[Illustration: "Quick as a flash the Kid had my arm. "]

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DANGER SIGNALS

Remarkable, Exciting And Unique Examples Of The Bravery, Daring And Stoicism In The Midst Of Danger OfTRAIN DISPATCHERS AND RAILROAD ENGINEERS

By

JOHN A. HILLandJASPER EWING BRADY

ABSORBING STORIES OF MEN WITH NERVES OF STEEL, INDOMITABLE COURAGE AND WONDERFUL ENDURANCE

Fully Illustrated

CHICAGOJAMIESON-HIGGINS CO. 1902

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Copyright 1898, 1899By S. S. McClure Co. 

Copyright 1899By Doubleday & McClure Co. 

Copyright 1900By Jamieson-Higgins Co. 

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CONTENTS

PART I. PAGE

Jim Wainright's Kid 7

An Engineer's Christmas Story 35

The Clean Man and the Dirty Angels 57

A Peg-legged Romance 75

My Lady of the Eyes 97

Some Freaks of Fate 151

Mormon Joe, the Robber 191

A Midsummer Night's Trip 227

The Polar Zone 253

PART II. 

CHAPTER

 I. Learning the Business--My First Office 1

 II. An Encounter with Train Robbers 11

 III. In a Wreck 12

 IV. A Woman Operator Who Saved a Train 25

 V. A Night Office in Texas--A Stuttering Despatcher 33

 VI. Blue Field, Arizona, and an Indian Scrimmage 42

 VII. Taking a Whirl at Commercial Work--My First Attempt--The Galveston Fire 52

 VIII. Sending a Message Perforce--Recognizing an Old Friend by His Stuff 62

 IX. Bill Bradley, Gambler and Gentleman 68

 X. The Death of Jim Cartwright--Chased off a Wire by a Woman 80

 XI. Witnessing a Marriage by Wire--Beating a Pool Room--Sparring at Long Range 87

 XII. How a Smart Operator was Squelched--The Galveston Flood 96

 XIII. Sending My First Order 104

 XIV. Running Trains by Telegraph--How It is Done 111

 XV. An Old Despatcher's Mistake--My First Trick 125

 XVI. A General Strike--A Locomotive Engineer for a Day 137

 XVII. Chief Despatcher--An Inspection Tour--Big River Wreck 147

XVIII. A Promotion by Favor and Its Results 160

 XIX. Jacking up a Negligent Operator--A Convict Operator--Dick, the Plucky Call Boy 168

 XX. An Episode of Sentiment 185

 XXI. The Military Operator--A Fake Report that Nearly Caused Trouble 192

 XXII. Private Dennis Hogan, Hero 203

XXIII. The Commission Won--In a General Strike 222

 XXIV. Experiences as a Government Censor of Telegraph 237

 XXV. More Censorship 246

 XXVI. Censorship Concluded 257

XXVII. Conclusion 269

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List of Illustrations

PART I. 

"Quick as a flash the Kid had my arm. " Frontispiece

 TO FACE"I noticed his long, slim hand on the top of thereverse-lever" 22

"It was a strange courting ... There on that engine" 70

"We carried him into the depot" 100

"He was the first man I ever killed" 176

"'Mexican, ' said I" 236

"What seemed to be a giant iceberg.... " 282

"A white city ... Was visible for an instant" 292

PART II. 

Facsimile of a completed train-despatcher's order 1

"Two of the men tied my hands in front of me" 16

"After many efforts I finally reached the lowest cross-arm" 30

"One of them picked up the lantern, and swaggering over towhere I sat all trembling.... " 38

"He looked at me ... Then catching me by the collar.... " 100

"... Half lying on the table, face downward, dead by his own hand" 128

"'See here, who is going to pull this train?'" 144

"Are you not doing it just because I am a woman?" 190

"... Dennis, lying under the telegraph line. His left handstill grasped the instrument" 219

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DANGER SIGNALS. 

PART I. 

JIM WAINRIGHT'S KID

As I put down my name and the number of the crack engine of America--aswell as the imprint of a greasy thumb--on the register of our roundhouselast Saturday night, the foreman borrowed a chew of my fireman'sfine-cut, and said to me:

"John, that old feller that's putting on the new injectors wants to seeyou. "

"What does he want, Jack?" said I. "I don't remember to have seen him, and I'll tell you right now that the old squirts on the 411 are goodenough for me--I ain't got time to monkey with new-fangled injectors on_that_ run. "

"Why, he says he knowed you out West fifteen years ago. "

"So! What kind o' looking chap is he?"

"Youngish face, John; but hair and whiskers as white as snow. Sorry-looking rooster--seems like he's lost all his friends on earth, and wa'n't jest sure where to find 'em in the next world. "

"I can't imagine who it would be. Let's see--'Lige Clark, he's dead;Dick Bellinger, Hank Baldwin, Jim Karr, Dave Keller, Bill Parr--can't benone of them. What's his name?"

"Winthrop--no, Wetherson--no, lemme see--why, no--no, Wainright; that'sit, Wainright; J. E. Wainright. "

"Jim Wainright!" says I, "Jim Wainright! I haven't heard a word of himfor years--thought he was dead; but he's a young fellow compared to me. "

"Well, he don't look it, " said Jack. 

After supper I went up to the hotel and asked for J. E. Wainright. 

Maybe you think Jim and I didn't go over the history of the "front. ""Out at the front" is the pioneer's ideal of railroad life. To a man whohas put in a few years there the memory of it is like the memory ofmarches, skirmishes, and battles in the mind of the veteran soldier. Iguess we started at the lowest numbered engine on the road, andgossiped about each and every crew. We had finished the list ofengineers and had fairly started on the firemen when a thought struckme, and I said:

"Oh, I forgot him, Jim--the 'Kid, ' your cheery little cricket of afiresy, who thought Jim Wainright the only man on the road that couldrun an engine right. I remember he wouldn't take a job runningswitcher--said a man that didn't know that firing for Jim Wainright wasa better job than running was crazy. What's become of him? Running, Isuppose?"

Jim Wainright put his hand up to his eyes for a minute, and his voicewas a little husky as he said:

"No, John, the Kid went away--"

"Went away?"

"Yes, across the Great Divide--dead. "

"That's tough, " said I, for I saw Jim felt bad. "The Kid and you werelike two brothers. "

"John, I loved the--"

Then Jim broke down. He got his hat and coat, and said:

"John, let's get out into the air--I feel all choked up here; and I'lltell you a strange, true story--the Kid's story. "

As we got out of the crowd and into Boston Common, Jim told his story, and here it is, just as I remember it--and I'm not bad at remembering. 

"I'll commence at the beginning, John, so that you will understand. It'sa strange story, but when I get through you'll recall enough yourself toprove its truth. 

"Before I went beyond the Mississippi and under the shadows of the RockyMