisps of hay that were
sticking up out of the dummy’s collar.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cee1bc00-be5e-47db">Little Jack came over, saw the dummy, and
asked what it was for. Tommy was loath to
acknowledge his defeat, and now a new idea
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_42" data-webtasks-id="450f14a0-8f7b-4b8c">[Pg 42]</span>came into his head. “We’ll stan’ that dummy
at d’ end of d’ bridge, hang a white light on
his arm an’ let d’ Midnight Express go by
while we sleep, eh! Jack, old boy?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="84e825f3-9616-4d13">Jack smiled.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ba65bb1d-5101-45b6">“An’ say, Jack! d’ you know we can give d’
dummy a lamp fur d’ Midnight Express an’ a
flag for the White Mail in d’ morning an’ sleep
till sun up.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="de52dff8-9475-44d1">“An’ the red light,” Jack began, “how we
goin’ t’ fix that, Tommy? S’posen the dummy
wants a red light?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b7d6dc39-d9a8-42e6">“Thatso,” said Tommy. “An’ say, Jack,”
he added quickly, “s’pose d’ bridge ketch afire,
is d’ dummy gun to put it out? Jimminy!”
and with that Tommy made a run at his
dummy, hit him a kick in the ribs, dragged
him to the bank, and without more ado sent
him down to a watery grave.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b75f9d9e-424f-4f15">“That’s a good lesson for you, Mr. Jack
Connor,” said Tommy, taking the whip and
climbing up on the platform. “Do yer work
yerself an’ hold yer job, an’ don’t depend on d’
Union. They’s too much machinery already
in th’ worl’. U. P. says the inventor’s robbin’
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43" data-webtasks-id="612a68bb-e7aa-427f">[Pg 43]</span>d’ workin’ man. Here we’ve both got good
jobs an’ we’re tryin’ to make a dummy watch a
bridge.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f8cade84-8c1d-48ad">Jack was thoroughly shamed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f826263e-8b58-4fba">“Aint you got sense nuff to know, Jack
Connor, that if a dummy’d do, the company’d
have a dummy ’stead o’ payin’ you forty dollars
a month to stay here?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d3dbdb96-b35a-4a6f">Jack nodded his head. “S’pose you made a
dummy an’ it done d’ work, long comes Mr.
Roadmaster, sees d’ dummy, says ‘that’s a
good thing,’ an’ you git d’ bounce. No, sir,
when a fellow’s got a job he wants to hold it,
an’ not go sawin’ it off on an effigy, same as
soldiers ’at’s grafted in d’ war an’s afraid to
fight. There’s a good lesson fur you, Mr.
Jack,” added Tommy: “Hold yer job an’
don’t bank on d’ Union or a dummy;” and
with this advice Tommy cracked the mule up
and subsided, with a countenance fixed and
resolute.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="e6f66709-135f-449e">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="e471d082-9897-449a">
<p data-webtasks-id="9f51e2ad-996c-49e7"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44" data-webtasks-id="8c6fcc5b-1f33-4f6f">[Pg 44]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII" data-webtasks-id="d69258aa-4cf6-4757">CHAPTER VIII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="bf3c25aa-1893-4f37">LITTLE JACK’S PROMOTION</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="8ef9e771-7e6d-4d2e"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="6ae5aa24-3603-40b9"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="ce382f77-cdad-4f05">“I</span> don’t</span> care a tinker’s dime about Denis
McGuire,“ said the agent, angrily, “but
something must be done for little Jack. He’s
having malaria. Winter will be coming on and
he can’t stand a winter in that shanty.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3b8ab7f1-8006-4a78">“I can take Jack in my office to carry dispatches,”
said the roadmaster; “but who can
I put on the bridge to watch it as that boy
does?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="993dbbf1-ce09-4da9">“There you are,” replied the agent, sarcastically.
“Because the boy is faithful, you would
keep him there until he dies and leaves his
mother utterly helpless. But,” he added quickly—for
he was a good stayer when he elected
to stay—“since you ask my advice, I’ll tell
you: Put Denis McGuire on the bridge—he’s
a cripple for life; crippled in the service of
this company.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="eb001881-98a5-4edf">“I’ve told ye,” said the roadmaster, “that
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_45" data-webtasks-id="6b109b1d-e3b3-4774">[Pg 45]</span>Denis McGuire was barred from workin’ fur the
Vandalia phile I’m here.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cbc02130-db2a-4aff">The agent wore a look of disgust, as he
turned to answer a call.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7275b38f-fc7c-403f">Presently he came near the roadmaster, drew
a chair, and said, as though he were telling a
new, strange story to a little child: “I knew a
section boss once who let a flat car get away on
the hill at Collinsville; the car ran out on the
main line, collided with the President’s private
car, wrecked it and killed a trainman. He
was discharged, reinstated after a few months,
and is now—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dc76c648-db36-408f">“That was not my fault,” broke in the roadmaster,
“I sint a man to set the brake.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e025fb23-9bc3-4a9d">“Denis McGuire sent a man to flag, but—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e07415f0-269a-4eb6">“And he should have seen the flagman
beyent th’ curve before loadin’ th’ push kayre.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0c0d1b45-a38e-44b2">“And the gentleman at Collinsville should
have seen that the brake was in working order
before kicking the block from under the wheel
with his own brave foot,” said the agent, nodding
his head to clinch the point.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="41dd2211-2165-4c97">The roadmaster was beaten out. Presently
he got to his feet and began walking the floor.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46" data-webtasks-id="4a9c7419-f951-4162">[Pg 46]</span>When the local freight came along the agent
told the conductor what had passed between
the official and himself. “Hazelton,” said the
agent, “they won’t give you a passenger train
because you’re a good man on freight. Jim
Law is no good as a freight man so they reward
him with a soft run; a thorn for virtue and a
rose for vice. Hazelton, the poor should help
the poor—speak a word for little Jack, the
Hibernian czar goes down with you to-day.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="16fca1b4-726d-407e">And it came to pass that Denis McGuire,
with one leg shorter than the other, was made
watchman at Silver Creek, and little Jack went
to be messenger boy in the office of the roadmaster.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0c08b808-4d9b-40ac">Although loath to part company with his little
friend, Tommy rejoiced at Jack’s good luck.
What distressed him most was the thought that
little Mary would not come now to fetch his
dinner and put fresh flowers in the old tomato
can.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4c1bb4c6-a214-4aa6">There was no need for him to stay in the
shanty nights; in fact, his mother wanted his
protection, so Tommy moved back to the
McGuire cottage in the heart of Lick Skillet.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="19ed320e-7295-461f"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_47" data-webtasks-id="a05d4914-1d30-4072">[Pg 47]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e4ecef3d-219c-4cbe">To his surprise, Mary continued to bring his
dinner until the beginning of the winter term
of school, after which Tommy ate a cold lunch
or came home for his dinner. He invariably
had the tank filled, his mule stabled, and was
up the road to meet Mary on her way from
school. In winter, when the snow was deep,
he took the mule, and the sled that Mr. Collins
had made for him, and brought Mary home.
It was wonderful, the change that had come
over this apparently worthless boy within a
year. He could walk into the pay-car, sign his
name for forty dollars, and it was his, and he
was a man, all but the whiskers, and he felt
sure that they would be along on time.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a26c7da5-91b2-485b">When Jack came home for the holidays, with
a new suit of store clothes, presents for his
mother, a new, warm cloak for Mary, and firecrackers
for all the little boys in the place, he
and Tommy had many a happy hour together.
East St. Louis was a wonderful city, and they
were building a great bridge across the river
that ran between the two towns, as wide as
Anderson’s orchard and as deep as a well.
And some day the roadmaster was going to
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48" data-webtasks-id="97ba02ae-2a5e-4703">[Pg 48]</span>give Tommy a lay-off and he was to visit Jack,
and they would cross the great river on a steamboat
with a whistle as big as the water tank.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d3d136a7-6f90-49db">“An’ dive off d’ bridge,” broke in Tommy,
enthusiastically.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="ef00ee3a-528e-49f5">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="2215d85e-24f6-4cdd">
<p data-webtasks-id="ece002fa-221b-463a"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49" data-webtasks-id="4e855850-81e9-42e8">[Pg 49]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX" data-webtasks-id="168c8b9f-5e94-4468">CHAPTER IX</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="5534abee-c39d-47b6">TOMMY FLAGS THE WHITE MAIL</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="3a7f7a57-7987-43b2"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="f895e364-7d65-488a"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="dac7b926-4675-40bd">A</span>t</span> last the long winter broke, spring came
back, the grass grew green upon the graves
of the old watchman and his son, school was
out, and little Mary brought Tommy’s dinner,
as she had done the summer before.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="eff3c0af-89c0-4210">When seven o’clock came of a morning,
Denis McGuire would limp home and Tommy
would ride his mule down the track behind the
White Mail.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="89db7ea4-dbac-4982">It had been raining for nearly a week, the
fields were flooded and the trains late.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="58e65184-ac44-4c17">Half of East St. Louis was under water, and
the broad bottoms, seen from Collinsville,
looked like a vast ocean. For twenty-four
hours both East and West Silver Creek had
been rising rapidly. An extra, taking water
at the tank, told McGuire that the mail was
an hour late at Effingham, and McGuire went
home, leaving the bridge in Tommy’s care.
Whilst he was walking home and the boy was
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_50" data-webtasks-id="9cc8505a-6793-4a51">[Pg 50]</span>riding down (the mule went fearfully slow to
work), the water was rising fast. As Tommy
came near the bridge he noticed that the water,
in places, was almost up to the ends of the
ties. Below the track it was two feet lower,
and the boy sat watching the boiling flood of
black water that was sucking under the bridge.
Occasionally great logs would strike against the
wooden piling and shake the whole structure.
Tommy was thoroughly alarmed—not for himself—for
he believed himself capable of swimming
the widest river that ran, but for the
White Mail that would soon come over the
ridge and down the short hill like falling down
a well. Suddenly, a great elm tree that stood
near the bank above the bridge toppled over
into the stream, drifted crosswise against the
bridge and lodged.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="da8cb69a-63f0-4470">The roots and branches of the huge tree
choked the channel, other trees and logs drifted
against it, and a great wall of water began to
rise rapidly above the track. Finding the
outlet clogged, the river ran swiftly along the
railway, east and west, until it came to
the bluffs. It backed up far into the forest
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_51" data-webtasks-id="490cb7b4-402c-4f0f">[Pg 51]</span>over the flat bottoms, grew higher and heavier,
and the old bridge began to tremble. Meanwhile
the fresh engine that had taken the
White Mail that morning at Effingham was
quivering across the great prairies of Illinois.
Pausing to quench her thirst at Highlands she
dashed away again and was now whistling for
St. Jacobs. A drunken little Dutch tailor,
who had boarded the train at the last stop,
insisted upon getting off at St. Jacobs.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="52e63310-2025-47cc">“The next stop is East St. Louis,” said
Conductor Wise, punching his ticket.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c9a61683-f2f9-4155">“Vell, eef you sthop or nit, I git off ust de
same,” and, as the train whistled, a quarter
of a mile above the station, the fool Dutchman
stepped out into space and came down on the
east end of the platform.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b8da2d20-ddee-4bd2">The agent, standing in front of the station
(it was a sight to see the White Mail go by an
hour late), saw a bundle of old clothes come
rolling swiftly down the long platform, and
finally fetch up with a bump against the end
of the depot. The Dutchman was in that
bundle. In all the history of the Vandalia
Line the greatest marvel is that this man lived;
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52" data-webtasks-id="736d38a6-5c69-41c9">[Pg 52]</span>that he actually got up and asked the agent
to have a glass of beer. So, if there is ever
a proper time for a man to become hopelessly
and helplessly inebriated, it would seem to be
just before getting off a mail train onto a hardwood
platform at a mile a minute.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d24e0dab-f4d4-4ba6">About the time the Dutchman hit the earth,
the old bridge began to tremble and crack,
like the breaking up of a hard winter. A
moment later the great stringers parted, the
river, laden with logs and trees, rushed into
the opening, and the bridge was gone.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ef02d87a-8cd8-48ae">Even as Tommy turned his mule the water
was running across the track between the ties.
The mule, gladdened by the prospect of avoiding
the pump and getting back to the stable,
trotted briskly away, and finally, by dint of
much kicking and thumping, broke into a
run.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3f69b2db-da08-41e2">Tommy knew that the White Mail was almost
due, and that if he failed to gain the
ridge before she pitched over, she must leap
into that awful flood, with all on board. He
knew the old engineer, and how he ran when
the Mail was late. He thought of the newsboy,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53" data-webtasks-id="cdaf8416-795b-404e">[Pg 53]</span>
now a flagman, who had given him
picture papers, of Conductor Wise and his
pretty daughter—almost as pretty as Mary.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="50b00106-d3d2-40dc">When he came to the road-crossing where
they usually turned off, the mule stopped.
Tommy reined him to the track again and
urged him on. He could almost see over the
ridge, but not quite. A heavy mist was rising
from the wet earth, filling the wood with gray
fog. The boy glanced back, but could see
nothing. The roar of the river, pouring over
the grade, grew louder, instead of fainter, as
he rode away.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4f328890-e3e0-44fc">Suddenly the White Mail screamed on the
ridge, not a thousand feet from the mule. Instantly
Tommy reined him over the rail, waving
his straw hat in lieu of a flag. The mule moved
slowly, showing contempt for the train. Until
now, Tommy had not thought of his own life.
He felt that the train would stop—must stop.
Peering from his window, the old engineer saw
something on the track, and instantly felt like
hitting it, for was he not already nearly an
hour late? He would not shut off. A second
glance showed him the rider, dimly through the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54" data-webtasks-id="b32bb430-8193-4d21">[Pg 54]</span>gray mist. Now he saw the hat and recognized
the pump boy. The old man’s heart stood
still as he shoved the throttle home, but it
was too late, and Tommy and the mule went
out of the right-of-way.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="af85ccd1-1691-40ab">Denis McGuire had seen the engine strike
the boy and hurried to him where he lay.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="95cb826d-a35a-4484">His mother came, and presently many of
the neighbors, the trainmen, and some of the
passengers. His mother lifted his head and
held it in her lap.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="db1d9724-57b2-49dd">They brought some water from the car and
threw it in his face, and he came to life again.
The men put money in his old straw hat;
the women kissed him; for the train had
stopped with the nose of the engine at the
water-edge. After casting a pitying glance at
the remains of the old mule, Tommy went
away, walking wabbly, between little Mary and
his mother.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="7e9c15cc-00f7-4054">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="27652083-cb64-4429">
<p data-webtasks-id="516e6291-db04-4851"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_55" data-webtasks-id="6bfe6292-0b80-4f7a">[Pg 55]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X" data-webtasks-id="8d212d79-fa96-444a">CHAPTER X</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="487f60b0-2732-4215">TOMMY McGUIRE SEES THE CITY</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="40251657-f46c-4a83"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="6ccc532f-0231-4c32"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="e71c07d1-b6a7-461f">I</span>t</span> took Tommy McGuire more than a month
to recover from the effect of his head-end
collision with the White Mail. The old pump
mule, upon whose back Tommy had hurried to
the top of the hill in the face of the flying
train, had lost his life, and the railway company
had lost a mule, but the company made
no complaint. The brave boy, by warning the
engineer, had saved the company the trouble
and expense of hauling a heavy engine from
the bottom of a very muddy stream, rebuilding
a number of cars, and apologizing to the postal
authorities at Washington, to say nothing of
costly damage suits. And the President of
the Vandalia had marked the pump boy at
West Silver Creek for promotion. He had
issued orders to that effect to his subordinate
officials. All these interesting facts had been
made known to Tommy by little Mary Connor,
who had it by letter from her brother Jack, the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_56" data-webtasks-id="1c9c6106-05d2-41a9">[Pg 56]</span>messenger boy in the office of the roadmaster
at East St. Louis.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="af0c702f-8b72-454a">It had been arranged that Tommy should
visit his friend, little Jack, at the river, as
soon as he was able to travel, and to that
visit the pump boy looked forward with great
expectations.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4bdc8500-469f-4358">It was midsummer when Tommy boarded
the Highland accommodation one morning at
St. Jacobs. Heidelberg, the agent, had consigned
him to the care of the conductor, for
none thought of transportation for Tommy
McGuire, the hero of Silver Creek. Jack met
him at the depot at East St. Louis and took
him at once to his boarding house. After
dinner the messenger boy, who had been in
the great city for nearly a year, allowed Tommy
to accompany him on his rounds among the
various departments of the road.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f27cf0e1-e92a-458f">Tommy was surprised to see the timid Jack
pushing his way through crowds, darting across
the tracks between the snorting switch engines,
talking back to the big policemen, and even
threatening to thump a grocer’s boy who was
trying to run them down.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3b61ebf4-dcde-4366"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_57" data-webtasks-id="a198c4da-d5d4-468e">[Pg 57]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="babac2d7-b8f3-466e">After supper that evening the boys took a
ferry and crossed the great river. Tommy, who
had found little to awe him in his short life,
said, looking over-side, that it was awful. As
they neared the west bank the noise of the
heavy traffic along the river front became
deafening. As far as they could see, up and
down the river, there was nothing but houses,
and high above their heads hung the skeleton
of the big bridge. Tommy breathed easier
when he felt the flagging beneath his feet.
He was inclined to shrink from the big wagons
and heavy drays that rattled past them in the
narrow street, but when he caught little Jack
grinning at him, he determined to face whatever
came without flinching. A boy who had once
ridden a mule up against an express train ought
not to be afraid of a dray, or a thousand drays.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e684fc32-4f2a-40ec">When they had wandered for an hour, never
losing sight of the river that showed through the
narrow streets up as far as Broadway, Jack bethought
him of the spending-money the roadmaster
had given him. Presently, near the
door of a little wooden shop, they saw a sign
that read:</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="70ef7f9c-35af-47a3"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_58" data-webtasks-id="c1fb0e7a-2497-4552">[Pg 58]</span></p>
<p class="no-indent center" data-webtasks-id="d19144ae-d060-4979">“Sweet Cider and Cigars.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6c497fa2-8432-4e2f">They were too big for candy, and not big
enough for beer, so Jack thought the sweet
cider sign about the proper thing.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4ff10b0a-3f73-4c00">There was no light in the place, save the
little that filtered through the dirty window
and fell from the street lamp through the
open door.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="eb0a5e94-c3b5-459f">The boys hesitated, but when the voice of a
woman called kindly to them, bidding them
enter, they stepped inside. Jack called for
cider, and when they had tasted it they both
said it was not cider. They refused to drink
it, but both pulled out their pocket books and
wanted to pay. They had each put a quarter
on the little show-case and the woman took
both. The boys waited in silence for their
change, and the silence was broken by the
snoring of a man just behind the calico curtains
that cut the narrow room eight feet from
the door.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7ac764f7-f5c2-4396">“Won’t yez have some candy, boys?” asked
the woman, sliding the door in the show-case
and putting in a fat hand.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3ee190ee-ed8e-4050">“No!” said Jack; “we want our change.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b332d260-6d20-48d9"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59" data-webtasks-id="ad146ad3-4c0a-4770">[Pg 59]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="87090dd2-ea24-42e2">“Yez don’t git no change. Drinks is twenty-five
cents in this shop.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="71d488ff-a590-4152">“Come on! les go,” said Tommy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8e58e4be-07b0-4f07">“No, yez don’t,” said the woman, stepping
from behind the low counter and pushing the
door shut. “Yez’ll drink what yez ordered
or I’ll call th’ police.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6daee218-1b0b-49f7">The boys glanced at each other. Jack was
thoroughly frightened. Tommy was fighting
mad. “Open that door,” he demanded. The
woman laughed, a laugh that the boys had
never heard before, locked the door and removed
the key.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e3feca22-6a99-4f0b">Tommy was about to throw himself upon her
as she stepped toward the curtains, but Jack
caught hold of his arm.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4841a578-4599-4538">“Moik! Moik! I say Moik, wake up. Come
ahn, ye brute, git up.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3760edb0-f022-402b">The woman passed behind the curtains and
was endeavoring to rouse the sleeping man.
The place was quite dark now, with the door
shut. The narrow window panes were covered
with dust, and only a faint ray struggled through
from a street lamp.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3f43d5bb-ab89-4a94">Tommy tried the door. “Take hold of my
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60" data-webtasks-id="4fadfde9-a4bb-4228">[Pg 60]</span>shoulder,” said he to Jack, “and pull for your
life.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d87b31e0-c4cd-4b39">Tommy grasped the knob, put one foot
against the door jamb, and the two scared boys
threw themselves back with all the strength they
had. The screws that held the lock in place
must have been eaten with rust, or the wood
rotten, for the door gave way and the boys fell
backward into the room.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e0a36536-554c-43b2">As they scrambled to their feet and rushed
out, the woman came after them, calling:
“Police! police!” but the boys kept on running.
They turned a corner and made for the
river. Once or twice they thought they heard
the heavy boots of a policeman close behind
them, but they never looked back. They
reached the river just as a ferry-boat was about
to pull in the plank, and leaped aboard.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="364c5dc3-9fcd-4cc3">When they had gained courage to look back
they saw a policeman standing on the wharf
looking at the boat. No doubt he was looking
at them, and they went forward, their hearts
still beating wildly when they stepped ashore on
the Illinois side.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b4b12564-4e14-4f4b">“Les go home,” said Tommy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f6f9bb8e-4ff7-4522"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_61" data-webtasks-id="c6ab8d1f-4417-44e0">[Pg 61]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7b63051d-ddf6-415b">“Never. Everybody in St. Louis knows me,
and if we’ve been reco’nized they’ll go right
to the house to git us. We must not go home
to-night.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="17df20fd-0cd5-4143">“Well, les don’t stan’ here where they can
see us,” said Tommy, and they strolled down
along the water-edge.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2e978829-f85e-4e91">They climbed up onto an old, abandoned
cart and watched the ferry-boats come and go.
They watched closely for the caps and buttons
of police officers among the passengers that
passed out between the two big lamps on the
landing.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="955e608f-c3d7-4c56">“Like as not they’ll put on citizens’ clothes,
or maybe send detectives after us, an’ you can’t
tell a detective from anybody else; sometimes
they dress up like storekeepers an’ sometimes
like tramps.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8524b0fa-33f5-48ba">It was quite dark now, where the boys sat upon
the old cart, and presently they saw three men
coming up the river, walking slowly and talking
low.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b2c32097-e579-403f">“Come on,” said Jack, grasping Tommy’s
arm, and hurrying down to the very water-edge.
They hid under an old, abandoned wooden
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62" data-webtasks-id="440c56f0-e912-4ff9">[Pg 62]</span>pier and waited for the men to pass by, for
they made no doubt that they were detectives.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bc55bdc7-c049-4983">“They must have seen us,” whispered Jack,
“they’re comin’ out on the pier.” Now the
boys tried to hold their breath, for the men
were walking silently over their hiding-place,
and not four feet above them.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="67421d01-2070-4761">The three men sat down upon one of the
stringers that pointed out over the water.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a42150ba-ae22-4ae3">“Hark! what’s that?” said one.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="961b72e9-23f5-4519">“What’s what? you idiot; you’re worse ’an
a two-year-old, shyin’ at a fallin’ leaf.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3b137897-696c-45c5">“I heard someon’ cough.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6871a927-27ab-46f1">“It’s that chicken heart of yours hittin’ your
vest. Close that fissure in your face.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="363f4809-54f8-4a0e">“Aw, cheese it,” said the third man, “what’s
on yer mind, Charley?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dfaf03e3-3770-4de1">“A whole lot,” said the severe man, who
seemed to be the captain. “The night express
is the proper train, Monday night the time, and
Casey Water Tank the place.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="286c8585-6684-4e8c">Tommy hunched Jack.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d5387632-6f09-4306">“There’s always a lot of mail and express
matter that accumulates here over Sunday,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_63" data-webtasks-id="8e2990e2-ccdd-41e3">[Pg 63]</span>therefore the Monday fast express ought to
be good picking.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="85ed17d3-4b9b-4fb3">A bareheaded woman came down to the
river, looked into the boiling flood, shivered
and went away, manifestly determined to make
one more effort to solve the bread and butter
problem.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4e4b8aed-50b1-4adf">When she had passed out of hearing, the
man went on: “Jim’ll go to Casey to-morrow,
Sunday, and make his way to the tank. Having
the only decent suit, I’ll take a sleeper for
Indianapolis, but I promise you I won’t sleep.
And Pete, you white-livered coyote, you’ll take
the blind baggage at Greenup, so as to be on
hand when the time comes.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f27e487a-d85e-4554">“An’ how do we proceed?” asked Jim.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c3dacb83-f512-46b4">“You’ll be hiding behind the tank, and when
the fireman’s wrestling with the spout an’ the
engineer’s watching his signals so as to place
the engine, you’ll step quietly aboard, holding
your gun close to the engineer, but not offensively
close so as to enable him to take it
away from you.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="07c8d84f-9f42-4cae">“An’ must I pint it butt fust, er nozzle fust?
You know I hain’t never handled a gun afore.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1e5987d6-0a82-4916"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_64" data-webtasks-id="060fa631-e409-496b">[Pg 64]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a93712e1-65b4-4dbe">“Well, if you handle it as recklessly as you
handle the English language you’ll kill the man
on sight. Well, to my tale: Pete will uncouple
the train the moment the engineer has placed
the engine and wait for me.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7bfe87e6-f062-4c70">“An’ what’ll the great man do?” demanded
Jim, who was feeling the insult to his grammar.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="da56e941-4f6b-47e3">“The great man will herd the car-hands up
through the sleepers and into the day coach,
where he will proceed to pacify the passengers.
Having slipped into his false face he will pause
with his back to the door at the rear of the car,
twirl his arsenal playfully, and bid the multitude
be quiet. For the further awing of those who
may meditate violence he will fire three shots—bang,
bang, bang—that shall come like the
measured thumping of my lady’s heart, when
she sees a cow. These pistol shots will be followed
by the tinkling sound of falling glass, for
the three glims will have been doused. And,
by the same token you shall know, O, Jimmie,
and you, my shivering Pete, that your uncle is
doing business in the day coach.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="59aac044-4d1e-45aa">“An’ I’ll come in wud a mail sack an’ git de
watches and diamins.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="94629c0f-cfd7-4d77"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_65" data-webtasks-id="6d21edef-6ef0-4693">[Pg 65]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7f7a3b7d-a6f0-478d">“Watches! shade of Jesse! Does Two-card
Charley rob unarmed men and helpless women?
You will devote your time and that mite of gray
matter that you are supposed to have in your
head to the parting of the train.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="33c90146-dc4a-411f">“S’pose some on’ shows fight?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="24acbc6b-4e7e-418b">“Why, apologize and bow yourself out, of
course. Oh, Pete! Pete! I’ve tried to make
something of you, but it isn’t in the wood. It
hurts me to hint such a thing, and yet I know
the day will come when I must needs lay violent
hands on you; kill you, mayhap, and cache
you in the waving grass, you ass.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2f47e1b8-c291-45b0">Pete had stuck a short pipe into his mouth,
and now indiscreetly struck a parlor match and
held it to the pipe. The intellectual leader
struck the pipe and the match with his open
hand and drove them into the face of Pete, and
immediately the conference broke up.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d40980b3-fc16-49c4">The two boys lay quiet until the men had
passed the big lamp at the landing, and then
crawled out.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="851c9d2a-339d-433a">“Say, Jack,” said Tommy, and the sound of
his voice broke the silence so suddenly that
Jack started and clutched at his friend’s arm,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66" data-webtasks-id="acbf6332-250b-4e2f">[Pg 66]</span>“them fellows’ll be hidin’ out same as us, if
they don’t watch out.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="321731f6-4865-4b6e">“Shall we tell on ’em?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="aba4f1a2-520a-47a9">“Sure! Aint the company’s business our
business?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c5578d21-6ab9-44d6">“Yes; still we wouldn’t like to have somebody
tell on us.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1b529edc-818b-47f9">“But what have we done, Jack Connor? We
ordered the drinks an’ paid for ’em—both of
us.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cf571a94-9997-4838">“An’ pulled the door down. You often hear
of fellows bein’ sent up for breakin’ into houses.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="346979f7-b723-4059">“We didn’t break in; we broke out, to gain
our freedom. Liberty, Heidelberg says, is the
rightful heritage of American citizens.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b92bc478-5209-4c53">Now, the boys, full of a great tale, stole softly
up the shadow side of the street, and to bed.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="939a525c-1e6d-4dd8">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="e803e82e-252f-42f8">
<p data-webtasks-id="8b61b495-63ab-4ffb"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_67" data-webtasks-id="a13a860d-e744-43b3">[Pg 67]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI" data-webtasks-id="26fe3e3d-3167-4f6b">CHAPTER XI</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="72b336fe-c70e-48ec">THE HOLD-UP AT CASEY’S TANK</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="eeb13605-bee3-4416"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="b4ab8722-7063-46bd"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="bab36d5c-31d5-4c0f">I</span>t</span> was Sunday in St. Louis, and in East St.
Louis as well, but there was no rest for the
officials of the Vandalia Line. Little Jack, the
messenger boy, and Tommy, the pump boy, were
being examined by the superintendent. The
boys told their story without embarrassment. A
boy who has been messenger for a year in the
roadmaster’s office, and another boy who has
been up against the White Mail with his mule,
when the Mail was making little less than a mile
a minute, are not going to get rattled when telling
a simple story. When the superintendent
had heard that Two-card Charley, Jim, and Pete
were going to rob the Midnight Express on
Monday night, he began to work the wire that
went to Chicago.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8a4f38db-5f2d-4b73">Then, as now, Chicago was the headquarters
of the famous Watchem Detective Agency, and
the Vandalia wanted a good detective, right
away, regardless of expense.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ea2ed6d5-e324-40a1"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_68" data-webtasks-id="a1ac9725-a9fa-45b3">[Pg 68]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d2ae4357-901d-427d">Now, the elder Watchem happened to be a
personal friend of the President of the Vandalia
Line, and he would send none other than his
boy, Billy, who had already made a world-wide
reputation as a criminal catcher. But Billy was
away chasing a bank robber through the Michigan
forests, and could not be found.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="85977f59-66b3-4de1">Late in the afternoon the Superintendent
grew impatient, but the head of the Chicago
agency assured him that a detective would
reach the river in time to take the Midnight
Express on Monday night.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="46041bde-d853-422a">When the last train over the Alton left Chicago
that Sunday night, with no detective on
board, the Superintendent went swearing to bed.
When all the morning trains pulled out on
Monday, bringing no help, the Superintendent
said, over the wire, to Watchem, that he would
give the business to Theil. Whereupon, old
man Watchem reached over to Indianapolis,
touched the President, and the President said,
over the wire, to the Superintendent, “Leave it
all to Watchem,” and he left it, and sulked in
his tent the day.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="43c4b6e5-f516-46af">The Michigan pines were making long shadows<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69" data-webtasks-id="a833dbc2-c4d1-45f9">[Pg 69]</span>
on Monday afternoon when Billy Watchem
came to the lake-side and caught a wire from
his father, bidding him hurry home.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b22f7d03-8b49-4d6e">“Step lively,” said Billy to his burglar,
“you’re not the only robber on the road.
There is work for me near the home office;”
and so the men made haste.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8348bc41-df1c-4060">The lamps had been lighted about the post
office when young Watchem rushed into the
office of the Chicago & Alton and asked for a
special engine to carry him to East St. Louis.
In his haste he got on the wrong spur, and
stumbled over a little, inexpensive, but extremely
officious official, whose business it is to
pass upon the credentials of country editors and
see that the company’s advertisements are
properly printed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4af8968c-ca45-4a25">“For whom do you want a special?” asked
the keeper of the clippings.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="eace444f-f681-4d79">“For myself; that’s ‘‘whom.’”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bf9d9980-17c6-4619">Now, the keeper of the clippings gave the
young man one withering glance, and turned
away with a hauteur in the presence of which
the President would have paled, as the morning
star pales before the rising sun.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="69323feb-a7ce-41d2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_70" data-webtasks-id="25c88e38-63b5-493f">[Pg 70]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a0796fdd-201c-4b1e">At that moment a comfortable looking man
stepped from the elevator. That was the little
man’s chief.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dc1e5d2f-2b99-495e">“Hello, Billy,” said the General Passenger
Agent, giving the young detective a glad hand,
“are you all packed?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a02d8518-6a7b-4684">“All packed,” said Billy, glancing at a hand
grip that till now had been hidden beneath a
fall overcoat that hung on his arm.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="37b1d8e0-1ddf-4c90">“Then let us be off. We’ve got a special
engine and Pullman car waiting at the station
for you,” and the two men went down together.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="937833cc-3894-468c">“Now, have I made of myself an ass?”
mused the keeper of the clippings. “I would
have wagered my position that he was the editor
of the Litchfield Lamplight, and he goes to the
river by special train over our road. Ay, over
the Alton,” and he closed his desk with a bang.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7d0d88ca-fd68-4d29">“I want you to make a mile a minute to-night,”
said the General Passenger Agent, offering
a cigar to the engineer, as the slim
eight-wheeler moved out of the station shed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c1974ec3-d36d-4a42">As the car clicked over the switches, the
young detective turned to a cold lunch that
the black boy had builded in the buffet, for he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71" data-webtasks-id="bea70b31-d48d-4efd">[Pg 71]</span>had not eaten since morning. He had scarcely
commenced his meal when the heavy sleeper
began to slam her flanges up against the rail
and show him that she was rolling. The Alton
was one of the oldest of the western roads,
and upon this occasion she would take her
place as pace-maker for the rest, just as she
had taught the Atlantic lines the use of sleeping
and dining cars. Indeed it is here, upon
these very rails, that we are wont to picture
young Mr. Pullman, with a single blanket and
a wisp broom, swinging himself into his first
sleeper, that was not his, but a rented car.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="909cb70d-ed0d-4bbc">By the time young Watchem had finished
his “tea” the roar of passing towns was coming
closer and closer together. When the
flying engine screamed for a crossing, the
whistle sounded above his head, and far away
in the rear of his car a rain of fire was falling
in the furrowed fields.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f9771d4c-4c93-46a6">As well might the engine have been running
light, for the one sleeper only served to steady
her. She was making a mile on a shovel of
coal, and five posts on a single fire.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e8ccff56-6013-488a">“What’s that?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3c47d5cf-f175-4652"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72" data-webtasks-id="dda9d763-375a-4276">[Pg 72]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="668b3a2c-4978-40bd">“Lexington,” said the porter, bracing himself
with a hand on a seat at either side of the
aisle. “I tell you, boss, we’re flyin’. Dey
don’ mak’ no swiftah ingin dan de nine-spot;
an’ ef yo’ heah me shout, dat man Jim know
how t’ hit ’er, too.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5a884c49-aa47-46c7">“What’s that?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f77eca03-8965-473a">“Bloomin’ton, sah. I tell you, boss, dese
towns am brushin’ by de windahs to-night lak
telegraph poles—we’re flyin’, boss,—flyin’,
da’s all.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="daa61e3a-5b93-441a">At a station where they took water, the despatcher
asked the engineer if he could stand
the strain to cover the entire route. They
were holding the Midnight Express at the
river. This was the most important train on
the Van. “Tell him yes,” said the engineer
to the operator, as he opened the throttle.
The Alton was making history.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="974183fd-f326-41ea">“We’re goin’ through, Mickey,” shouted
the engineer, holding his open watch in the
thin glare of light that shot up behind the furnace
door that was on the latch.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="76b88929-b1ad-4e26">“Good!” said the fireman, catching the
enthusiasm that was contagious in the cab.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c2baffb0-7598-40d2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_73" data-webtasks-id="64ce44c5-2ef9-4d11">[Pg 73]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="234128ee-2271-4451">When the two men had worked so, nervously
alert, for another hour, they were drunk with
the excitement of the trip. They could not
talk for the roar and roll of the engine, but
they could see each other in the dim light,
and smile at each other across the cab.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b3544b9b-62f5-45ac">As tank after tank they passed without stopping,
the fireman would look over at the
engineer, and the driver, making the sign of a
man drinking (which means “water” on an
engine), would jerk his thumb over his shoulder,
and the fireman would go back and sound
the engine tank and show the wet line on the
shovel handle to the engineer, and he would
raise his right hand and wriggle his wrist,
which means “All right, let ’er go.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4bf6e9df-627b-4591">Then he would take off his cap, hold his
head out of the cab window, and cool his
temples in the dewy twilight. He had no
thought now of danger; not the faintest appreciation
of the risk he was running. He would
drive her so to the very edge of the Mississippi,
and, if the lights were white, and the switches
right, and if it were necessary, he would take
the trackless, tieless skeleton of the big bridge
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_74" data-webtasks-id="f836acb3-c9a1-49d7">[Pg 74]</span>that was being built over the broad river.
They were flying.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ce00043d-eebd-4135">The President of the C. & A., by a singular
coincidence, was watching at the Columbia
Theatre in Chicago, men and women going
’round the world in eighty days. “This,”
thought the railway man, “is play-acting, and
you can’t prove it. But this,” he would add,
as message after message was passed into his
box, “this play that the Alton is putting up to-night
is the real thing.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b0d268b0-a182-4feb">The Midnight Express was thirty minutes
over-due to leave when the driver of the
special, pale but calm faced, dashed up to the
station at East St. Louis and brought them to
a stand with an emergency stop.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c7389ee3-9cb4-400e">“This is no boy’s business,” growled the
Superintendent, as he hurried the young man
from the special to the rear of the Midnight
Express. “Where’s your father?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="30f2dd12-5814-491d">“In Chicago. Got any instructions?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0bee11d4-e9d9-4a81">The Superintendent handed the voyager an
envelope containing a letter, his transportation,
and a check for an upper berth.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="384492ba-ef6e-41dc">“Thank you,” said the young man, and,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75" data-webtasks-id="aec578e0-a149-471c">[Pg 75]</span>ignoring the insult to his tender age, he swung
himself into one of the sleepers that were
gliding by.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="00c8047c-199a-4811">Side by side with the Midnight Express
came the O. & M. broad gauge, lumbering
along, her high wheels climbing the cold steel
rails that lay in “splendid isolation,” with six
feet of earth between them. The O. & M.
Cannon Ball was jealous of the Midnight Express.
In fact it was the coming of the new
line, with her narrower, swifter engines, that
caused the rails of the O. & M. to get together
on a sensible gauge, that has since become a
standard for American railways. Side by side
the two trains passed the last lights of the city,
and found the open fields. Of course there
would be a race. Everybody knew that, and
when the big engine had got her short train
well under way, and her smoke lay across the
Van Line in the glare of the light of the Midnight
Express, she whistled the other man
ahead. Under these circumstances that constitutes
a “dare,” and no self-respecting engineer
will take it. The Van answered the
signal. The Express was a heavy train, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_76" data-webtasks-id="5ed9fc38-7d4c-4d09">[Pg 76]</span>before the driver could get them going (he
would not tear the fireman’s fire, full of green
coal) he was looking into the tail lights of the
Cannon Ball. Five miles out the broad gauge
had reached the limit of her speed. The
black plunger at the head of the Night Express
was hanging at her flank, as you have seen a
farm-dog hang at the side of a sow, racing up
through a field, with only a row of corn between
them. Gradually she began to gain.
To the joy of her driver and all of her passengers,
she began to crawl up. Her headlight
could no longer be seen from the sleepers
behind the Cannon Ball—only the glare of it.
Now her stack stood opposite the mail car on
the O. & M. She would soon have the sow by
the ear. There was not a man, woman,
or child on either of the two trains that did
not enter into the excitement of the chase.
Now the headlight of the broad gauge engine
shone full on the face of the daring driver of
the Midnight Express, who was looking back
from the cab window. He whistled the man
ahead, and a moment later the Van flyer,
swinging into a shallow cañon near Collinsville,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77" data-webtasks-id="2492fbed-26ad-4b00">[Pg 77]</span>
showed her tail lights to the Cannon
Ball.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ed0b817f-923a-480e">Of all the people on the two trains, the man
who was to occupy lower seven and the man
who was to occupy upper seven were least
interested in the race. The former kept his
thin face, with its receding forehead, pressed to
the pane, peering into the night, and thinking
wild and awful thoughts.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e6afc882-994a-4d89">“What are these common carriers but soulless
corporations, oppressors of the poor,—the
poor that are growing poorer, as the rich
grow richer. Something is radically wrong.
The world owes me a living and I mean to
have it.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="968484a5-5b34-438e">These and many other thoughts were running
through the young man’s almost empty head.
Beside him lay a copy of the “Police Gazette”
and a small yellow-back branded “Dead on the
Desert;” and when young Watchem, who held a
check for upper seven, saw the literature, he
guessed that this must be Two-card Charley, the
amateur and somewhat theatrical young highwayman.
Noting the almost expressionless face
and the nothingness of the man’s physique, the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78" data-webtasks-id="4f607123-b260-415d">[Pg 78]</span>strong young detective felt sympathy for this
would-be criminal.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e37b5605-0b7b-4d95">Retiring to the smoking-room the detective
read his letter of instructions, which was little
more and no less than the story of how the
messenger boy and the pump boy had overheard
the three conspirators conspiring to rob
the Midnight Express. In Pete, the chicken-hearted,
the shrewd detective recognized “Epsom
Pete,” who had held up a stenographer
and burglarized a box car in Kansas City. Of
Two-card Charley he knew nothing, save the
little he had gathered from a few moments’
observation. To begin with, Charley smoked
cigarettes excessively, and that made him wakeful
and nervous. He ate opium, and that
wrecked his morals. But Jim—“Cheyenne
Jim,” as he called himself—was a hard nut.
His knife-handle, as Watchem was well aware,
was notched for two Chinamen, a sheriff, and a
Sioux. He was a coward. All his men had
been killed going, and a conscienceless coward
had no business with a gun. This man must
be handled gingerly or somebody would get
hurt.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dd2f387d-eec1-4ffa"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_79" data-webtasks-id="e8bce769-3e8c-4ab3">[Pg 79]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3f672587-823e-4aad">Presently Charley came and sat in the narrow
smoking-room opposite the detective, but
with his gaze bent upon the black window.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b9d142ce-8026-4197">“Charley,” said Watchem, puffing at a cigar
which he was attempting to re-light, and instantly
Charley’s right hand went back toward
his pistol pocket, “we’re going to have a hard
winter, I think,” he added, between puffs.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f4a6c187-f9b8-49e3">“Sir,” exclaimed the robber, bringing his
hands in front of him again, “you have me at
some disadvantage.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3fa175d7-1715-4458">“Oh, no! but I’d like to have you so; s’pose
you give me your gun.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="07866986-1198-4883">Again Charley’s hand went back and his face
went chalk white.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ab2add86-1387-4868">“Not so fast, not so fast, my boy,” said the
detective, shoving the point of his own pistol
up to Charley’s chin; “slowly now. That’s it,
butt first. Now we can talk.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5a05f0f9-a8bf-4fb4">But Charley only glared at the detective and
refused to say a word. He had read in the
various “works,” with which he was more or less
familiar, that the real game robber never gave
up to a detective.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e864ec55-069e-40c2">When the fresh locomotive that had been
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80" data-webtasks-id="47378c3d-b7ad-4d35">[Pg 80]</span>hooked on at Effingham had galloped over the
Ambraw bridge and stopped at Greenup, Epsom
Pete boarded the blind baggage, and a moment
later the black steed, snorting in the frosty
morn, was dashing away across Fanchers’ farm.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d6dbbd9b-728b-4f10">The detective took a pair of handcuffs, which
he happened to have in his grip, and festooned
them upon Charley’s wrists. Stepping out on
the rear platform he cut off a few feet of surplus
bell rope that hung on the railing, and fettered
Charley’s feet, so that he might not jump off
and lose himself.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3bba1f7e-0c41-436c">When the engineer whistled for Casey Tank
he cut the cord and marched the robber-chief
up through the train. When the engine had
been placed, the detective, standing on the rear
end of the day coach, fired three shots, imitating
as well as he knew how “the measured
beating of my lady’s heart.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9460afc4-607c-4bf1">Leaping to the ground, he pushed Charley
along in front of him until they came to Pete,
cutting the coupling. “Come on, Pete,” said
Watchem, and Pete, wondering who the new
captain could be, followed on to the locomotive.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0188006e-94dd-4272">“Speak to the gentleman on the engine,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_81" data-webtasks-id="3cb863ed-599e-4783">[Pg 81]</span>Charley,” said the detective. “Call him off or
I shall be compelled to kill him.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1bc4e2c2-5998-402c">“Jim,” said Charley, dramatically, “we have
been betrayed. This train is loaded down with
detectives and deputy sheriffs. We are surrounded,
drop your gun.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ab18e77a-d3ba-4563">“Just hand it over to the engineer, please,”
said Watchem. “There, that’s better. There’s
not so many of me that I feel like fighting the
whole band.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a0f9aa5d-2185-4c6c">“An’ now,” said Pete, facing Two-card
Charley, “I reckon here’s whar’ we ’pologize
an’ bow ourselves out.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="ea6007cc-04a1-41b3">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="588b4259-4d11-475a">
<p data-webtasks-id="e54e9fc7-82b0-4b8c"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_82" data-webtasks-id="9b980ce6-7065-4d3f">[Pg 82]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII" data-webtasks-id="556491bb-90c8-4dbc">CHAPTER XII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="7ca77768-7078-4c5d">McGUIRE GOES WEST</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="1b83dde2-7719-4adc"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="49c9a9ab-650b-4dc0"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="e431ec4b-e1e0-4c10">H</span>aving</span> saved the White Mail from a
watery grave in the washout at West
Silver Creek, and having also been instrumental
in preventing the robbery of the Midnight
Express at Casey’s Tank, Tommy McGuire,
the pump boy, was the most celebrated employee
in the service of the Vandalia Line.
The head of the average boy would have been
turned with so much attention, but Tommy had
inherited the democratic simplicity of his plain
parents, and, with the exception of a scarcely
perceptible throwing out of his chest, there
was no apparent change in his mien when he
stepped from the train at St. Jacobs after his
eventful visit to East St. Louis. His mother
had come up from the bridge to meet him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1a23fb8a-bdaa-4d67">“Ah, Tommy, darlint,” she cried, clasping
the boy in her arms, “they do be afther makin’
a regular little jude uv ye, so they do, so they
do.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5023c663-28f0-4e65"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_83" data-webtasks-id="1763a96d-ff02-4360">[Pg 83]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1da702b6-525b-48b9">Tommy kissed his mother, and put her from
him as though she had been a child. He
straightened his hat, that had been displaced,
buttoned the top button on his store coat, and
offered his hand to the agent, who now came forward
to congratulate the young hero. It is to
the boy’s credit that he invariably colored a little
when complimented upon his heroism in preventing
the Casey robbery. He could not help
recalling the fact that he was himself hiding
from the police when he overheard the desperadoes
planning to hold up the train. To be
sure, he and his friend, little Jack, had committed
no offence, but they thought they had.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="39da11cb-f77b-4c3c">Tommy had been home but a few days when
he was ordered to report to the President of
the road at Indianapolis. The President was
favorably impressed by the boy’s modesty. He
sent him to the General Passenger Agent, who,
finding that Tommy could read fairly well, set
him reading the newspapers, clipping out and
pasting on a broad piece of cardboard the daily
comments of the press upon the road and its
management. Upon another card he pasted
the market and stock reports, and upon still
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84" data-webtasks-id="7a577e95-e913-48c3">[Pg 84]</span>another the railway news of the day, the name
of the paper from which the cutting came being
written at the bottom of each item. All this
was for the convenience of busy officials.
Tommy was greatly interested in his new work,
and in a little while became expert. When he
opened a newspaper his eye swept the page,
and if there were a cap. “V” or an “R” he
would catch it almost instantly and read what
was said of the Vandalia or of railroads in
general. There is no work in the passenger
department of a railroad that does not sharpen
the intellect and quicken the eye. The office
of the General Passenger Agent is a school of
itself, and a boy beginning with a very limited
education will come out of such an office in a
few years with an edge on him that would let
him pass for at least a high school graduate.
Tommy read constantly. He read the advertisements
of the Vandalia and of other roads as
well, and made comparisons. He ventured one
day to call the attention of the Assistant General
Passenger Agent to the plain, prosy unattractiveness
of the company’s advertising matter.
He showed the ads. of a number of other lines,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_85" data-webtasks-id="17ca01cf-0165-44a0">[Pg 85]</span>and famous soap display ads., and suggested a
picture of the White Mail. The cut was made
and proved very attractive, for the reason that
nobody had ever seen a train of white cars in
print before.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="40f57dbd-70e6-482e">The editorial page of a New York daily, famous
then as now for its clean type and clean
English, attracted the boy’s notice, and he read
it religiously every day. The General Passenger
Agent remembered distinctly that the boy
had declared with characteristic frankness at
their first meeting that he “didn’t know nothing
about the passenger business.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1d981379-e740-416a">He noticed that the young man’s form of
speech had undergone a wonderful change.
This was due to the fact that Tommy McGuire
was remarkably observing. His daily intercourse
was with the higher clerks and officials
of the road. These men were his teachers,—these
and the great editor in Nassau Street,
whom he had never seen.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="816e3716-fc8b-434e">When winter and the dull times came, the
General Passenger Agent persuaded Tommy to
go to school. He objected to losing so much
time, but, when assured that he could have his
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86" data-webtasks-id="df6f1bda-06e8-4989">[Pg 86]</span>old place back in the spring, with an increase
of pay, he consented. He attended a little
college for boys, in St. Louis.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="91e0e557-2813-4ae6">Tommy was as industrious in school as he
had been in the office, and came back to his
desk much improved. For three years he attended
school in winter and worked in the
office of the General Passenger Agent in summer.
He was no longer the office boy, but the
“Advertising Manager” for the passenger department
of the line.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="04f62d02-c79c-4f14">His friend, little Jack, having outgrown the
clothes of a messenger boy, was now braking on
a through passenger run, and so the boys renewed
their acquaintance. Jack was also a
great reader. His leisure hours were devoted
to the study of the labor problem. He was
much worried over the prospects of the workingman.
He was one of those good, misguided
souls who are ever on the alert for a grievance.
Peace appeared to trouble his mind. “But
what’s the good of it all?” Tommy would ask.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b62d0107-4ea3-4b63">“Mutual protection to elevate the general
tone of the workingman.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8e562917-42d1-4825">“But, if everybody works and succeeds, we’ll
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87" data-webtasks-id="1c316382-3a9d-4315">[Pg 87]</span>all be at the front, Jack, old boy. My notion
is that a great deal depends upon individual
effort.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5cd6e9c8-8aad-43b0">But Jack would not be comforted. He gave
so much time and thought to his brother brakemen
that he neglected his own job. He would
forget his flags, and one night went out on the
Midnight Express with no oil in his lamps. He
had been reported by the conductor, but the
trainmaster, knowing the sad history of his
family, let him off with a sharp lecture. But a
man in train service must have his mind on his
work, and so it fell out that the pale, thoughtful
Jack forgot to close the switch at Greenville
one night, and put a fast freight, that was following
the express, in the ditch.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4cfebf26-a137-4036">For that inexcusable carelessness he was discharged,
and it was not until Tommy had almost
exhausted his influence at the general office that
he was re-employed as flagman on a work-train.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c1212a35-a33a-40c8">Mary, Jack’s sister, had written Tommy from
the convent at St. Louis, urging him to help her
unfortunate brother, who seemed to be in bad
repute with the officials, who apparently had
forgotten that poor Jack “had risked his life”
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88" data-webtasks-id="112b60c0-3769-4b4c">[Pg 88]</span>to save the Midnight Express from train robbers
when a mere boy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f69614a6-d2b6-499e">Tommy, remembering the sad face of the
girl who had been the one close friend of his
brief childhood, did what he could for her
brother, but he would have done that without
the letter.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="803f0463-810b-4390">Out of his savings Tommy had helped his
father to build a new house at Silver Creek, and
when he saw the old folks comfortably settled
in it, he was contented, or as nearly so as an
ambitious, aspiring youth looking for promotion
can be.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="02720489-70db-49c7">Alas, for the uncertainty of railroading!
Eternal vigilance, it may be said, is the price
of a job. A man must so live and work, that
when he leaves one road another will be waiting
for him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="78b7b731-b115-4e8d">The Vandalia elected a new President. A
new General Manager was appointed and a
general cleaning out followed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f61d3a4c-476b-437e">The Passenger Agent, who had taken so
much interest in Tommy, retired for a time, and
Tommy determined to go West and grow up
with the railroads of that region.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5c8d0d66-ae40-4eb2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_89" data-webtasks-id="f0401f62-ff24-4acf">[Pg 89]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2ab7cce5-e432-40ae">He made a long visit at St. Jacobs, and found
that his little sweetheart was dead to the world.
She had taken the veil, and so shut herself away
from the world that had ever seemed hard and
heartless to her.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="94f4e32a-1dab-4e38">It was with a sense of pride and a shade of
sadness that the agent at St. Jacobs said good-bye
to his <i data-webtasks-id="853ca08a-c37d-4967">protégé</i>, who boarded the Highland
accommodation with a heart full of hope and a
ticket for Denver.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="9a171993-8260-4e4f">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="88f27fe6-52a3-4644">
<p data-webtasks-id="63ec2f90-2601-4b8d"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90" data-webtasks-id="d0665b8c-c9f4-4188">[Pg 90]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII" data-webtasks-id="1536b24b-ce4c-483c">CHAPTER XIII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="cdde5cfa-c7fd-43d2">McGUIRE LEARNS TELEGRAPHY</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="9a16d1aa-29b9-4e7e"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="96f3ad55-84cb-46cc"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="4fb2d8b2-b504-474e">O</span>maha</span> hung out the first flag on young
McGuire as he hurried westward in the
wake of the Star of Empire. Looking far into
the future he saw the necessity of learning the
language of the wire that had just been stretched
across the plains. There were schools of telegraphy,
but he chose the office, and, having
shown good letters and a disposition to work,
he was given employment, or rather an opportunity
to learn the business.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5fc9df63-3576-4e9e">Being accustomed to office work he soon
fitted in, and made friends with all the operators,
which helped him greatly. The present
General Manager of the great line that at that
time had just been opened to the Rocky Mountains,
it is said, was one of the old employees
who gave aid and encouragement to the young
railroader: and the venerable President of the
Gould system in the West recalls with pride that
Tom McGuire was once an operator in his
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_91" data-webtasks-id="9c4cabc9-7b1b-4d1e">[Pg 91]</span>office at Omaha. To be sure there are many,
many more who rocked the cradle of our hero,
but of these above mentioned we know. The
successful railway man is often amazed at the
number of officials who “made him,” just as
the great writer is constantly crossing the trail
of the man who “discovered” him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="430687d4-1dd4-4b35">When McGuire had mastered the key he was
given a station. He was duly appointed station-master,
ticket agent, operator, yardmaster, head
switchman, and superintendent of the windmill
and water tank at Plainfield, far out on the
plains.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f7005374-72ba-4708">Carefully and tenderly the superintendent of
telegraph broke the news to the young man that
he would have to sleep in the depot, and would,
until some enterprising caterer opened a hotel,
be obliged to do his own cooking. The depot
had “filled” walls, the superintendent said, so
there would be little danger. Upon inquiry,
the young man learned that the station was
built of boards, outside and inside, with four
inches of sand between them.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cc51c8e7-e972-4be2">“What’s that for?” asked McGuire.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ea09d816-9096-42e3">“Oh, to keep out the cold and—things.
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92" data-webtasks-id="ae02819b-1521-4f73">[Pg 92]</span>But you must not rely wholly upon that. You
must work and sleep in your six-shooters and
keep your rifle in easy reach, day and night.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fd5aa864-a81b-4316">McGuire believed, until it was too late to
back out of an ugly job, that the superintendent
of telegraph was only having fun with him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b887d241-8dd8-4353">Three days later, when the west-bound passenger
train stopped at Plainfield, the new
station agent stepped off. The express messenger
kicked off a bundle of bedding and a
few boxes of supplies, some flour and bacon,
and a small cook stove.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="556d621f-1706-44d1">McGuire cast one sweeping glance over
Plainfield, and turning to the brakeman, asked:
“Where’s the station?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="645b413e-1301-40bd">For answer the brakeman gave the operator
a withering look, and then putting his gloved
hand upon the little board shanty that stood
beside the track, said: “Johnny, you mus’ be
goin’ bline! here’s yer station, see? right
here.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="90ff97a8-52e1-49a6">At that moment the train pulled out, and
when the station agent had glanced up and
down the track and out over the plain on either
side, he realized that the brakeman had told
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93" data-webtasks-id="f0125177-33d0-4811">[Pg 93]</span>the truth, for, if we except the windmill and the
water tank, this was the only “improvement”
at Plainfield.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="75c1ba6c-c731-4d7d">Down the track he could see the rear end
of the departing train, contracting and sinking
nearer and nearer to earth. Faint and far
away came the roar of wheels, and even as he
looked, the last car dropped below the line of
the horizon, the sound ceased, and he listened
for other sounds, but there were none. He
looked longingly to see some living thing, but
there was neither bird nor beast in sight. He
glanced along the level plain that lay cold and
gray at the end of autumn, but there was not a
living, moving thing upon the earth, not even
a snake or horned toad. A timid man would
have been helpless with fear, but young McGuire
was one of those rare beings who never
knew that feeling in the least. What impressed
him now was the unutterable dreariness of the
place. His whole being was filled with a sense
of loneliness, hitherto unknown to him. Seated
upon one of the boxes, he was gazing at the
ground, when, to his great relief, a little brown
animal with dark stripes down its back came
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_94" data-webtasks-id="085f426c-3654-4418">[Pg 94]</span>from under the shanty, sat on the end of a tie,
and looked at him. It was no larger than a
small rat, but it lived and moved, and it was
welcome. Now, if this thing could live in this
desert alone, a man ought to exist, and the
operator took heart.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="56b96633-a804-46bd">Fishing a key from his pocket that had a tag
upon which was written “Plainfield,” he unlocked
the big padlock and pushed the door
open. As he did so he noticed that the door,
which was also “filled,” and thick like the
door of a refrigerator car, was full of holes.
Walking ’round the house he found that the
outer walls were perforated. The holes, he
reasoned, must have been made by things. He
remembered that the superintendent of telegraph
had said that the sand was put between
the walls “to keep out the cold—and things.”
Coming round to the door again he went in.
The place had been occupied before. There
was a chair and a table and some twisted wire,
but the telegraph instrument had been taken
away. A small coal stove, red with rust, stood
on the floor. The floor was also rusty. No, it
was not rust; it was blood. So the agent, too,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95" data-webtasks-id="641f8f4a-d27d-4cb5">[Pg 95]</span>had been taken away. McGuire examined the
walls, and noticed with a feeling of satisfaction
that none of the things had penetrated the
inner boards.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fac61d13-9d30-4634">In a low lean-to he found fuel, and concluded
to unpack and make the best of the
hard lay-out, for McGuire was not a quitter.
With a rusty hatchet that he had unearthed in
the shed he began opening his freight. The
first long box contained a rifle, two six-shooters,
and many rounds of ammunition. Another
held sugar and coffee, and from a third he got
a neat medicine chest that contained cotton
bandages and liniment. Scenting the biscuits
and bacon, the little brown squirrel came nosing
’round the freight, and the agent, appreciating
its company, gave it bits of cracker, and gained
a companion. The first work of the operator
was to examine his fire-arms and load them.
He was not an expert with a rifle, but he had
been three winters in St. Louis, and he reasoned
that a man who could hit a snipe on the wing
with a shot-gun ought to be able to hit a Sioux
on his door-sill with a six-shooter.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d82cee19-088f-47da">When he had carried all his belongings into
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96" data-webtasks-id="d7c636ba-6aac-49d1">[Pg 96]</span>the shanty and the shed, and had spread his
bedding upon the hard board bunk, he sat
down upon an empty box to think. The sun,
big and red, was burning down the west at
the end of a short squaw-summer day. Out
of the east the shades of night came creeping
across the sea of sage-brush, and the operator
turned to contemplate the glory of the sunset.
When the red disc was cut in half by the line
of the horizon, the lone man fixed his eyes upon
it and held them there. Far out on the plain,
a long, lean animal, that looked to be part
sheep and the rest dog, limped across the face
of the falling sun, and immediately disappeared
in the gloaming.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a2a6d0b6-1fb2-4074">The operator entered the shanty, and in
the fading light tried to connect his instrument
to the broken wire that was upon the
pine table. On the morrow a man would
come from Kearney and fix it for him; but
McGuire was lonely. If he could talk to
Omaha, two or three hundred miles away, the
operator there would be company for him.
He worked patiently until it was dark, and
then lighted his lamp. He had been so interested<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97" data-webtasks-id="4ece0028-d060-488b">[Pg 97]</span>
in the wire that he had forgotten to
cook supper. He made coffee and ate some
crackers and a short roll of indefinite meat.
Presently he heard the roar of an approaching
train. He opened the door. The rails were
clicking as though they were out in a hail-storm.
Now they began to sing, and a moment
later the fast mail crashed by and showed her
tail lights to the agent at Plainfield. It was
eleven o’clock when the young operator got
his instrument connected and in shape to talk
to Omaha. The next moment brought answer
to his call, and a great load was lifted
from the young man’s mind. He no longer
felt lonely, for he could hear the wire talking
to him, and it gave him courage. He turned
to the west and called up station after station,
and they all answered cheerily and gave him
welcome over the wire. The operators along
the line knew him for a new man, but they
knew he was no coward or he would not be
sleeping out in that manner. Presently, when
the wire was free, they began to jolly the new
agent. Kearney advised him to take off his
boots when he went to bed, so as to avoid the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_98" data-webtasks-id="6d38dd95-340a-4efc">[Pg 98]</span>chance of dying with them on. North Platte
told him to put his hair outside the door, so
the Sioux could get it without waking him.
“Oh, you’ll like the place,” said Lincoln;
“good night.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a870c36e-7702-4a05">McGuire made no answer to these playful
shots. The situation, from his point of view,
was far from funny.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="95bd400a-d8c3-47fe">Having barred the doors and placed his fire-arms
within easy reach, the agent at Plainfield
rolled up in his blankets and tried to sleep.
Far out on the desert he heard a lone wolf
howl. That, thought he, is the shadow that
crossed the sun.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="952649ae-1f34-4d61">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="3c5d2c46-bfe0-40c2">
<p data-webtasks-id="fb22195c-50b5-4d73"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_99" data-webtasks-id="7c42207a-e6b8-454b">[Pg 99]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV" data-webtasks-id="ace88526-1f80-47cd">CHAPTER XIV</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="f2de892b-1cf6-4585">STATION-MASTER McGUIRE</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="bf215b09-e420-4309"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="dc7f229e-af99-47d9"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="49a4b00c-857e-4988">T</span>he</span> new station agent at Plainfield saw
the sun rise on the morrow of his first
night on the plains. He had watched it sinking
in the sage-covered Sahara on the previous
evening with a feeling of loneliness, and now
he welcomed the return of day with all the
enthusiasm of his youthful nature. He almost
enjoyed the novelty of preparing his own
breakfast, of bread, bacon, and black coffee.
A long freight lumbered by, and the conductor,
hanging low from the corner of the way-car,
dropped off a delay report, and the operator
scanned it eagerly. When the caboose had
dropped from the horizon he sat down and
told Omaha how a dragging brake-beam had
ditched a car of ore and he was glad, for it
gave him something to do and an opportunity
to show his usefulness; but he didn’t send that
over the wire. He busied himself putting
things to rights in his bachelor home, and it
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_100" data-webtasks-id="3327a9bd-899f-4364">[Pg 100]</span>was noon before the day had seemed fairly
begun. When the west-bound passenger train
came by the express car gave up a full kit of
tools to the station-master. An axe, a hammer,
a saw, a pick and shovel, and a case of
eggs. The Union Pacific Company was liberal
with the men who helped them to open the
great trail across the plains, and helped them
to keep it open. McGuire watched the train,
as he had watched each and every train that
had come and gone since his arrival, until the
rear car sank below the level of the plain.
When he prepared his supper his little friend,
the ground squirrel, came and sat in the door
and ate crumbs. When the shadows began
to creep across the plain from the east the
agent sat by the door of his hut and watched
the twilight deepen on the dreary plain. Between
him and the glow in the west that
marked the spot where the sun went down, he
saw the same gaunt shadow that he had seen
limping across the face of the sun on the previous
evening. Still farther away he saw a
horse outlined against the pink sky. Its rider
sat, a bunchy, bareheaded being, that might
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101" data-webtasks-id="5f42bd11-f1fe-4240">[Pg 101]</span>be half man and half bear. The agent could
make out that the horseman wore a blanket
and feathers, and that he was gazing at the
little station. McGuire had been aiming at
the coyote when the Indian came up out of
the west, where all things seemed to come
from, if we save the sun, and now, to show
the skulking Sioux that he was armed, he let
go at the wolf. It was a long shot, but the
boy had aimed well, having the pink sky beyond,
and the wolf leaped high and fell dead,
only a thousand feet from the Sioux. The
Indian having marked the performance of the
marksman, turned his horse’s head and rode
slowly away to the north. The agent knew
that the Government troops had been battling
with the Sioux over on Pole Creek, and made
no doubt that this was a scout from the dangerous
tribe. He would have reported the incident
to Omaha, but he was afraid of being
laughed at over the wire by the other operators
along the line. Sitting there in the twilight
he began to wonder what he should do if this
Indian came back with a few dozen or a few
hundred followers. He could bar the door
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_102" data-webtasks-id="a3633f2d-be68-4dd3">[Pg 102]</span>and kill a few while they stormed the station,
but when they had kindled a fire under the
shack he must surely perish in the flames. It
was not a pretty picture, and he determined
to go to work at once upon a more substantial
fortification. He dreaded the dreary darkness
of the house, and so sat in the twilight until
the gold faded from the sunset and the little
brown mouse went away to bed. “God takes
care of the little squirrel,” mused McGuire,
“and he’ll take care of me as well;” and he
too went to bed, but not to sleep. He lay
awake planning how best to fortify the place.
After dwelling upon, and then dismissing,
many schemes, he decided to dig a tunnel from
beneath the floor of the shed, under the railroad
track and across to the water tank. If
the Sioux came he could make a hard fight and
then take to the tunnel and hide in the tank,
for they would not be apt to burn that, having
their eyes upon the burning station, watching
for the agent to come out and be killed. His
first plan was to dig out the tunnel without
disturbing the surface of the ground, but that
would take too long. He would work from
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_103" data-webtasks-id="a81e6ada-0e8f-4b24">[Pg 103]</span>the top, making a short section each day and
covering the ditch over with boards and dirt
as he went along, so that if any Sioux should
come scouting about they might not know of
the tunnel. Away off to the west he heard a
wolf howl. The cry of the coyote was answered
by another nearer the station, and by another
and yet another still farther away. Presently
he heard a low scratching on the outer shed
door, and, after a long time, he fell asleep.</p>
<hr class="tb" data-webtasks-id="e189a125-c161-4de1">
<p data-webtasks-id="b227415c-8608-44b5">The sun was shining when the agent woke.
The brown squirrel was sitting in the centre of
the room, waiting for his breakfast.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2bfb6e22-ffd5-4713">When McGuire had made breakfast the
squirrel came and ate from the agent’s hand.
Having finished his morning meal and reported
the through freight on time, the station-master
got out his pick and shovel and began his
tunnel. First he made a trap door in the floor
of the shed and excavated a place to drop
into. Going out he measured off the distance
to the tank. It was sixty feet, and he set himself
the task of doing twenty feet a day and
covering up the sign.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4920ce79-eecd-4ff7"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_104" data-webtasks-id="bd7c9962-229e-4433">[Pg 104]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1e6c54d6-33bc-41ed">On the second morning he was stiff and
lame, and his hands were so sore that he could
scarcely close his fingers on the pick handle,
but he worked on, and at night had the tunnel
completed under the track. At the close of
the third day he went into the shed, dropped
to the mouth of the tunnel, crawled through,
and came out in the base of the water tank
that was boarded up from the ground to the
tank proper. Before retiring he carried a
goodly supply of cartridges and stored them in
the framework of the tank near the top, and
then sat down to watch the sunset. The same
glory flooded the west, and when the sun was
down the same gaunt shadows came and stood
in the gloaming, only more of them. They
had begun to scent the food supply at the
station and so grew less timid. The agent
had by this time determined that it was only
a waste of ammunition to shoot the hungry
brutes, and when he showed no fight the
wolves came so near that he could have
reached them with a stone. Far away he
thought he heard the roar of an approaching
train. The muffled sound grew louder, but
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105" data-webtasks-id="b22e004a-64d2-4cb4">[Pg 105]</span>looking where the two shining threads of steel
drew close together, and dipped down into
the desert, he could see no break on the
horizon. Sweeping the plain with his eager
eyes he saw a black something coming out of
the north-west. It looked like a low black
cloud just rising from the earth. The strange
sound grew louder, and the agent thought of
the sudden storms of which he had read, but
the quiet sky gave no sign of storm. Already
he could see a big star burning in the west.
The growling cloud came nearer with each
passing moment, but still lay close to the
sage-brush. It grew broader but no higher,
and in its wake a gray fog arose, like the mist
that hangs over a swamp on a summer’s
morning. Higher and higher the gray cloud
rose, trailing behind the black one, like the
smoke from a locomotive. In a little while it
covered the whole west and shut out the light
from the far pink sky. The wolves, lifting their
heads, listened to the roar of the advancing
cloud. The darkness deepened as the roar of
the cloud increased. The agent, with his rifle
resting on his arm, stood and stared down the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_106" data-webtasks-id="c65798d3-5529-47b8">[Pg 106]</span>plain. A moment later the head of the cloud
swept across the track just below the water
tank. It looked like a regiment of cavalry
riding the desert. It must be so, for he could
hear hoofs rattling over the rails and cross-ties.
Now the agent observed that they were
riderless horses,—horses with horns,—and realized
that this was no cloud, but a band of
buffalo. He could see neither the beginning
nor the end of the herd, and raising his rifle
he began pumping lead into the flying band.
With a great crash one of the animals drove its
head against the base of the water tank and
then lay still while the drove galloped past.
The roar of ten thousand feet beating the desert,
the wild snorts of the wounded brutes, and
the mad rush of the flying mass, so excited the
agent that he ran forward firing as he went into
the dark and roaring flood. Presently the
noise began to die down, and the agent, standing
in a cloud of dust, knew that the end had
come and that the dark cloud was vanishing
down the desert.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b38b9cd5-a136-49fb">When the dust had fallen McGuire found a
fine calf that had driven its poor head against
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107" data-webtasks-id="900f6d64-2990-44cf">[Pg 107]</span>the tank and broken its neck. There was not
a scratch upon its hide, so all his bullets had
gone wide of the mark or had been carried
away under the shaggy coats of the wild cattle.
Here was fresh meat for the agent, but before
he could remove the animal’s robe the hungry
wolves were pressing about in the twilight.
They grew so bold that McGuire was obliged to
take what he could carry and fly for the house.
Before he could reach the door the wolves were
snapping and fighting over the feast. Their
howls and cries brought a great band, and when
they had finished with what was left outside
they came clawing at the shed door, demanding
the agent’s share. It was many hours before
he could find relief from the din in unquiet
dreams.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="96186043-09c1-4d3e">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="34eb1e38-d395-4309">
<p data-webtasks-id="ab8bfed1-9045-4c14"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108" data-webtasks-id="7df7c0f5-a725-4214">[Pg 108]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV" data-webtasks-id="f5771a02-783e-4d63">CHAPTER XV</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="d6d711b4-5531-4ebf">THE COMING OF THE SIOUX</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="75cadc4a-04d3-4b04"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="b1ce1d99-7f48-4c2f"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="1ef189a7-1c1c-46b3">M</span>cGuire</span> had been at Plainfield just a
month, and had begun to believe that
the place was not so dangerous after all.
He was watching the sunset, and the darkness
deepening upon the desert waste one
evening, when he saw a speck upon the
plain just where the earth met the sky. It
was a shapeless bunch, too big for a wolf
and too small, he thought, for a horse. As
he looked it moved along the plain to the
north-west and soon disappeared in the gathering
gloom. The agent was still seated upon the
box at the door of the depot when a big black
bunch showed up just where the other smaller
object had disappeared. Nearer and nearer it
came, and finally stopped a few hundred yards
from the station shanty. Two horsemen rode
out of the black spot and approached the station.
They had feathers in their hair and rifles
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_109" data-webtasks-id="cd48ff4b-16bd-4a33">[Pg 109]</span>on their arms, seeing which, the agent brought
out his rifle and let it rest upon his lap. A
hundred yards from the station the two men
stopped and called to the agent in a strange
tongue, and when he made no reply they rode
slowly up to the little station. They made sign
for drink, but the man stood at the door and
shook his head. They would eat, but the agent
refused to understand, and one of the Indians
started to enter the station. The agent sprang
inside, slammed the door and shoved his rifle
out through the small square hole in the centre
of the shutter. The Indians climbed upon
their cayuses, wiggled their heels, and rode
slowly back to where the band was waiting.
McGuire listened at the shed door, and in a
little while heard the unshod feet of the Indian
ponies beating the dusty plain. They seemed
to have separated, and were now galloping to
surround the station. Peeping through the
small port-holes the agent could see the dark
line of horses closing in upon the little wooden
shanty. Turning to the key he called Kearney
and told them that he was being surrounded
by the Sioux. Major North was notified, and
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110" data-webtasks-id="f36e7d92-e3df-4ff7">[Pg 110]</span>started a company of scouts for Plainfield. The
operator called McGuire, but got no answer,
and all believed that the young station-master
had been killed immediately after sending his
Macedonian message. McGuire was busy. He
had opened the exercises himself, firing first
from one side and then from the other, to
show the enemy that he was numerous and well
armed. The Indians returned the fire, and the
lead fairly hailed upon the house. They had
charged the station, but some of the horses
having been hit by the bullets fired from the
stuffed walls, the Sioux fell back. They had no
thought, however, of abandoning the fight, and
before McGuire had succeeded in reloading
his fire-arms they charged again. This time
they reached the shanty, and, dismounting, beat
upon the sand-filled doors in a vain effort to
batter them down. The agent had been almost
panic stricken at the sound of the first volley
that rattled like rain upon the boarded sides of
the little depot, but now all feeling of fear had
left him, and he determined to give a good account
of himself. Dodging from one part of the
building to another he kept pouring the lead
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_111" data-webtasks-id="694a22ed-f923-46ee">[Pg 111]</span>out through the narrow port-holes until the
Indians were driven away again. Many were
wounded, some were dead, and the rest desperate.
Leaving their horses out of range of the
agent’s rifle, the band concentrated their efforts
upon the front door. By the sound of the
bullets that hailed upon the house, the agent
could tell that they were coming only from one
direction, and so kept his place at the side of
the shanty nearest the track. He could hear
them ripping boards from the framework of
the water tank, and with them beating upon the
heavy door. Upon the low table he had arranged
boxes of cartridges and now stood in
the dark room loading and emptying his revolvers.
The noise of the assault upon the outer
walls of the wooden building became deafening,
and the horror of his surroundings almost
chilled the blood of the besieged; but he had
nothing to hope for at the hands of these
desperate Indians, and so fought on doggedly,
leaving the rest with God, the despatcher, and
Major North.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6f250395-d67c-44f7">Suddenly they hit the door a blow that shook
the walls and the very floor of the house. They
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112" data-webtasks-id="d581233a-f914-4b2c">[Pg 112]</span>had succeeded in loosening a tie, and with it
were ramming the shanty. At the same time
the agent became aware of smoke in the station,
and instantly started for his tunnel. They had
fired the shed at the rear while assaulting the
front, and the smoke almost choked McGuire
as he groped his way to the opening. Through
cracks in the roof he could see the fire eating
its way. Already the outer wall had burned
off, the sand had fallen out, and now the end
of a cross-tie was driven through the ceiling,
and fell, amid a shower of sparks and burning
splinters, upon the floor at the agent’s
feet.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="57807f52-11d5-456a">The front door now gave way under the
heavy blows, but smoke and flames filled the
place and made it impossible for the Indians
to enter. As McGuire took to the tunnel he
heard the yell of victory that went up from the
wild band as the door fell in.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d0c9a67d-a015-4da6">In a few moments McGuire, almost exhausted
and gasping for breath, found himself in the
base of the tank. When he had rested himself,
he climbed to the top of the tank and, peeping
from a small window, saw the painted devils
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113" data-webtasks-id="e503c550-7127-4bfc">[Pg 113]</span>prancing over the plain waiting impatiently for
him to come from the burning building. In
the light of the flaming station he could see
them plainly, and he longed to make targets of
their feathered heads, but he feared to attract
their notice.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cc8653cc-2545-4b72">As the flames devoured the little pine house
and the heat grew less intense, the blood-thirsty
band peered into the ruins, and when
they could see no sign of the late occupant of
the place, began circling round, searching in the
sage-brush for the missing man. Satan seemed
to have inspired one of the imps at this
moment, for, taking a brand from the ruined
station, he ran and placed it against the tank.
When McGuire saw what the Sioux had done
he gave him a shot, and so published the secret
of his hiding-place.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c4d45866-11c9-43e1">The moment he had fired he realized his mistake,
for when once they had discovered him
there would be no shadow of a show for him.
Those of the Indians who had heard the shot
and had seen the Sioux fall, ran about the tank
looking for the agent. Presently one of the
savages stopped and pointed toward the top of
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114" data-webtasks-id="bea010e4-490c-4c35">[Pg 114]</span>the tank. A great crowd had now collected, and
when they had jabbered about the dead Indian,
the tank, and the telegrapher for a few moments
they threw up their guns and sent a shower of
shot against the wooden structure. The agent,
crouching close to the water tub, kept out of
the way and held his fire. Presently he heard
them batter the door down. A moment later
he knew that they were climbing up the narrow
ladder. He waited at the top, and when the
first feathered head showed above the landing
at the bottom of the tank proper he brought
the barrel of his rifle down and the Sioux fell
upon the one following him, knocking him
from the ladder, and so they all went tumbling
to the ground. Leaning from his hiding-place,
McGuire emptied a six-shooter into the confused
band, and they were glad enough to
escape, dragging their dead and wounded with
them. Being sure of the whereabouts of the
white man, the Indians determined to have
him out at any cost. While the major part
of the band trained their guns upon the tank,
a half-dozen Indians carried fire-brands and
heaped them up against the framework. The
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115" data-webtasks-id="9050f053-2e73-4a43">[Pg 115]</span>splinters of the broken door were used for
kindling, and soon the flames were running up
the side of the tank, lighting up the plain for
five hundred yards around.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="47c335b2-c4a1-42db">With a sinking heart McGuire saw the semi-circle
of light from his funeral-pyre drive the
darkness from the desert, and knew that in a
little while he must choose between this burning
refuge and the blood-thirsty band below.
The fight, of which he had been so full a few
moments ago, had all gone out of him, and for
the first time in his life he lost heart. He
was so appalled at the thought of the awful
death that awaited him that it became a labor
to breathe. His limbs grew leaden. His rifle
was so heavy that he laid it down, and, leaning
over the top of the tank, ran his fingers through
his hair and was surprised that it was tangled
and wet, like fine grass heavy with dew.
Clasping his empty hands he lifted his eyes to
heaven to ask for help, but his glance was
arrested at the horizon where a big star burned
above the plain. As he looked the star grew
brighter, and he was reminded of the story of
a world that had been as hopelessly lost as he
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_116" data-webtasks-id="2e51c6b0-c802-430a">[Pg 116]</span>seemed now, when a star burned in the east
and the world was saved. Suddenly behind
the star a yellow light flared, fan-shaped, from
the earth, and he knew that the star was the
headlight of a locomotive and the flash was
from the furnace where the fireman was shovelling
coal for dear life. Now the rails that were
glistening in the glare of the headlight and
bridging the darkness to the edge of the
light of the burning tank began to sing, and
the Indians took warning and fled into the
darkness.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="92699f5e-0abe-41d6">“Too late, too late!” said the captain of the
scouts, who was riding in the cab.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="661fe1da-7e94-4d01">The engineer made no reply, but tugged at
the throttle, that was already wide open, and
kept his eyes fixed upon the burning building.
“That will do,” he said to the fireman as the
light of his head-lamp reached the other light.
He made a motion with his left hand as of a
man drinking, and the fireman put on the left-hand
pump to save the boiler, for the water
was low in the lower gauge.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="32e8261f-cbf5-4df0">“Too late, too late!” mused McGuire, as
the flames climbed to the top and a red
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117" data-webtasks-id="26521ac6-54bc-4382">[Pg 117]</span>tongue lipped the edge of the tank as a mad
dog laps a running brook. Until now he had
not thought of trying to escape, for only death
had waited at the bottom, but seeing the Sioux
hunting cover, he peered over the edge, and the
smoke and flames were all about the ladder.
Now the fire burst through and the smoke came
up blinding and hot, and he took a last stand
on the narrow bridge that ran over the top of
the water tub. As he climbed up his hands
touched the water in the tank, which till now
he had not thought of. The tank was level
full, and with his hands he began to scoop the
water out, and in a little while succeeded in
checking the fire that was eating round to the
rear; but it was too far advanced in front, next
to the track, to be put out so easily. With a
great effort he managed to reach the rope that
was fixed to the valve in the bottom of the
tank, and when he had opened it the great
volume of water rushed out and deadened the
fire, so that by staying in the bottom of the
empty tank McGuire was able to survive
until the captain of the scouts and a couple
of Pawnees reached the top of the charred
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118" data-webtasks-id="e5fae741-34ee-4dca">[Pg 118]</span>structure and carried him, almost lifeless, into
the fresh open air.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="98438981-5733-4cd2">“Little emergency runs like that,” said
the superintendent to the engineer afterwards,
“make men appreciate the value of time.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="c202101a-dafa-45c4">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="aaec1f0d-c26f-48f5">
<p data-webtasks-id="4ba34888-edbd-458f"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_119" data-webtasks-id="29518cd4-4571-49ca">[Pg 119]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI" data-webtasks-id="9eb25824-9b37-4e5a">CHAPTER XVI</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="cd22df30-4325-4291">McGUIRE GOES SWITCHING</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="59e8bafc-ab2b-412a"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="f3cdaf91-3bc3-4dfb"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="e01f005d-ce33-4b2a">P</span>ueblo</span> was a tough town when the Rio
Grande terminated at that point. All the
good men were going into the mountains, for
Leadville was then sweating silver that was
worth more than a dollar an ounce. To be sure
there were always a few reliable men who could
railroad, who knew nothing else, and would do
nothing else. There were Dan Snyder, Steve
Riley, Jud Rogers, Charlie Barnes, and Silversmith,
old timers and stayers, whose signals were
always safe, and upon these men the management
depended to handle the trains and hold
the “stormy” switchmen in line. It was at
this swift outpost on the edge of the west that
Tom McGuire tied up and asked Jim Williams,
the “scrappy” yardmaster, for a job, switching
in the yards.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="527e0894-bfd4-4529">“Where ye frum?” asked Suicide Dick, the
foreman, cocking his cigar in one corner of his
mouth and then blowing rings of smoke into
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120" data-webtasks-id="46b48a77-cf40-4b46">[Pg 120]</span>the twilight, as he strolled down the yard with
the new man.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e0fa353b-0527-4384">“The U. P.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1fe34829-1728-4cc2">“Umaha?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="58d04fa7-f5b7-4238">“Yes.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5531bc1a-8b10-4332">“Know Pat Toohey?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e8e1cd8c-b7b8-4b01">“No.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="00e49484-a052-4f69">“Then yer a liar, Mr. McGuire, ye never saw
Umaha—gimme that glim.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fe507e30-9abb-43b0">Now, McGuire had never been called a liar.
He was not a liar, and he knew it, but he gave
the foreman the glim, just over the left eye.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cfe24ab9-6947-40c7">“You dam farmer,” said Dick, and that was
all he said. He put down his white light and
put up his hands.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dcf92a0d-3396-4e50">McGuire saw that he was about to have a
fight with a man whom he had known less than
ten minutes. He made his feet firm on the
coarse gravel and waited. Dick wiped his
bleeding eye on his jumper sleeve and looked
for an opening. McGuire put up his hands
awkwardly.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="225270f0-00fd-4971">Dick smiled.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9dc9e0b3-4530-4df4">Scrappy Jim saw the men manœuvring in the
twilight and signalled a switch-engine back with
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_121" data-webtasks-id="3f7f3558-ffac-4702">[Pg 121]</span>a rush signal, whirling his lamp furiously until
the pony had stopped in front of the switch-shanty.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8eec1a41-b6bd-44c6">“Smatter?” demanded fighting John Jones,
leaning from the cab. He did not like the
signal. It seemed to him that it carried an
unnecessary amount of “hurry up.” Without
lifting his eyes to the cab, Jim stepped aboard,
and, nodding down the yard, said, “Back up.
Suicide’s touchin’ up the new guy.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6301baa8-a8d5-4f94">Jones opened the throttle and the yard engine
slid down the track and stopped short
where the trouble was. Dick heard the engine
and was glad. He liked an audience. He
remembered how the yardmaster had “touched
him up” in the first hour of his first day’s work
for the company, and recalled with pride that
the good showing he had made with Jim had won
promotion. McGuire had expected that the
yardmaster on the engine and the engineer
would stop the fight, but he heard no word
from them. Only three suns had set since this
pugilistic pair had shut themselves up in a box
car and settled their own little differences, and
they now leaned side by side from the cab window<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122" data-webtasks-id="d551fb23-6958-457c">[Pg 122]</span>
and looked with much interest upon the
argument that was about to take place.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d3e9d375-54dd-4f80">“Here they come,” said Dick, playfully, and
he reached for McGuire’s face.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2def1033-f54d-406e">“We ride everything here. Here comes a
flat fur a starter,” and he spanked McGuire’s
cheek with his open hand. “Here’s an empty
box,” and he reached for the other side, but
McGuire’s arm was on his time.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d014e636-bd0d-4411">“That’s right—stop ’em. Here’s a cripple
for the rep track,” and he landed lightly on
McGuire’s ribs. “Here’s a couple loaded,”
and he put his right and left hard on McGuire’s
chest.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7ba0d9f3-3f56-478e">The blows angered the tenderfoot. Dick
was leaping and dancing about the unfortunate
stranger as a savage Sioux would leap about a
scalped Pawnee. “We’ll put this express car
in on the spur,” said Dick as he landed a
stinging blow on the point of his opponent’s
nose. That insult brought the blood, and
instantly all the Irish in McGuire’s make-up
came to the surface. He was desperate, but
he knew he must keep cool. The foreman
began to force the fighting. He talked less
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123" data-webtasks-id="8b4e8d33-e09d-48a4">[Pg 123]</span>now, but fought more. McGuire contented
himself with stopping the blows of his adversary,
and so saved his wind, which he had observed
was a tender point in this rare, light air. Dick
was wearing himself out. His left eye was
bleeding and the blood blinded him at times.
McGuire would not wilfully take advantage of
that, but the yardman kept him so busy and
mixed cuts for him to such an extent, that he
had to do something.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2bb84d52-a9fb-40bb">“Here’s a gondola loaded with iron ore,”
said Dick, and he made a curve with his left,
which McGuire dodged. Before the foreman
could recover, McGuire swung his right on the
fellow’s left ear, and Suicide Dick collapsed
like a punctured tire.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c839d72d-fbab-4a88">“That must ’a been a sleeper,” said Jim,
glancing at Jones.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cf11553d-76da-412e">McGuire stood puffing like a helper on a
heavy grade, and waiting for Dick to get to his
feet.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2543cb82-e884-46b1">The two men came from the engine and
stood by the man on the ground.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="987a96d5-8950-4f94">Dick lifted his head and then sat up. Presently
he got to his feet, and when he could see,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124" data-webtasks-id="95294c55-eedd-4859">[Pg 124]</span>he picked out McGuire and offered his hand.
McGuire took it, and then Jones offered his
hand, and then the yardmaster shook the hand
of the tenderfoot.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1e4dacfc-e06a-46d4">Dick walked over to a freight engine, opened
the water-cock, and bathed his bleeding face.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bec1300f-d56a-4487">“Wash up,” said Williams, jerking his thumb
in the direction of the freighter, and McGuire
went over and washed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1f9ec8a9-ccd3-494b">“I want to pay for that light before I go,”
said McGuire, “and I owe this man an apology
for striking him with it.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="70454fcf-4fd9-400a">“Huh,” grunted Dick.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e65e806f-ae33-4ff8">“Don’t git silly,” said Jim.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8538b5c9-5ca5-4ac2">Dick handed his lamp, which had a frosted
stripe near the top of the globe, to McGuire,
and picked up the bent and battered frame that
awhile ago had fallen across his face.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="35d95333-5763-466f">“Don’t I quit?” asked McGuire, glancing
from one face to the other.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6f8017cf-4e88-4cdc">“Quit! what do you quit fur? Didn’t you
win? They don’t nobody quit—you simply
change places; an’ when you lick me you’ll be
yardmaster, an’ have two stripes on yer glim,
see?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d405f75f-5af2-4da2"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_125" data-webtasks-id="edb1a22f-ce90-49b3">[Pg 125]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7fd3607d-71af-431d">McGuire could not reply. He was utterly
unable to make these men out, and when Jones
had climbed on to the engine, he stepped with
the yardmaster on to the footboard, Dick, who
was tired, took a seat on the bumper beam
between them, and the little switcher trembled
away down the track to where a freight conductor
was swearing loudly in front of the switch-shanty.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="89f69d30-23bc-42d9">When the road had been extended to Leadville
young McGuire, having attracted the
notice and won the respect of the Superintendent,
was sent up to take charge of the yards.
Switchmen were scarcer there than they had
been at Pueblo, for the town was wild and wide
open. Those who came to work in the yards
were the toughest of the tough; men who could
not find employment east of Denver came here
to railroad, ten thousand feet above the sea.
McGuire undertook to improve the service.
He put up a bulletin that said men must not
fight on duty, and that all switchmen would be
expected to be sober when they reported for
work; that trainmen would be allowed but one
place of residence, and that the caller would
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_126" data-webtasks-id="fcde3151-32de-447a">[Pg 126]</span>not look further than the address given for men
who were wanted.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dca50f9f-b044-4526">“All switchmen,” said Flat-wheel Finigan,
from the Texas Pacific, reading the bulletin.
“Now, it’s plain to me that that ‘all’ means
‘Finigan,’” and the new bulletin was ripped
ruthlessly from the wall of the yard-house.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2997417b-5dce-4294">If McGuire discharged a man, a worse one
came to fill the vacancy; and the yardmaster
became discouraged. He sent in his resignation,
but no attention was paid to it. Nobody
came to relieve him, and so he worked on,
always short-handed and often alone. Winter
came, and it was next to impossible to get
men to handle the company’s business. A
large force of laborers was kept constantly at
work shovelling snow from the many spurs that
ran up to the mines or down to the smelters.
Of course McGuire could only offer schedule
pay that was fixed at Denver, and it was
hard to get men to switch in the snow for
three dollars when they could have five for
sawing wood or tending bar.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3ea0b928-2a08-4321">After much correspondence the yardmaster
succeeded in having the pay of switchmen
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127" data-webtasks-id="6b5a95a4-a4c1-4113">[Pg 127]</span>raised to four dollars in the Leadville yards, and
in a little while had a reasonably sober gang
chasing the three yard engines that had been
sent up to do the work of four.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="949c8dee-da47-45d6">Things went fairly well until the foreman got
drunk one day, and had to be discharged. The
wronged man went over to the Cadillac and
told his troubles to the barkeeper. His tale
was overheard by a lucky miner who had just
sold a prospect hole for ten thousand. This
miner, with the liberality of a man moved by
spirits, proposed that the two open a saloon-restaurant.
He would furnish the money, the
yardman the experience, nerve, and good-will.
The offer was accepted. They bought a storeroom
that had cost six hundred for sixteen, and
in less than a week from the day of his dismissal
the ex-foreman posted the following
notice above his front door:—</p>
<div class="blockquot" data-webtasks-id="9310996c-ef83-4893">
<p data-webtasks-id="78cd7556-aca0-413a">“Wanted—Seven swift biscuit shooters, any sex,
creed, or color—Wages, six dollars a day.”</p>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="65486e7d-b67d-48cc">Thirty minutes later seven of McGuire’s
switchmen were switching in the “Green Café.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="78decfe9-a537-4255">Later one of the men went back and brought
the foreman from the yards, who was installed
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_128" data-webtasks-id="6467dc22-ef62-4ff4">[Pg 128]</span>as yardmaster in the new restaurant. The
manager became the “G. M.,” and the talk was
railroad talk and nothing else.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="72d38d21-dc3e-480a">The “switch-list” was not printed, but was
shown orally to each patron as he took his seat.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d159ae9f-7a7e-421f">“Ride ’em in, ride ’em in,” called the yardmaster
to a couple of switchmen who were
pitching plates of beans through a narrow window
from the kitchen to the dining-room.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7ac09ed7-414c-4113">“Drop the dope down the main line;” and
one of the men shot a yellow bowl of butter on
to the centre table.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9ca2c6d0-d866-4db0">“Sand on No. 1—north spur,” called the
head waiter, and before he had finished a sugar-bowl
was dropped upon the first table to the
right.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a74cd208-904f-4ba9">“Pull the pin on that load on No. 2 south,”
yelled the general manager. The yardmaster
and one of the switchmen lifted a fat man from
the sawdust floor and put him in a back room to
cool.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e8389aaf-12f3-4f56">“Pancakes, warm, please,” said a man who
seemed to be afraid of being overheard.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6ca11763-d6a0-421c">“String o’ flats with a hot box,” called the
yardmaster; and so it went from morning till
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129" data-webtasks-id="7f05f009-fd6b-435b">[Pg 129]</span>midnight, and from midnight till morning
again.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5e3fb12c-642d-43d1">In the mean time McGuire worked loyally for
the company, freezing his ears and frosting his
feet. One bitter cold morning a string of
empties got away on the hill. All the switchmen,
who were not switchmen at all, but who
were drawing pay under false pretensions,
jumped off in the deep snow. McGuire stayed
with the train and rode them down. The agent
at Malta saw them coming round the curve up
toward the town, and saw McGuire signalling
frantically for the safety switch,—a short spur
that was put there to keep runaway cars from
getting out on the main line on the time of
regular trains. That was a trying moment for
the station agent. If he threw McGuire in on
the spur he would be shot down the hill with a
half-dozen freight cars on top of him. If he
let him out on to the main line, he must almost
surely collide with the up-coming passenger
train that had already passed Haydens and
could not be caught by wire. He knew
McGuire and liked him. He was awed by the
great courage that could hold a single man on
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130" data-webtasks-id="06deb18f-4285-4550">[Pg 130]</span>a runaway train on such a hill at such a time.
There was something fine in the make-up of a
man who could call for a switch to wreck himself
to save the crew and passengers on another
train. The agent signalled the yardmaster to
get off, but McGuire shook his head. The
agent turned his back, and McGuire went out
on the main line, leaning to the curve like a
man driving a fast horse on a circular course.
Below the station there was a short stretch of
straight track from which the wind, blowing
down from Tennessee Pass, had swept the
snow. The yardmaster, climbing from car to
car, set the brakes as tight as he could set them;
but the shoes were covered with ice, and the
train, on the tangent, seemed to be increasing
its speed. Now they fell into a lot of curves.
McGuire began to guess that he could not hold
them; but he could not get off now, even if he
chose to do so, for on one hand lay the Arkansas
River and on the other the rock wall of the
cañon.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6d575fa2-7f85-45cb">Far down the gulch he heard a locomotive
whistle, and his heart stood still. Presently he
felt the brakes taking hold of the wheels. It
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131" data-webtasks-id="88428e8a-a9f4-4ac4">[Pg 131]</span>seemed incredible, but it was so. The friction
of the whirling wheels had melted the ice from
the brake shoes, and now the wheels began to
smoke. The curves and reverse curves helped
also, and the runaway train began to slow
down. He could easily jump now, if they
failed to stop, for they were not making twenty
miles an hour; but at that moment he heard a
wild, distressing cry for brakes from a locomotive.
He was riding on the rearmost car, the
head end was hidden round a sharp curve, and
now he saw the middle of his train hump up
like a cat’s back. The first car shot up over
the pilot of the head engine, cut off her stack,
whistle, and one corner of her cab, but fortunately
no one was hurt.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="377ad810-88bd-47c1">That afternoon McGuire promoted the foreman
to be yardmaster, went to Denver and resigned
“in person;” but his resignation was not
accepted.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="f452d635-5bcd-43bc">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="7ceaef33-2da4-46ad">
<p data-webtasks-id="616be4b1-b31f-4e31"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_132" data-webtasks-id="7e6d72b4-46cf-4e00">[Pg 132]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII" data-webtasks-id="abe15754-3c70-4ee9">CHAPTER XVII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="a664bae5-bd18-4fba">SNOWBOUND</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="b07463ac-8fe1-4629"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="ae490c19-3b1b-4156"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="aa31d44f-aff5-4180">D</span>own</span> on the desert the earth was warm
and brown, but when the train had passed
Grand Junction a few stray flakes were seen
floating across the cañon. At Montrose, where
they picked up a helper for the hill, the ground
was covered with snow. Most of the passengers
got out and walked up and down the long
wooden platform, for the air was cool and
bracing. It seemed that there must be some
trouble up the line, for the conductor of No. 8
was hurrying to and fro with his hands full of
orders that he appeared unable to fill. A
couple of travelling men were threatening to
sue the company unless they reached Denver
within the next twenty-four hours; and other
passengers were getting hungry. Jack Bowen,
of the Ouray branch, was lying luminously to a
dignified New Englander and his handsome
daughter. Jack was the uniformed conductor
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133" data-webtasks-id="eedcdaeb-d6a6-4bcf">[Pg 133]</span>of the Ouray run, whose elocutionary accomplishments
had made him the envy of all the
men on the mountain division of this mountainous
railroad. They had ploughed up a tribe
of Indians coming down that morning, Jack
was saying, with his insinuating, half-embarrassed
smile, and the pilot of the locomotive
had been red with the blood of the band.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="63c69e8d-7131-4e74">“Look now, you can see the fireman cleaning
it off,” he added, for the old gentleman
was going to smile. Sure enough they could
see the fireman with a piece of waste wiping
the pilot of the Ouray engine.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d786568b-5ed6-44f9">“And did you leave them where they lay?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a002f97b-fe4f-44b3">“Sure,” said Jack; “couldn’t stop the
most important run on the road for a few
miserable Ingins,—dead Ingins at that. ’Sides,
if we stopped we couldn’t get ’em.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="87ddcff2-7de0-42fd">“Was the snow so very deep up there?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="76b4fdfc-8e4e-443f">“’Twant the snow,” said the conductor,
smiling and consulting his big gold watch.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5a3a0b45-33bc-4074">“What was it, then?” asked the tourist, becoming
more and more interested.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6051942a-a324-4e69">“Well, it so happened that a band of wolves
was at that moment passin’ down towards the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_134" data-webtasks-id="f5548df6-6a20-480c">[Pg 134]</span>Uncompahgre in search of food, an’ the moment
they got scent o’ blood they pounced
upon the prey.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="04358d67-2f21-42ad">The young lady caught her father’s arm and
shuddered.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ef27d664-e4df-4d57">“If there is anything a wolf rolls as a sweet
morsel under his tongue,” said Jack, glancing
at his watch again, “it’s Ingin fricassee, rare
and red.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7c658d80-f6e4-45aa">“Oh, papa!” said the young lady, “let’s
go back to the sleeper.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="76144109-4a31-48bf">“You see,” resumed the conductor, “it
didn’t matter much, for this was a band of
renegades—bad Ingins they are called,—who
ought to have been killed some time ago.
Their leader, Cut-Your-Hair-Short, was spotted
by old Ouray, the chief, anyway. He wanted
to marry Cat-A-Sleepin’, Ouray’s daughter;
the old man kicked, and what you ’s’pose this
Ingin, Cut-Your-Hair-Short, did?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7310e330-242d-4ca0">“I haven’t the remotest idea,” said the
bewildered New Englander.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="eb790380-c60d-4b6d">“Well, sir, he goes up to the old chief’s
hogan—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="75a50c1e-da40-44a0">“Bowen.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="54ab3af3-d7ef-45f9"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_135" data-webtasks-id="f6ff8336-9b4d-46be">[Pg 135]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ce321d18-bd80-46e0">“Excuse me,” said Jack, “till I explain the
orders to this young man. Yo’ see he’s new
at the business, and I have to help him out
occasionally to see—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f361caf7-8c6a-4b5d">“Bowen.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3cf0d2ea-531f-4ef0">This time the conductor of No. 8 spoke
short and sharp, and Bowen went to him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="35c7561e-199d-478e">“Now, look here, Jack,” began the conductor
of the snow-bound train, “if you don’t
stop stuffing that old gentleman I swear I’ll
report you when I get to Salida.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fc97c104-2b46-4a1c">“Who’s stuffin’ ’im?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="87f76450-8219-4109">“That’s all right, you lie to your own people—let
my passengers alone.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="14116618-186b-4d88">Jack went back to his prey.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="034e23aa-f108-4ec9">“I hope,” said the gray-haired voyager,
“that this young man will not get us into any
trouble.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d614963c-b8e2-4180">“Oh! not a bit of it, not a bit of it; I have
explained everything to him, and he won’t
forget. Now, you’d never dream it,” he went
on, turning and walking beside the handsome
woman, “but that young fellow McGuire’s a
nobleman.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d0d5b171-120c-4376">“You don’t tell me?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e10ba393-9f29-49de"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_136" data-webtasks-id="89bf3045-72f4-4b00">[Pg 136]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6666727a-f21c-4944">“Yes, I do, an’ what’s more to the point,
it’s true. Look at him. You don’t suppose
a young fellow like that would be in charge of
a main line express train ’less he had a pull.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="15f53dc2-ff32-4c3d">“A what?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e400bd3f-9b51-4f9d">“’Less he cut ice elsewhere,” said the conductor.
“I tell you that comedian stands to
win out a throne some day. His father was
Irish, of course, but his mother was French.
She could chase herself right back to the old
rock and rye family, the Bourbins, I think they
were called. His grandfather lived with a man
called Louie Sais on a ranch called Ver Sigh, a
little way out of Paris. The old man was a
sort of a chum of the Louis, called ‘The
Gentleman of the Sleeping Car’ or something
like that,—he was a big hole at Ver Sigh, was
this boy’s Grand Pare.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5849c70a-004d-44d9">“Allabo a-r-d,” said McGuire in the middle
of his career. The old gentleman bowed
stiffly to Bowen, the young lady smiled sweetly,
and stepped into the Pullman.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9f46ad17-d5e1-40dd">When McGuire came through the car taking
up tickets after leaving Montrose, he found Miss
Landon alone. She lifted her eyes,—sunny
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137" data-webtasks-id="8414d832-5ffc-4cbf">[Pg 137]</span>eyes, they were, that seemed to mock him and
the blinding storm through which they were
now rolling away up the long, even grade that
made a mighty approach to the mountain.
She held her glance upon his burning face for
the briefest space, but when he passed on he
could still feel the warmth of her eyes, like the
waves of lingering sunshine through which you
pass when you are walking in a summer twilight.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b74784f5-a150-41cc">When he had finished his work the conductor
returned to the smoking-room of the
sleeper, but found after a moment’s stay that
the air was vile, the place stuffy, and he went
forward to the day coach. As he passed
through the forward sleeper he noticed that
Miss Landon was still alone. She had her
back to him, but as he came up the aisle the
swing of the car on a short curve caused him
to steady himself upon the end of her section.
At the same moment and for the same reason
she put an ungloved hand out to clasp the
edge of the narrow seat, and it fell, soft as a
snowflake, warm as a sunbeam, and soundless
as a shadow, upon the hand of McGuire.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="876d0ce2-7265-4388">To be sure she did not leave it there long,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138" data-webtasks-id="ac27fafc-eac3-48af">[Pg 138]</span>but she had to press the hand of the conductor
to steady herself in the car that was
now rolling like a stage-coach on the Rainbow
Route. She drew her hand away, and went
red to the tips of her shell-like ears; but she
did not look back to see whose hand she had
caressed. Looking into the narrow mirror at
her side, McGuire saw her confusion and hurried
past, and she wondered whether it was
his hand that she had touched. She rather
hoped that it might be so!</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ce203514-358a-4e2b">Up in the forward car the two travelling
men, the editor of the Ouray Solid Muldoon,
and a cowboy from the Uncompahgre, were
playing poker. Now McGuire knew that this
was against the rules of the road, but he was
slow to make protest under the circumstances.
He was reasonably sure that they would all
come back to Montrose, for the snow was
growing deeper and deeper with each passing
mile-post. He would have these men on his
hands overnight, and so would avoid friction.
He stood with his back to the door for a
moment listening to the talk of the travelling
men, the cowboy, and the editor.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="494f3baf-6686-428a"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139" data-webtasks-id="afb93923-0317-4471">[Pg 139]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="afa63624-48a8-45ba">“Why, I know ’im like a book,” Muldoon
was saying. “Name’s Landon, Ole Joe Landon
of Gloucester, made his money on codfish:
ante up there, Patsy.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ec55abf2-7125-4b20">“It’s his do,” said Patsy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9466f132-98d0-4719">“Come to the centre there, ole brandin’ iron,”
said the editor to the cattleman, and the latter
dropped a cartridge among the coin and other
equivalent upon the impoverished poker table.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a857a734-39b4-4860">Time had been when McGuire could linger
and laugh for hours where these rollicking voyagers
played and told stories, but now their
talk seemed absolutely silly, not to say vulgar,
and he turned away.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6cf7662c-bf90-4d42">“After all,” mused McGuire, “there’s not
such a gulf between us. She’s a rich merchant’s
daughter, I’m a poor conductor. She
must ever remain a merchant’s daughter with
no show for promotion. I’m due to be a
superintendent, a general manager, and, possibly,
the president of a railroad. And then—if
she is still a merchant’s daughter! well, it’s
a long, long road, but by the god o’ the wind,
I’ll make the effort. If I fail, very well, I
shall be better for having tried.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="28e323de-0463-4e4b"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140" data-webtasks-id="46bba926-f423-4ffb">[Pg 140]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7008e24b-5995-4f11">Seating himself in a quiet corner, McGuire
began to count upon the fingers of his left hand
the men who had begun far below where he
now stood and worked up to positions of trust.
First he counted presidents only. There were
Manvill, Moffett, Newell, Blackstone, Clark of
the U. P., Clark of the M. & O., Towne,
Hughitt, and Van Horne. When he began on
the general managers he had to go to the other
hand, and when he came to count the self-made
superintendents, beginning loyally with
“the old man” of the mountain division, he
ran out of fingers and took heart. And what a
prize to work for, and she was rich. Incidentally
she was an angel.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0d7dcbba-92fa-45d2">He could not tell why he did so, but he now
went back through the car, and as he was passing
the old merchant’s section the head engine,
which was wearing a pilot plough, screamed for
brakes, and the train came to a dead stop.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1a83aa3b-57c7-4405">“Anything wrong?” asked the traveller.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4c6bc8d1-a120-4668">“Oh! no,” said McGuire cheerfully, “just a
little skiff o’ snow.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f34c1801-ea5a-4195">Now, he had made up his mind not to look
into the eyes of the girl again, but when she
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141" data-webtasks-id="9e1d0dda-1bd5-4508">[Pg 141]</span>leaned over and asked, with just the sweetest,
distressing little scare in her voice, if there were
any wolves about, he had to look.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="81805fdc-a0ba-4110">“No,” he said, “there are no wolves in
these mountains to speak of,” and he smiled a
smile that was almost sad.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="91f78a2b-8433-4169">“Nor Indians?” said the sweet voice, a trifle
clearer.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="09a91f5c-26ab-41cc">“Nor Indians,” said McGuire, shaking his
head.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="07d86f81-8560-4a7e">“They’re dreadful on the Ouray branch.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="92c6c8c2-cf49-4310">“Which, the wolves or the Indians?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dd5b1386-e131-4b18">“Both,” she replied. “A gentleman told
us, there where we stopped so long, that they
killed ever so many Indians coming down this
morning. Mr. Bowen, I think they called him;
he seemed to be one of the officials of the
road, so I’m sure he would not say anything to
frighten people if it were not true.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b35fa1fb-bb23-428e">McGuire was boiling. He might have been
tempted to introduce Mr. Bowen then and
there, but at that moment the head brakeman
came back to say that they were stuck fast in a
drift a hundred yards from the little telegraph
office at the foot of Cerro Hill.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ac3e2696-ff24-456b"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_142" data-webtasks-id="1f36691d-521d-4909">[Pg 142]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4bbbfff8-98e5-439b">For nearly an hour they bucked and backed
and bucked again, but it was of no use. The
snow was growing deeper with each passing
moment. Presently it stopped snowing and
began to blow, and McGuire asked for orders
to back down to Montrose again, but the
despatcher would not let him go.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6430af85-a93a-479e">Denver was hammering Salida, Salida was
swearing at Gunnison, and Gunnison was burning
the company wire over Cerro Hill, telling
McGuire to get out.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1515b0e6-fd30-4450">Finally the trainmaster lost his head, McGuire
lost his temper, wrote his resignation and
handed it to the operator, but fortunately the
wires were down by this time, and the message
couldn’t go.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6a974222-c78a-4a71">The section gang having cleared the siding,
the train was now pulled in off the main line.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="74462ca7-b863-429b">Being assured that there were no wolves nor
Indians on the right of way, Miss Landon came
out with her father to see the sights. It was
growing dark at the end of a short December
day, and what with the flying snow and the
screams and snorts of the engines that had
been uncoupled and were now hammering away
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143" data-webtasks-id="22f4cc7f-0b12-4f30">[Pg 143]</span>at the deep drifts, the merchant and his daughter
were unable to hear the whistle of a snow-plough
that was at that moment falling down
from Cerro summit.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="de5cbcd2-08dc-4b83">McGuire heard the whistle, backed his buckers
on to the siding, and, looking up, saw Miss
Landon and her father standing on the edge of
a thorough cut that had drifted almost full of
snow. Appreciating at a glance the danger
they were in, the conductor ran up the track
and tried to call to the old gentleman to stand
back, but the snow was deep and held him, the
storm muffled his voice, and the wind carried
his cry away across the hills and lost it among
the shrouded cedars.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2089b998-25ec-4eda">The big engine, and the snow-plough, under
the snow, made little more noise than a ship
would make running under water, and it was
not until the plough was upon them that the two
travellers at the top of the cut saw or heard it.
The great machine, which was rounding a slight
curve, seemed to be driving straight for them.
The girl turned to try to escape, and there
before her, not two cars away, she saw what
seemed to be a huge black bear, climbing up
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144" data-webtasks-id="a7293f34-3b08-4f1e">[Pg 144]</span>the bank toward her. At that moment she
stepped over the edge, and went rolling down
to the bottom of the cut, for the newly drifted
snow was soft and light.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="24d3e93e-5899-4923">It would have been a relief to Miss Landon
to have been able to faint, but she did not.
She had no sooner reached the outer rail than
the big plough picked her up and hurled her,
unhurt, almost out of the right of way. She
grew dizzy with the sensation of falling, but was
able to feel that she was coming down on the
soft snow, and that she was still unhurt. Between
her going up and coming down she managed
to breathe a grateful prayer, so rapidly does the
human mind work at the edge of the future.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8dba4ef8-0f62-46fd">After what appeared to her a very long time,
she came down in a deep drift with her eyes
full of snow. She felt soft arms about her
waist, and opened her eyes. “Help! help!”
she screamed, for the arms were the arms of
the big black bear. Now the bear stood up
and carried her away. She fainted.</p>
<hr class="tb" data-webtasks-id="5768b19f-bd29-4fde">
<p data-webtasks-id="d13c3520-b4c7-4d9b">When the sun went down the wind went with
it. The moon came up from beyond Ouray
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145" data-webtasks-id="14893611-4a4c-4467">[Pg 145]</span>and showed the still, cold world sleeping in her
robe of white. The smooth, high mountains,
twenty, fifty, and even a hundred miles away,
looked like polished piles of marble, gleaming
in the moonlight. Miss Landon was lying on
a couch in the drawing-room of a sleeper.
Her father was seated opposite her, and when
the conductor looked in to see if anything was
wanted, the merchant asked him to sit down.
The excitement through which he had passed
made the old gentleman feel lonely, away out
there in the wilds of a trackless waste. Possibly
the stories that Bowen had told him added to
his uneasiness. He wanted to smoke. All the
other ladies, not having staterooms, had gone to
the hotel for the night. Miss Landon was nervous
and he did not like her to be alone, so now,
making excuse, he went to the smoking-room.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5f490a16-3735-4bd9">The Ouray train had been unable to reach
its destination and had also backed down to
Montrose again. McGuire had given Bowen
orders to keep out of his train, and Jack was
hurt. He had secured a guitar, a man who
could play it, some railway employees who
thought they could sing, and just as the old
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146" data-webtasks-id="f2891aad-c346-4d3d">[Pg 146]</span>gentleman was entering the smoking-room, Jack
and his mirth-makers paused beneath Miss
Landon’s window. Jack had instructed them
to sing “Patsy Git Up From the Fire,” and to
begin with the chorus.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fcd6e592-5b51-4263">The heart of the handsome conductor beat
wildly when he found himself alone with the
charming girl. Her cheeks were slightly flushed,
for the excitement of the afternoon had left her
feverish. Her deep blue eyes shed a softer
light as she lounged upon the little divan amid
the Pullman pillows.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="afa0d810-a798-4d84">Realizing that her duty was now that of
hostess in her own drawing-room, Miss Landon
was about to break the embarrassing silence
that was filling the place, but at that moment
Camdel, the red-haired soprano, touched the
guitar and opened up with a mirth-provoking
Irish accent:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="686b0e00-bdd7-46e0">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="85f6625f-5529-4db0">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="f256589b-6bac-4275">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="3657d074-4fc8-4c23">“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="beaa92de-e917-4e11">An’ guv th’ mon a sate;</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="cfbb7d65-bc8d-44b3">Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="7b1f5f2f-33c4-4737">Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="5e5bef54-72a6-4ded">By the time the singers had concluded the
chorus McGuire was on his feet, his face
changing from red to white.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3fe1c510-8fa2-4b2d"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_147" data-webtasks-id="5ce32fb2-f33e-4e53">[Pg 147]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2857c387-ffe1-4bb4">“Sit down,” said Miss Landon, blushing, but
smiling in spite of herself. “I did not know
you had a bard among you capable of making
songs upon occasion,” she added; “please
don’t disturb them.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e46dd8e3-0884-49b6">McGuire threw himself upon the seat and
bit his lip. If only he could get hold of Jack
Bowen he’d break his long back.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="57cdab08-3204-44a0">After what seemed an age to McGuire the
song ceased.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c2041dbf-23a1-4496">“I think that is perfectly wonderful,” said
Miss Landon enthusiastically, “and how nicely
the singing sounds out there in the clear, cold
night. They must have made that song since
we came back from the hills; and the music,
where did they get the tune? Did that funny
Mr. Bowen make that too?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="92717ffb-93a9-47f7">“That man couldn’t make a mud pie; he
can’t whistle a tune; he can’t even tell the
truth,” said the conductor of No. 8, indignantly.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="901a0209-4b97-4c83">“Oh, Mr. McGuire,” said the young lady,
with a pretty show of surprise.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4fb70ce2-67ee-48e2">“Well, it’s true. I’m ashamed to say so,
but it’s true; you must not believe a word he
says.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ba78abaf-7e34-4682"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_148" data-webtasks-id="c7899a92-f3e1-4dd4">[Pg 148]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a0b66aaa-39b4-4e9e">“Not one word?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="042fa747-4598-4814">“Never. I don’t see how he made his wife
believe he loved her.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="16478b48-f04e-4ffa">“Is he married, then?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6fa0be0d-1a4e-4098">“Oh, yes. He’s as gentle as a nun and as
harmless as a child, only don’t believe him.
He lies just for the love of it, and never to
injure any one. He ought to leave the road
and devote himself to literature; he likes
romancing. He calls his harmless bits of
fiction ‘Novels Out of Print.’”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9e52aeee-fcce-4262">“He certainly has a ready and vivid imagination.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a58c7a2d-52f7-441d">Miss Landon sighed lightly. McGuire was
handsome, and he had held her in his arms.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0a4dd3dd-fb44-47a0">“Please take off that horrid woolly coat,”
said Miss Landon, with a little shudder.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9e00ebfa-bc96-4407">McGuire, blushing, removed his bearskin
overcoat that he had put on up in the hills
that afternoon.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2737e8fb-50c4-4f7d">“I presume papa has thanked you for rescuing
me so heroically,” she said, looking at him.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="60e83931-631f-40a9">“He has, but it was not necessary.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="301a7ed7-891e-499d">“But it is right, and I must thank you also.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a336db93-2fb1-496a">“Then, if you thank me, I am glad, for you
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149" data-webtasks-id="21fdc1e0-1e50-488e">[Pg 149]</span>did not seem to appreciate my efforts at the
moment.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b2f47d46-c510-44e1">“Who could? I was scared out of my wits;
I took you for a horrid bear, and that was the
first time I ever fainted in all my life; and
that’s more than some of your Western girls can
say, who are so sensible, self-possessed, and
brave.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b0ccb7b5-cf70-4317">“I thought,” said McGuire, smiling back at
the young lady, “it might be because we had
not been properly introduced. You have doubtless
heard of the Boston girl who was drowning,
but refused to be rescued upon that ground?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5efc6123-b8f3-46aa">“I have not heard it, and I should not believe
it if I had. Boston girls are as sensible as Denver
girls or San Francisco girls. I don’t know
that we have been introduced yet,” she added,
with a little toss of her head, and her words
went straight to the heart of McGuire.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="324e400c-327e-4e89">He felt that he ought to go, and yet he knew
that her father had left her in his care, and that
he would be expected to remain in the drawing-room
until the merchant had finished his cigar.
To add to his confusion she let her window
shade fly up, and, apparently ignoring his presence,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_150" data-webtasks-id="deada378-ef05-419c">[Pg 150]</span>
was looking out upon the cold, shrouded
world, that seemed so wild and wide.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="84d0dfb8-db48-4408">“Ah!” said the old gentleman, entering the
room, “I feel better now; first good smoke
I’ve had since dinner.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0420b538-5051-4b70">When McGuire arose and took up his greatcoat,
Miss Landon stood up and returned his
good night.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f0f4ebdf-924c-416d">“Good night,” said the merchant, and immediately,
as if they had been waiting for time; the
mirth-makers upon the platform sang:</p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="347ad676-5edf-49cd">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="e30c2dc4-9d43-41e0">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="da3f0db5-8d95-4161">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="d8d65c86-17a8-4583">“Good night, ladies, good night, ladies,</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="90613e77-59df-49db">Sweet dreams, ladies—we’re going to leave you now.”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="5f2b62b7-b384-4dd4">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="c23ec340-6ca2-4a90">
<p data-webtasks-id="eb325eef-a732-4fb1"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_151" data-webtasks-id="6a908068-d0d2-412b">[Pg 151]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII" data-webtasks-id="7649bd1e-ab40-4e62">CHAPTER XVIII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="0c44c1d5-3e30-4716">BREAKING THE TRAIL</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="e45d646b-b743-4fe1"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="61b2dc04-af82-44fb"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="68f020b9-5a3b-40e1">A</span>t</span> midnight orders came. The road was
open, the wires up, and the delayed train,
in three sections, pulled out for the hills. The
big pilot plough that had “bucked” the beautiful
Miss Landon out of the right-of-way and into
the arms of McGuire ran ahead, followed by
the Rockaway with two cars, while a couple of
heavy mountain-climbers brought up the coaches
and sleepers.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="705e1a26-777a-47fd">McGuire watched, like a faithful slave, at the
door of the merchant’s stateroom, for he was
hard hit by the hand and eyes of the merchant’s
daughter. The heavy car rocked gently on the
curves as the big engines, with much slipping
and sanding, toiled to the summit of Cerro Hill.
In a little while they were rolling along the
banks of the Gunnison, and the silent river was
slipping past them under the snow. At sunrise,
having toiled up another long, hard hill, the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152" data-webtasks-id="6385bd3d-0cf4-426c">[Pg 152]</span>train stood at the crest of the continent, ten
thousand feet above the sea.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="77668b2e-44bb-4584">McGuire regretted that the old gentleman
had taken a drawing-room, for when they had a
section in the body of the car, the conductor
could see the beautiful woman as he passed up
and down. Now, if she chose to do so, she
could isolate herself utterly. While the grim
drivers were oiling round, the young lady
appeared upon the platform, smiled at McGuire,
and asked him to help her down.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f1090f49-6308-49d6">“Papa’s still sleeping, and I don’t want to
miss the view.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="968d5277-46bc-499f">The conductor opened a narrow door in the
big, smoky snow-shed, and they stepped out
into the crisp, sunny air.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3fca1552-8156-489a">“Oh! how perfectly beautiful,” exclaimed
the enthusiastic girl, gazing over the top of
aspen groves, where the trees were hung with
millions of jewels that sparkled and quivered in
the morning sun.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b3c8e5c0-4ab5-4049">When the train had begun to wind away
down the mountain side the conductor brought
a camp stool, and the young lady sat upon the
rear platform of the rearmost car and watched
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_153" data-webtasks-id="dc4c2cf9-256c-42a7">[Pg 153]</span>the mountains spring up in their wake. Once,
when they were rounding a long curve, the conductor
asked her to look over the low range,
Poncho Pass, that walls the San Luis away
from the Arkansas Valley, and there she saw an
even hundred miles of the snowy Sangre de
Cristo, lifting her white crest far up into the
burnished blue.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9b48bd90-85e3-4e11">Presently, when they had dropped into the
cañon, and there were no more mountains to
be seen, Miss Landon asked the conductor to
send her the words of the song his friends had
sung to them over beyond the Rockies.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f66f94f7-4f3b-4fce">“I’ll write you the chorus now, on a leaf
from my train-book.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="87862c51-18ac-4b9f">“Oh, do you remember it?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="290ce4ad-d54b-47f3">“I ought to; I have heard it all my life.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="46566fcb-3b31-4894">“Then it was not made for us—for you, I
mean?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8dea592b-bca3-4bcd">“I’m afraid not.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f6442e90-16c7-4523">“Then how did it happen to have our—your
name?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="14c25c21-4a4c-42ad">“Oh, McGuire is a common Irish name, you
know. But was it your name, as well? Is
your name Kate?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="125b2442-bdea-4ce6"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154" data-webtasks-id="b017e8e1-cecd-431e">[Pg 154]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0f253ae2-b2bc-4187">She smiled and nodded.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="32a22234-cb39-476c">“Then my friends were innocent, for I’m
sure they did not know it, or they never would
have sung that song. It must have seemed
awfully rude to you.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0ab6e077-4f55-49a8">“On the contrary, I thought it extremely
clever, and flattered myself that I had been the
inspiration, or part of it, at least. Anyway,
you’ll send me the song, won’t you?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8618766a-cef1-45ac">“With pleasure,” and he wrote her name and
waited for the address.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4061c63b-fd75-48aa">“Just Gloucester—everybody knows us—or
papa, at least.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cf444002-2cb5-4e3b">“Thank you,” said the conductor, closing his
book.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a4667447-640a-4f28">“Thank <i data-webtasks-id="51dba811-d9c1-419d">you</i>.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="06d3016b-8b96-4a8a">“For what?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ce949d36-f033-4502">“For saving the life of a poor girl and bringing
her back to her papa, like a good bear,
when you might have carried her away to the
hills.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9372239d-f61e-4508">Now, the light engines that had helped them
up the mountain began whistling for Salida.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a7ec1c68-3fd2-47a7">“I get off here,” said McGuire, rising.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="868c7cb5-62c7-4745">“Oh! is this the end?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="14d3ab10-c081-4d01"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_155" data-webtasks-id="f0b61fed-b747-447a">[Pg 155]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0c8ae41d-ba21-48db">“Of my run, yes, and this has been the best
trip I ever had.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="671b5999-4bb8-4218">“Do you call it a good trip when you are a
day late?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0581902d-92d1-4b29">“I call this a good trip. And that reminds
me that I have not made out my report.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ced52620-48b1-4f16">“What will you report?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="27afe6bb-77db-40d2">“The cause of the delay.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f1805f88-64e0-4467">“And the effect?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c62eaae2-b55f-472c">“Yes,” said McGuire, with his heart hitting
his vest like a trip-hammer, “but not now. I’ll
make that report when other men are reporting
to me.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b0a3c7bf-08ea-4738">“I don’t understand you.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="92c5923d-1993-4978">“You will when you see my report. Listen!
When I am the Superintendent and have outgrown
this beastly uniform, I’ll send you that
song, and if you get it, then I’ll forward my
report.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8653e7de-4006-4fa2">He was so handsome, his eyes glowing with
the light of love, his voice so full of emotion,
that a woman with cooler blood than that which
flowed in the veins of the Gloucester girl might
have been moved.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6be3485a-6e6e-4be6">She held out her hand (she had removed one
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_156" data-webtasks-id="5ba9db93-d417-4990">[Pg 156]</span>of her gloves) and McGuire seized it. Glancing
through the glass door, he raised it to his lips,
and she suffered him to do so.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="245602a4-0841-4d3c">She felt the ring on his finger, and remembered
that she had felt it once before. It was
his hand that she had pressed, accidentally, over
there in the storm.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="02d303a9-207f-45a0">When the train swung ’round the curve and
stopped at the station, the conductor touched
his cap and dropped off.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d7cf977b-cd71-407b">When he had registered “in” he came out,
and the Gloucester girl, watching at the window,
saw him cross the little swinging bridge and
lose himself in the narrow, unpaved streets of
what, to her, seemed a dreary little town.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="a886810d-71b8-47ce">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="0d9e5420-c167-4539">
<p data-webtasks-id="e40699bc-5e0a-4a1a"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_157" data-webtasks-id="43fff86c-3f06-4f79">[Pg 157]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX" data-webtasks-id="1f81c381-c491-4175">CHAPTER XIX</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="c723fab0-7b92-4fad">A NEW LINE</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="53e11398-0b45-4384"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="8c710114-3ca9-4816"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="da281f43-3b79-46f3">W</span>hen</span> a man sets his heart on a thing he
can accomplish a great deal in a comparatively
short time. Thomas McGuire had been
a careful, industrious employee. He had never
acquired the habit of wasting all of his leisure
hours and spare dollars in the wild resorts of the
thriving towns that lay at either end of his run.
He began now to study the history of American
railways. He devoured everything in print,
from the local weekly paper to the monthly
magazines and reviews. He bought, begged, and
borrowed books that would give him more or
less of the financial history of the various railways
of the country. He had the advantage of
a fair education, which enabled him to read
rapidly and understandingly. What he longed
for and worked for was promotion, but it seemed
to go by the other way. He grew impatient.
To be sure, nobody ran around him, but promotion<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158" data-webtasks-id="e5091ff8-c1ce-4d36">[Pg 158]</span>
came slowly. Nobody seemed to want
to quit, or get killed, and so, when the Inter-Mountain
Air Line was built, McGuire got in on
the ground floor. He had the first passenger
train on the road, and in a little while was made
trainmaster, but there he hung for a whole year.
Another step would put him in a place where
he could send his song to Gloucester, but he
was powerless to help himself on. At last an
Assistant Superintendent was appointed and
McGuire got the job.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b21a5e76-7a9e-44cc">Another man might have strained a point
here and knocked, at once, at the gate of the
handsome woman’s walled-up heart, but McGuire
was severely exact. He must not be the
Assistant Superintendent, but the whole thing,
and so he worked and waited until another year
had gone by. Of course, promotion was bound
to come to a man who worked as he worked, he
knew that, and it did come one spring morning
when it was least expected. He was asked to
take the place of General Superintendent of a
competing line. As might have been expected,
one of the first things he did was to mail a copy
of a certain homely song to Gloucester, as a
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159" data-webtasks-id="c0809f11-6691-4f60">[Pg 159]</span>signal of his success, and then he went to work
with a will. In less than six months he had
made a name for himself, crippled the Air Line,
which means success in this country where competition
is the life (or death) of railroading, and
they asked him to come back, and proposed to
double his salary. But he would not go as assistant
to a man who was notoriously incompetent,
and whose only excuse for being in the business
was that his father had inherited money and put
it into the building of the new line. It happened,
however, as it frequently does, that other
people had put money into the same enterprise;
they were losing it, and they objected to assessments
where they had expected dividends. The
young man resigned; McGuire took his place,
and in ninety days had pulled the business back
that he had pulled away with him. When a
merchant is going to ship a few cars of goods
over somebody’s railroad, he says to McGuire,
who happens to be his personal friend, “You
can do this as cheaply as the other fellows?”
“Yes,” says McGuire, “the rate is about the
same on all lines.” So it comes down to a
matter of personal popularity, and McGuire gets
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160" data-webtasks-id="99acc4d8-f048-4134">[Pg 160]</span>the freight, and that’s all there is to railroading,
so far as getting business goes. When it comes
to handling men and keeping up track, that requires
a genius with colder blood.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8a62bb07-d7f6-4a64">In a little while McGuire was made General
Manager, but he was unhappy. What was the
good of all this success? The manuscript of the
song had come back to him from the dead-letter
office. He was famous in railway
circles but miserable in mind. It was impossible
to pick up a newspaper that ran “Railroads”
without reading of the Inter-Mountain
Air Line and its brilliant young manager. He
was dignified enough to command the respect,
and simple and democratic enough to win the
love, of his subordinates. He looked to the
heads of the various departments to manage
the business, but watched over it all himself.
He was always accessible. He could awe a
manager’s meeting or he could put in a frog.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1d6470fe-e416-4acf">He never locked his door.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="16973aea-b737-4220">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="b30f5a8b-f388-4556">
<p data-webtasks-id="bde86846-2471-456e"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_161" data-webtasks-id="5a3b4966-803b-4dfd">[Pg 161]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX" data-webtasks-id="e8a58393-dda5-4d0f">CHAPTER XX</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="b0e739aa-9954-4da1">COMING HOME</p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="9e07dfd9-e362-4d8f">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="69ff6d3e-93e8-40a3">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="a94b3dd4-bc26-401a">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="469b656e-ebbb-474d">She gazed on the old things of Egypt and India,</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="14d42057-6a84-4ccc">Sighed o’er the ruins of Athens and Rome;</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="09f327f8-0e54-4535">Painted in Paris, fiddled in Leipsic,</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="7ce6f2aa-2327-4701">Summered at Homburg; and then, came home.</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="88704880-0f35-4793"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="e9188871-6768-44f9"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="e9669bd8-6bc3-4579">M</span>iss</span> Landon was eighteen when the snow-plough
picked her up in the thorough-cut
on the Pacific Slope and pitched her into the
arms of Conductor McGuire. A year later,
when her father retired, he was a rich man. At
the suggestion of a widowed sister, the ex-merchant,
his daughter, and the widow went abroad.
At twenty-two she had been “finished” by
travel, and heart-whole, was headed for home.
She had seen a great deal of people and things.
She had been wooed by an Italian count and had
had a brush with a baron at Berlin, but she had
never been thrilled as she had been with the
touch of the hand and the sound of the voice of
McGuire. She was probably the only American
heiress who had given any attention to the
poorly paid conductors of the European railways;<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162" data-webtasks-id="4e580a15-20b3-4a39">[Pg 162]</span>
the shabby guards, who run along the
platform in soiled uniforms, cry the name of
the station, flourish a flag, and open and shut
the doors. Her conductor was as well dressed,
as handsome, as intelligent, and almost as well
paid as the captain of an Atlantic liner. These
poor beggars were dirtier than the average
second cabin deck-steward.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="49d96c6a-5b7b-4af7">She was forever making comparisons, and
wondering why she did it. A thousand times
she had recalled his ardent glance when, as he
told her in unmistakable language the story of
his love, he had kindled the first fire in her
girlish heart, and it had not gone out.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="091928b2-79e8-43ca">Of course, he could never be anything to
her, and yet, try as she would, she could not
forget. Without knowing why, she had conceived
a deep interest in railways. She watched
the men at work, marked the coming and going
of trains in various countries, the inferior train
service and accommodation on the continental
railways of Europe.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="359e7dd8-2291-4021">Lately she had been studying the financial
reports of the various railways on both sides of
the Atlantic, and reading the stock quotations.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d20c659b-fbb2-4c01"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_163" data-webtasks-id="92b24896-e1f0-42c7">[Pg 163]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bf1ad81d-8386-4bf2">This was probably because her father had
invested a vast amount of money in a new road
in the West. She remembered that she had
been eager to have him do this, and now felt a
certain amount of responsibility, and so was
quietly educating herself.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ef1668d0-75d5-45ef">She often wondered whether the handsome
conductor had heard of the new road in which
she had half her fortune.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a9c424e1-4227-4bbe">At times she went so far as to fancy herself,
when left alone in this unfeeling world, seeking
advice from the man who had carried her out of
the snow-bank. And then she would ask herself
how he could help her, this obscure conductor
of a narrow-gauge railroad that wound among
the hills and ravines of the Rocky Mountains.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3f0c3696-4cb9-4c93">Mr. Landon had left his business in the hands
of his solicitors, in whom he had perfect faith,
and had given himself over to rest for the past
four years. Upon his arrival in London he
learned that the new road, in which he had invested,
had been roughly handled; not by stock-jobbers,
who are the dread of small investors,
but by competing lines. They had made the
mistake which is so often made, of sending out,
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_164" data-webtasks-id="76387c2f-3994-438a">[Pg 164]</span>as manager, a well-educated, perfectly respectable,
handsomely attired, but utterly incompetent
son of a bondholder, who didn’t know
a stop signal from a three-throw switch. The
road had lost money from the start, but a rich
and indulgent father had insisted upon keeping
the young man as manager, and it was not until
a well-known railway king had secured a controlling
interest that the young man was permitted
to return to his tandem and pink-tea.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="57824fcc-db55-4b4b">Things were going better, lately, he learned,
since the road had been in the hands of a
“native manager,” and so the capitalist and
his charming daughter spent another year in
London.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="37ffc33c-a2d7-4520">“Papa,” said Miss Landon, from her storm-blanket,
one day in mid-ocean, “do you know
a great deal of the success of this company is
due to the employees?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ef1184db-6b71-4251">“Yes.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="954f7ec1-57f3-457a">“Well, it’s the same on a railway.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6c3efb12-fbd1-4d4c">“Ah, Kate,” laughed her father, “you’re
always railroading.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="260fc476-953c-4ad9">“Well, I was just thinking (she paused for
just a breath) that if that young Mr. McGuire
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165" data-webtasks-id="1c7de9cc-f7ae-4924">[Pg 165]</span>is still conductor (another impediment) you
ought to try and get him on our road.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="67a578b8-6fe3-451f">“Now, whatever made you think of that
handsome young Irishman?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="05073709-e88b-4e62">“Well—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0a71f1d9-a8a0-4533">“Well?—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="529fd202-3ee2-4029">At that moment the band having assembled
on deck, not twenty feet away, struck up a
lively quickstep, and the sound of the E flat
thrilled Miss Landon, as she had not been
thrilled since she came out of her teens. She
knew that tune, though she had heard it but
once, and as the leading cornet walked up
through the air, the words came to her:—</p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="fb9e9a9a-3219-41d6">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="e624ccf2-a520-4b90">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="72bfe717-13dd-406a">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="1ac1a314-22af-4ff0">“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="6855e533-fd73-432e">An’ guv th’ mon a sate;</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="9dc636fc-bcce-422d">Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="fb22e52c-a65a-4ea6">Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="9bbb6610-0dbd-4b8a">No man can make money or acquire fame
without accumulating enemies; that’s the price
of success. To be sure they may not be all
big men, sometimes not more than two by four,
but they can make trouble. A Boston attorney,
who looked after the interest and voted the
stock of the absent shareholder in the Inter-Mountain<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166" data-webtasks-id="2a311f78-2cd4-455d">[Pg 166]</span>
Air Line, had become the enemy of
General Manager McGuire. This attorney had
had the misfortune to pass through college with
young Van Swell, who had made such a mess
of managing the new road, and who had been
forced to resign to make room for a real railroad
man, so, to use a very expressive railroad
expression, “he had it in for” the new General
Manager. He was a man of influence, and,
when not otherwise engaged, he worked among
the directors, many of whom he knew intimately,
and his work was always against McGuire. The
railway king, who had been the means of making
McGuire General Manager, had been able to
do so by influencing certain shareholders, and
when the Boston attorney had won two or three
of these to his side, the old faction could control
the next election. They would not ask or
expect the resignation of the brilliant young
manager. So long as he was content with that
position they could not, in their own interests,
ask him to resign. But he was ambitious.
Some of his friends had been putting his name
forward as the next president, and that was
wormwood and gall to the Van Swell contingent.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167" data-webtasks-id="303db01f-b33a-4454">[Pg 167]</span>
These rumors, rife in clubs and hotel
lobbies, soon reached the newspapers, and so
the public. As the date for the meeting of the
stockholders drew near, the matter became the
leading topic in the daily press. The stock of
the Inter-Mountain Air Line became sensitive to
the newspaper comments. Every man who had
a dollar in the enterprise was uneasy. Men
who lived like undertakers, off the misfortunes
of others, who made money only when some one
else lost, knew not whether to buy or sell. If
the election could take place now, they could
give a good guess that young Van Swell would
be the next president. If a certain man who
had been abroad for three or four years returned,
took the advice of his friends and voted
his stock instead of allowing his lawyer to vote
it, things might be different. A bushel or more
letters had been following this important,
though somewhat indifferent, shareholder all
over Europe. They had arrived in London
only the day after the important individual had
sailed for New York. Being a modest man,
who considered his comings and goings of little
importance to the general public, he had not
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_168" data-webtasks-id="8ec16bd9-e29c-46bb">[Pg 168]</span>taken the trouble to notify his friends of his
intentions, but when a list of “distinguished”
passengers had been cabled over, there was a
little flurry in Wall Street. The friends of McGuire
were enthusiastic. McGuire was indifferent.
His friends wired him to come East and
make a fight for the great prize that seemed
almost within his grasp. He refused to
budge. The bright young men who “did the
railroads” on the daily papers had fun with Van
Swell. They wondered whether he would take
his valet and his yacht to the mountains with
him. For a week and a day the excitement
was at fever heat, but out in the Rockies, where
the first frost was touching the oak and the
aspen with silver and gold, the General Manager
of the Air Line kept perfectly cool. The loyal
employees, who had inklings of the doings of the
pink-tea contingent at the East, spoke gently,
almost reverently, to the General Manager. It
would be a pity to lose him, people said, and
many of the leading shippers said openly that
they would give the Air Line no business if the
town lost this genial official. The switchmen
“offered” to strike. Of all the people interested,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169" data-webtasks-id="2a847db0-f2a7-4f9d">[Pg 169]</span>
directly or indirectly, McGuire showed
the least anxiety. Finally, the knowing ones
guessed the cause of his indifference, which was
now beginning to alarm his enemies. He had
things “cut and dried,” said the knowing ones,
and it began to look that way. But it was not
so. There was a shadow upon the heart of the
General Manager. Few men in America had
made greater success or reached a higher place
in the railway world in a lifetime than this
man had gained in thirty-five years, and yet he
was not happy.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f93be81f-db4e-41d9">Now, as the time for the election of a new
president drew near, the pressure became so
great and the cry for McGuire at the seat of
war grew so loud, that the General Manager
yielded, reluctantly, and made ready for the
journey. He might have carried his private
car, for there was not a line between the Atlantic
and the Pacific that would hesitate to handle
it; but he contented himself with the section
to which his Pullman pass entitled him, and his
annual transportation. So quietly did he depart
that none of the papers knew of it until he
was far out on the plains. He had never been
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170" data-webtasks-id="3d4d71b2-7fdd-4eeb">[Pg 170]</span>in Boston. She might be living there and now.
As the train bore him out toward the Atlantic
he began to wonder whether he might see her
driving in the park with her dignified old
father or (he dreaded the thought) with her
husband.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="7886748e-0d71-4d5c">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="29fbf52b-4d8b-4904">
<p data-webtasks-id="b0567d8e-d64e-458f"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171" data-webtasks-id="d3c53322-3608-4b60">[Pg 171]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI" data-webtasks-id="865f510f-66d3-467a">CHAPTER XXI</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="8114cc46-7048-4f0c">ON A ROLLING SEA</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="85535958-fa5d-4d2e"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="583ff7ca-5669-4136"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="b43b19d5-a494-4029">W</span>hen</span> the band ceased playing, Miss
Landon’s father had closed his eyes and
had doubtless forgotten that his daughter had
mentioned the conductor of the snow-bound
train in which they had once travelled. But
she had not forgotten, and now sat musing on
the past and dreaming of the future. The sea
was dead calm, and but for the vibration of the
ship, caused by the machinery, and the slight
lifting and lowering of the huge vessel as she
ploughed through the ocean, one might have
fancied that she was riding at anchor. The sun
shone dimly through an autumn haze. Here
and there the curving spine of a leaping porpoise
split the surface of the silver sea, that lay like a
great drop of molten lead. Far out toward the
banks a whale was spouting like a hose at a
fire. Now the big liner turns from her path to
nose about an old scow that is drifting, bottom
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172" data-webtasks-id="81df6529-a9e5-4597">[Pg 172]</span>side up, with the current of the sea. A half-dozen
gulls with steady wing stand above the
stern of the ship. Some of the passengers are
walking, some are dozing, others are reading,
and all are apparently perfectly contented. As
the sun went down the sea came up, and the
big ship began to roll. When it was dark, save
for the stars that stood above the ship, she began
to pitch. One by one the women left their
places and went below. When the bugle
sounded for dinner not all the men and a very
few women sat down in the great dining-hall.
The neglected tables groaned under the good
things that were left untouched. The band
played cheerily in the little bower above, while
the white-gloved stewards hurried out with the
empties, and came back with the nuts and pudding
and electric ice-cream. Before the meal
was over the ship was rolling so that they had
to lash on the sideboards. Only one woman
remained at the captain’s table. She was a
good sailor. Presently the big ship lifted her
nose until all the people held on to the tables,
and then she gave a twist and came down on
one corner. She went so low that the sea
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173" data-webtasks-id="160cb462-a901-460a">[Pg 173]</span>came up and wet all the windows. It reached
up to the promenade deck, leaped to the
bridge, over the ladies’ saloon, and tore away
six yards of the canvas fence, behind which the
captain stands. It came along the deck, a
solid stream, two feet and a half deep. It
gathered up all the steamer chairs and drove
them in a drift against the fence that marks
the line between the first and second class.
The people, men and women, who had stayed
upon deck, were washed along, and piled up
among the chairs. Mr. Landon, who was a
poor sailor, slid out of his chair that was
lashed to a railing that ran along the wall, and
went, half bent, head first, for the heavy fence
that runs round the ship. He ran so fast,
when the ship sat on edge, that he could not
straighten up, and before any one could reach
him his head hit the railing. He went down
like a man under a sandbag, and then the flood
came and heaped the company’s property and
a lot of people on top of him. When the sea
went down from the deck, and they gathered
the old man up he was dead,—but he came
to again.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6239a5b1-7806-4e5f"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174" data-webtasks-id="574f7ba5-5ee8-4b43">[Pg 174]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="386cfb01-d163-4a28">A thoughtful and sympathetic woman rushed
down to the dining-saloon and broke the news
of the accident to the handsome young woman
who was smiling over a glass of champagne at
the captain.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6596349d-f26c-4869">“Oh! Miss Landon! yo’ father’s dead.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="151fc722-bbb0-42b6">Miss Landon put down the glass and got to
her feet. She swayed a bit, and the captain
steadied her. “Is that true?” she asked,
gazing at the woman.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cb7620b0-971a-4b2e">“Well, he was; he’s better now; he—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c0da0dad-43e5-4f2b">“Thank you. It was thoughtful of you to
come and tell me.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ad4e9b27-cf66-4878">With the help of the captain and the chief
steward (for the ship was rolling) she passed
out. She was very pale, but there was just a
hint of a smile upon her handsome face.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="292637ae-cb04-4df7">The sympathetic, thoughtful woman sank
into a chair, and looked foolish.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cb519660-d244-45cd">When the ship’s doctor had bathed the old
gentleman’s face and whipped over the rent in
his scalp, he was able to talk to his daughter.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5c24cfd0-90d7-4e0d">His sister, the girl’s aunt, was helplessly seasick,
and if there is a time in a man’s life, or a
woman’s life, when a man or a woman is utterly
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175" data-webtasks-id="5c061103-a4eb-4a26">[Pg 175]</span>incapable of sympathy for any human being who
is foolish enough to want to live, it is when a
man or woman is helplessly seasick.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0aa899b0-f460-4abe">“Papa was wholly unconscious for ten minutes,
auntie,” said Kate.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="57bbdef0-558e-4083">“Oh, how glorious! If I could only put this—umph!
horrid—Oh! ship and this heaving,
tossing sea, and every—umph! thing and
everybody out of my mind, and then get out
myself, for ten minutes, I’d strangle the doctor
who brought me back to this miserable, howling,
rolling, watery old world.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dcafaa0d-a1ea-422f">In spite of her troubles (she was not feeling
any too fit herself) Miss Landon laughed at
this pessimistic tirade from her usually even-tempered
aunt.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="1c857e9c-ab27-4ee4">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="eab32cbb-2a53-41a8">
<p data-webtasks-id="c9e41860-8feb-4bc7"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176" data-webtasks-id="c0e851e5-cc11-4a79">[Pg 176]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII" data-webtasks-id="9b320b7d-784e-4f51">CHAPTER XXII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="69600dc7-a34e-41e1">THE NEW PRESIDENT</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="8d8fe4d9-96a5-4e95"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="50577f86-2413-4fe4"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="b3c1c65d-83cd-4522">T</span>hat</span> night Miss Landon lay in her narrow
bed, made short-stops of her elbows, and
listened to the lash and roar of the rolling sea.
At times the ship sank so deep into the main
that one would fancy the keel scraping the bottom
of the Atlantic. Nowhere in this world
does one feel one’s insignificance and utter helplessness
more than at mid-ocean in such a sea.
Miss Landon found herself thinking how helpless
she would be in the world if that kind,
indulgent father were to pass away. Half her
fortune was invested in a railway along with the
fortunes of friends and neighbors, who knew
nothing about the business. Naturally enough
her mind went back to her own experience on
a mountain railroad, and to the handsome conductor.
She went to sleep thinking of McGuire,
dreamed of McGuire, and woke up with McGuire
fresh in her mind, and marvelled at it.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9b567295-a67e-437c"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_177" data-webtasks-id="8800ce27-41d2-42a9">[Pg 177]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7459e515-7a47-4832">For three days and nights the sea rushed past
the rolling ship, and Landon lay in a semi-sane
condition.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="955d4639-7d6c-4be6">Finally, at dawn one day, the ship slowed
down and picked up a pilot out of a small boat
that was floundering in the ocean and apparently
enjoying it.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f6111bcf-a37e-4006">“I want to see one of your passengers, a
Mr. Landon, before I go upon the bridge,
captain,” said the man.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0a867080-584f-4f76">“Mr. Landon is not fit to be seen,” said the
captain. “He had an accident Monday afternoon
off the banks.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ee1ae796-6605-4ef2">“But I <i data-webtasks-id="4b35e736-3c76-4c24">must</i> see him, captain.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c61bf235-0426-485d">“Well, you persistent old salt, if you <i data-webtasks-id="2a98ae34-7076-4a7a">must</i>,
then take my advice and see his daughter, she’s
a whole lot better-looking.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e20158dd-35b6-4ae0">“I have a very important message for your
father, Miss Landon,” said the pilot, making a
sailor’s bow.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="62eb0843-77fe-4847">“Thank you, I’ll take it.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="853ade5e-5212-4b73">“But—I have sworn to give it into no
hands but his, and I—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6687c6e6-cf6c-409a">“Can’t trust me?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="430faa15-f85a-4df3">“Oh, yes, miss—but—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="94a4348e-7176-4904"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_178" data-webtasks-id="1828bbb3-ee69-4eb8">[Pg 178]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a3c3b07c-532d-41ba">Now the poor man had become so confused
that he had allowed the handsome, irresistible
young woman to take the letter. She tore it
open, glanced at the signature, and said, “Oh,
this is all right, it’s from papa’s former business
partner. He wants papa to do nothing until
he sees him. Well, I’m sure he won’t do
much, poor dear.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="67b3633c-aff2-4673">“Then you’ll be responsible, miss?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9efecdaa-410f-4111">“Oh, yes, I’ll be responsible.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d17080f3-cebb-4b6f">The pilot bowed again and ran up the ladder.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a960c837-edd8-40e3">When the big ship crawled up through the
fog, slowed again and picked up the Government
trunk-riflers, a man threw up a lump of
coal with a letter and a five-dollar note held to
it by a rubber band.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="31c206cb-c426-4814">“Keep the dough and give that letter to
Landon,” the man called up to the deck-steward
who had caught the coal.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="53123873-5150-4a7b">When Miss Landon had opened this letter,
which was from her father’s solicitor, whom she
disliked, she laughed. “‘Do nothing until you
see me.’ I never saw such a lot of do-nothing
people.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f3a6f0ff-a511-4701">Now another tug came nosing up to the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179" data-webtasks-id="a3bcb2a2-b797-4dcb">[Pg 179]</span>liner, as a herring noses about a floating biscuit,
and up came another lump of coal with a note
and a dollar. The note was addressed to Mr.
Landon, and stated that the “Daily Broker”
would like to speak to him. Miss Landon
crumpled the paper in her hand, leaned over
the railing and looked down upon the paper
man who had his chin pointed at the funnels of
the big boat.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="1f7cb2f1-199d-43b6">A man with a happy, round red face leaned
over the side and said, “You can’t see Mr.
Landon.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="93633569-a1fd-451f">“Why?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4873e823-5220-483b">“He’s hurted.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="67fa6520-20da-4be7">“Bad?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="b2dd5c1e-7969-4351">“Purty bad.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ce3b373a-2796-44d8">When the “Daily Broker’s” extra edition
came out with the elaborate account of the
distressing accident to Mr. Landon, there was
excitement in Wall Street. Naturally the Van
Swells, while deeply deploring the accident to
the estimable old Yankee, were elated at the
prospect of his being unable to vote at the
election which would take place in three
days.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9b2b48fe-4112-41c5"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180" data-webtasks-id="66f6d4b5-1de3-4cc3">[Pg 180]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="04a67ea9-4683-45da">The “Daily Broker” told how the old man
had gone, against the captain’s protest, upon
the hurricane deck when the ship was rolling,
had slipped and fallen down the narrow ladder,
broken his left arm and three ribs. These
wounds, the paper said, were not necessarily
fatal, but it was thought by the ship’s doctor—who
being slightly deaf talked very low, as deaf
people do—that the venerable New Englander
had sustained serious internal injuries.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="598a1ba0-47ea-4ed0">Nearly every one had left the steamer when
Miss Landon came down the gangway, followed
by four stewards carrying her father, who,
being rich, was attended by the ship’s surgeon.
Miss Landon was bewildered by the crowd of
brokers, reporters, and friends assembled at
the steamer. She had never dreamed that the
Landons were of such importance. Her aunt
took little note of anything, being obliged to
pinch herself to see whether she still lived.
The ship’s surgeon, appreciating the importance
of his patient, refused to allow even the most
intimate friends of the injured man to speak to
him. He went with them to their hotel and
remained until another physician could be
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181" data-webtasks-id="60def8a2-3abb-4789">[Pg 181]</span>called. The new doctor was worse, if anything,
than the ship’s doctor. This was a severe blow
to the solicitor, who knew better than to try to
get to his client <i data-webtasks-id="1e5b4415-6812-4eb5">via</i> the daughter.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bb6587d6-bf9c-4df9">On the following day Miss Landon persuaded
the doctor to allow her father’s old business
partner and neighbor from Gloucester to see
the sick man. Landon’s mind was still wavy,
but in the course of a half hour’s talk the visitor
made it pretty clear to the injured man that if
the Van Swells got control of the road, in
which they were deeply interested, they would
be likely to be squeezed out; if not, the road,
under such incompetent management, would
be sure to lose money.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7aed68f4-0cc1-43a2">“It’s Kate’s money,” said the sufferer. “She
railroads all the time, let her use her judgment,”
and it was so agreed.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="66162295-d860-40d7">The day before the date on which the election
was to take place they moved on to Boston.
When they were established in a comfortable
hotel, their Gloucester friend asked to be
allowed to introduce the gentleman who was
being brought forward, without any effort upon
his part, as the choice for President of the
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_182" data-webtasks-id="d3edd642-1be6-47c0">[Pg 182]</span>anti-Van Swell faction, to which the Landons
rightfully belonged.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9b3ca551-5dcb-4c25">Now when the army of reporters saw the
stranger going up in tow of the Gloucester
man, they knew that the pink-tea people were
beaten, for Landon’s vote was sure to elect—it
was the balance of power.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3c4c9121-65ee-4985">“This is Mr. McGuire, Miss Landon,” said
the Gloucester man.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3534bcec-7141-47e5">McGuire, who was utterly indifferent to most
people and most things in this world, was visibly
affected. Miss Landon, who had fainted but
once, clutched at the back of her chair. McGuire,
finding his voice and feet, stepped forward,
saying, in far-away, tremulous tones, like
a man talking in his sleep, “I think I have had
the pleasure of meeting Miss Landon.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ad3d8a6b-8d60-4d2e">The Gloucester man managed to rally from
his surprise and introduced “Auntie,” who until
now had not seen the distinguished railroader.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8ba37f05-1e5b-4276">“Is it possible?” Miss Landon heard herself
say right to the man’s face.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="14d75d2d-752e-4176">At this moment a street piano under their
windows broke loose with the then raging
popular air:—</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0b7c7275-92a1-4b7b"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_183" data-webtasks-id="889a55f2-0591-4e55">[Pg 183]</span></p>
<div class="poetry-container" data-webtasks-id="f7a0cabe-e9e4-4566">
<div class="poetry" data-webtasks-id="d5833fea-d0ec-4a82">
<div class="stanza" data-webtasks-id="c0e6aca4-64f7-479d">
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="c14f266a-52e8-42fd">“Arrah, Patsy! git up f’om th’ fire,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="1a30a3c6-2dbd-422f">An’ guv th’ mon a sate; ,</div>
<div class="verse indent0" data-webtasks-id="e6aaf683-ec55-47ac">Can’t ye see that it’s Misther McGuire,</div>
<div class="verse indent2" data-webtasks-id="b87c063d-8249-4d1c">Come a courtin’ yer sisther Kate?”</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="ba9deadc-16db-42d0">“Yes,” said McGuire, taking her hand again,
“it is possible.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d98ffb33-c766-4ce6">Two hours later the Gloucester man was
handing a carefully prepared “interview” to
the reporters.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="532c0225-5044-47c5">Mr. Thomas McGuire, the brilliant young
manager, who was a personal friend of Mr. Landon’s,
would be the next President of the Inter-Mountain
Air Line. This arrangement, while
tacitly understood beforehand, had been definitely
agreed to at a conference between Mr.
Landon and his friend and former partner,
who would represent the injured man at the
meeting to-morrow.</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="64bdc387-ff2e-4765">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="fe5b5718-02c1-4d96">
<p data-webtasks-id="f79dfb49-7925-4e01"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_184" data-webtasks-id="f4ff4d6f-b052-4a7b">[Pg 184]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII" data-webtasks-id="f7c3a13c-798b-4ed7">CHAPTER XXIII</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="3428735b-fd68-4663">THE MAID OF ERIN</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="cdb54314-d6a1-4764"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="17805948-e867-4a91"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="c71fc015-caff-4f90">“Y</span>ou</span> sent for me?” asked the General
Manager of the Vandalia.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8ba67ec9-1062-4717">“Yes,” said the President. “You remember
Tom McGuire?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f5437d45-a7f8-4cfa">“Is he the fellow that rode a mule into
the White Mail one morning at West Silver
Creek?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bcffa9de-91b7-4610">“The same freckled Thomas.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9ff92446-a5c8-4390">“Well, I can’t say that I remember him, for
I have never seen him; but I have not had an
opportunity to forget the story of his having
saved a couple of trains for the company.
Every time I go down the Line someone reminds
me of his heroism. It got to that pass
that when I heard the car hit the East Bridge
I looked up. In would come this man’s father,
who is now roadmaster on the west end, and
say, ‘There’s phare Tommy—’ and if I
happened to be alone the conductor would
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185" data-webtasks-id="e71182e8-c35e-4fa3">[Pg 185]</span>break the great news to me, until I am sick
of the story.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d98cbf11-2466-45fa">“Well,” said the President, “this Thomas is
coming over the road to-day. He has just
been re-elected President and General Manager
of the Inter-Mountain Air Line. He is bringing
a wife with him; the daughter of one of the
directors, and I want to arrange a little surprise
for him.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f5ba6a1b-fd5c-4d75">“That means a special train, I suppose?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="9236d0e1-39a9-49f6">“No, that would not surprise him, for they
are running him special over the Pennsylvania.
Do you think we could make time with his car
on the White Mail?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="056e00ea-65ca-4b64">“Well, we can try it. I’ll wire Sedgwick to
give us the best engines on the road. It will
please him, I dare say, to ride down on the
White Mail.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="47cbf065-21cc-4700">“Please him! why the Van will get all the
business that originates on the Inter-Mountain
for the next hundred years.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fcf81fe1-9d12-4150">“Shall you meet him at the train?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ae7ef79c-51b4-4681">“Ah, yes. We’re very good friends; he
did his first work for me when I was general
passenger agent.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a5917c19-1709-4926"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186" data-webtasks-id="b6d81a6b-118f-4e8a">[Pg 186]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="92b80f64-4224-4816">An hour later the office boy handed a piece
of white paper to the Trainmaster, upon which
was written:</p>
<div class="blockquot" data-webtasks-id="83b4cc86-81f8-44be">
<p data-webtasks-id="b58f57a1-ee33-4f52">“Put President McGuire’s car, ‘Maid of
Erin,’ on the White Mail to-night. G. M.”</p>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="f47016aa-efb6-4591">“Who gave you this, boy?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="50909911-8794-41ca">“G. M.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7d081ec9-0432-4298">“Himself?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2fdbc500-6db5-4df4">“That same.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="470c8c3d-3137-4f19">“Well, you take this back and ask him if he
means the Night Express.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="42727130-52d6-4176">Presently the boy came back, stopped in
front of the Trainmaster’s desk, and startled
the office by reading aloud:</p>
<div class="blockquot" data-webtasks-id="99ac4ca9-0878-4949">
<p data-webtasks-id="9c37639d-0f2c-414a">“Trainmaster, St. Louis, Vandalia, Terre
Haute and Indianapolis Railroad, Indianapolis:—</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="89d645a0-4d52-432e">Put President McGuire’s car, ‘Maid of
Erin’ on the White Mail to-night. G. M.”</p></div>
<p data-webtasks-id="6254272d-f5c3-4e68">“Who told you to read that?” shouted the
indignant Trainmaster.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="423aeb03-8828-478a">“The G. M. told me to read it to you and
see that you understood it.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5a760d98-10a8-4a90"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187" data-webtasks-id="5935762c-f537-418a">[Pg 187]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="36da7aaf-be8b-401f">There was a mischievous twinkle in the boy’s
eye, and gore in the eye of the T. M.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="2d70679f-3c4d-43c9">The operators, bending over their keys,
glanced at each other, but there were no comments.
There is very little talking in the
office where the despatchers work.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fb7e47f6-fe55-49c0">“Here, boy,” said the Trainmaster, handing
a piece of clip to the messenger. “Take that
to the yardmaster.” This order read:</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6a8aa1b2-4637-49bf">“Hook the ‘Maid of Erin’ on the White
Mail to-night.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="188651f3-82b2-42d3">“Who gave you this message?” demanded
the yardmaster.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6b873098-4e05-4585">The boy was ready to explode with fun.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cc5b3b4c-522e-4c2f">“The T. M.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="40c2e898-25ed-4061">“Well, you go back, sonny, and ask him if
he’s off his nut, see?” The boy reached for
the paper, but the man held it back. “Go
and ask Mr. Gilroy to explain this to you,”
said the yardmaster. “Ask him if he means
the White Mail or the Night Express.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="477fb6b0-0b07-4045">Presently the boy came back, and, hooking
his white light on his arm as he had seen
passenger conductors do, he stood in the
centre of the yardmaster’s office, and, having
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188" data-webtasks-id="93a7ee84-997c-457b">[Pg 188]</span>first arrested the attention of the switchmen,
engineers, and firemen who were “railroading”
there, read aloud:</p>
<div class="blockquot" data-webtasks-id="f58f4bed-af06-407a">
<p data-webtasks-id="07df76a3-61a4-4c05">“To the yardmaster, St. Louis, Vandalia,
Terre Haute, and Indianapolis Railroad,
Indianapolis:—</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="73214caa-fd52-4917">Hook the ‘Maid of Erin’ on the White
Mail to-night. T. M.”</p></div>
<p data-webtasks-id="e79cf726-6895-4e1a">“Damn your skin, kid, who told you to
read that?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fc73df86-073a-4fa6">“The T. M. Told me to read it to you
and see that you understood it, see?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="22debbb7-d914-457e">The engine had just been coupled to the
White Mail, that had come in carrying green
signals, when the special, running as second
section of No. 1, whistled in. The President
of the Vandalia boarded the “Maid of Erin,”
introduced the General Manager, and they were
in turn introduced to Mrs. McGuire. By this
time a yard engine had dashed up out of a
siding, picked up the car, and set her gently
on behind the White Mail.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a1a58f00-5fc5-487a">“What time shall we reach the river?”
asked the President of the Inter-Mountain.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="233ab25a-3e28-4584">“At 7.50,” said the President of the Vandalia.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189" data-webtasks-id="587966da-d7f2-4a43">[Pg 189]</span>
“Possibly 7.49, but it will not be 51,
Tommy, you can bet on that.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="cae5a672-a8bb-47f3">“To-morrow night,” said McGuire, surprised
but smiling. “How pokey you are!”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="757dc36a-918f-481b">“To-morrow morning, if you please.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e43342c5-f4df-4028">“What, you’re not running us special? Now
I don’t want you to do that.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="88ac8373-71ca-468d">“No, you are going on a regular train,”
said the Van man.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6d75b9f9-4a6b-4f61">“Then,” said McGuire, waving his hand
enthusiastically, “we’re on the White Mail.
Kate, do you hear? we’re going through on
the White Mail to-night. Say, this is—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="a3f56fc4-f268-403b">“Good night! Good-bye,” said the officials,
for the car was going. The yard engine was
giving them a kick out over the switches, and
by the time the President and General Manager
got to the rear platform the train was
making fifteen miles an hour. The headlights
of the pony shone full upon the happy faces
of the bride and groom on the rear of the
“Maid of Erin,” and with a hurried last
good night, the two officials dropped off, one
on either side.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7bb028ef-2ffb-48a7">They had long since ceased to carry passengers<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190" data-webtasks-id="83ccef5c-be06-4529">[Pg 190]</span>
on the White Mail, and the engineer, who
is not always consulted, wondered why they
hung back so that night.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8df2d2a7-bd29-4a16">This “Maid of Erin” car had a false bottom,
and between the two floors there was a
layer of forty-five pound steel rails, laid close
together, to weight her down and make her
ride easy. At Terre Haute, the engineer
called the conductor: “What in thunder you
got on behind there to-night, Jack?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="349673a6-0360-4035">“Private car—‘Maid of Erin.’”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="61871110-991d-4971">“Huh!” said the old driver, “I thought,
way the damn thing pulled, it must be made o’
lead.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ecce6cf0-4e8d-4a97">When the conductor learned at Terre Haute
that the man in the private car was President
McGuire, Thomas McGuire, freckled Tommy,
who used to run the pump at West Silver
Creek, he could scarcely wait until they pulled
out before going in to see the great railroad man.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0ad4c8bf-90e0-4fc4">When they had passed over the last switch
the conductor went back. McGuire turned
and glanced at the man in the bright uniform.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="6a3fec9a-f1dd-4fdc">“I beg pardon,” stammered the conductor,
“I thought you were alone.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="bbacaa02-69f6-4089"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191" data-webtasks-id="8136b557-fa78-47fc">[Pg 191]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="8b46996d-fec0-42c1">“Oh, don’t mention it, we’re railroad
people—sit down. I assure you that you
could not be more welcome.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="601d352a-4e40-4c1a">“But—I was looking for Mr. McGuire—I
thought he might—well, we used to work
together at Silver Creek.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e138ebb1-410e-442f">“Is your name Connor?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="581559c7-64aa-4927">“Yes, sir.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="701dc231-2427-4d89">“I thought so. Now have you been on this
train since you left Indianapolis, and just now
showed up?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="e6f800fd-bef2-48eb">“But, you’re not Tom—Mr. McGuire?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="d2afc610-51e3-42c8">“Yes,—I—am—Tom Mr. McGuire,”
and the President took the two hands of the
sallow conductor and looked into his face.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="7fc507a8-9f68-4d6d">“Katie,” he said suddenly, “this is Jack
Connor—little Jack that helped me detect
the train robbers when we were hiding from
the police. Shake hands with Mrs. McGuire,
Jack, and then sit down.”</p>
<hr class="tb" data-webtasks-id="88ccf648-2cd9-4290">
<p data-webtasks-id="33a2c8a8-4cd2-40c4">Mrs. McGuire had been sleeping for two
hours. Jack had, at McGuire’s request, been
telling him all his troubles. Things were going
from bad to worse. The Engineers and Firemen<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192" data-webtasks-id="729c633c-b60d-4598">[Pg 192]</span>
were organized to fight, but the O. R.
C., the conductors’ organization, was opposed
to strikes, and he, this restless, unhappy soul,
was working hard and hopefully for the
formation of a colossal union of all railroad
organizations, against which the soulless corporations
could not prevail.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="598ca2f2-6699-41ba">“But what’s the good of all this work and
worry, Jack?”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4f77a1b4-9c29-44dd">“For mutual protection. For the general
welfare of workingmen.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="4d534f23-9aa1-49b2">“Oh, workingmen be hanged! aren’t we
all workingmen? Wait till you are President
of a railroad, Jack. When your nerves are
shaken and your head roars when you go to
bed, and you lie awake half the night trying
to work out a scheme by which you can save
a few millions to the soulless corporation that
is clubbing the wolf away from your door, and,
incidentally, save your reputation and your job,
then you will know what it is to be a workingman.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="3b4b3b97-8fe2-4caa">Jack smiled pathetically, and glanced about
at the rich hangings and expensive furnishings.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="70833bfd-7e5c-4a45"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193" data-webtasks-id="0d21929d-b1ed-42ee">[Pg 193]</span></p>
<p data-webtasks-id="128fb0ae-aebd-493a">“I know what you are thinking now. You
are saying, Tommy seems to be having a pretty
good time. Well, did you ever see a drunk
man who didn’t <i data-webtasks-id="9684a09c-d56e-4c1c">seem</i> to be having fun? I’m
just married.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="82294ea9-a58c-49bc">President McGuire had intended to offer
his old playmate a position on the Air Line,
but when he had heard him discourse for a
couple of hours on the relations of “Capital
and Labor,” he changed his mind. “A man
who is always hugging a grievance will forget
to flag,” was what passed through the President’s
mind, and he concluded to leave his
old friend on his native heath, where he was
least liable to get into trouble.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="fd26dcef-5237-4719">“Jack, my boy,” said McGuire, with his
hand on the door of his stateroom, “you’re
on the wrong leg of the ‘Y,’ and you’ll be
throwing sixes all your life unless you switch.
If I work hard and get to the front, and you
work hard and get to the front—if each
man takes care of his own job, always lending
a helping hand to a fellow-worker when he
can, there won’t be many misfits or failures,
Jack.—Good night.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="bc89f461-35a3-4030">
<div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="c837f3c4-4a6c-42ed">
<p data-webtasks-id="733ab040-553b-4a71"><span class="pagenum" id="Page_194" data-webtasks-id="d08c7e9e-78fe-4b10">[Pg 194]</span></p>
<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV" data-webtasks-id="bb8327fb-1000-4aad">CHAPTER XXIV</h2>
</div>
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="5914f844-ff1e-4631">OVER THE BIG BRIDGE</p>
<p class="no-indent" data-webtasks-id="f58befe8-6fbe-47b6"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="6b86f615-b417-4e0a"><span class="dropcap" data-webtasks-id="1a7085f4-cbc7-4ae8">D</span>enis</span> McGuire’s successor in the little
shanty down by the bridge had shown
a white light to the driver of the Midnight
Express, and was up, and out with the dawn, to
show a milk-white flag to the men on the White
Mail in the morning.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5b109707-c910-413b">Down at East St. Louis, Roadmaster
McGuire and Mrs. McGuire, who, in addition
to being “the President’s mother,” continued
to make herself generally useful about the
house, were crossing the big bridge in order
to be at the Union depot when the White Mail
came in with the “Maid of Erin.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ec96a4df-c982-4a63">McGuire had been called early, and at
dawn, when the black steed stopped to drink
at Highland, Mrs. McGuire joined him. The
President tried hard to appreciate the situation.
Here was the realization of a dream that he
had not dared dream in his happiest and most
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_195" data-webtasks-id="d3167a05-5396-473c">[Pg 195]</span>hopeful moods. He was going over the Silver
Creek bridge on the White Mail and in his
own private car, and he tried to feel perfectly
satisfied with himself and the world. If he
could only work himself up to feeling as proud
and important as he did the day he took
charge of the mule, the tank, and all the company’s
property at West Silver Creek, he would
be glad, but it would not go. He was really
a great man now, and that enabled him to
appreciate what a little bit of a hole would be
left if one great man were to be pulled out
of the world.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="dd95f63a-47cd-41c5">The engine screamed. “That’s St. Jacobs,”
said McGuire to his wife, and the station was
behind them. Here the President had his
first disappointment. The man who stood
upon the platform in his shirt sleeves was a
stranger. The old agent was in Texas. Now
the train sank into the sag at East Silver,
lifted again, as an ocean steamer lifts her
huge form over a high sea, screamed on the
ridge, and then went roaring down toward the
bridge. How dwarfed and mean things
looked! The old saw-mill was gone, and only
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196" data-webtasks-id="331b9887-3433-48d6">[Pg 196]</span>a brown heap of sawdust marked the place. The
mill-pond, into which he had taken many a run
and jump from the railroad grade, was a slimy,
stagnant pool covered with green scum.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="52958fa0-a98d-46a6">“Now look, dear!—here—there! There’s
where the White Mail got mixed up with me
and the mule.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="f6ba499c-04a6-45c8">“But where’s the bridge, dear? Show me
the bridge you used to guard, and the—”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5405f5b3-5525-4e8e">“There, that’s it. Isn’t it little? Why, I
used to fancy that was about the biggest bridge
on the road.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="5c3d72d0-73e3-4bbb">“But you’re a big boy now, Tommy,” said
his wife, patting him playfully on the back,
“and things look different.”</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="58f46eb2-e035-42b3">The whistle sounded again, and the “Maid
of Erin” whipped round the curve at Hagler’s
tank.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="0506e28d-c7a5-487f">There was a steady pull against the grade
for a few moments, and then the President
felt the train falling into the broad bottoms
and saw the bluffs lift in their wake. He
turned, and stole a look at the handsome
woman who had left a luxurious home on the
Atlantic to follow him into the West. He
<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197" data-webtasks-id="68922d6d-fbab-4ac0">[Pg 197]</span>began now to appreciate his prize, and his
other successes grew insignificant and mean,
like the bridge, and the pond, and the mill-site.
Feeling his glance, she turned her smiling
face to him, bright and beautiful as the breaking
morn, and he thought then that he had
tasted what men call happiness.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="ad6c31be-6a72-4786">With a rush and a roar, they swept up the
incline, and McGuire, glancing up and down
the river, said, as a man might say in a
dream: “We’re crossing the big bridge on
the White Mail.”</p>
<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" data-webtasks-id="becfe895-9124-4121">
<div class="transnote" data-webtasks-id="ddc4dabc-73b4-4d0c"><div class="chapter" data-webtasks-id="b97e626d-1ee1-4c99">
<p class="ph3" data-webtasks-id="abb8a2a9-e417-46c1"><span class="smcap" data-webtasks-id="769cc625-5799-4e87">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></p>
</div>
<p data-webtasks-id="ecdbc43b-6986-4bc3">Minor silent changes have been made to regularize hyphenation and
punctuation.</p>
<p data-webtasks-id="c9c427bd-c342-4111">Dialect, slang and archaic spellings have been retained as typeset.</p></div>
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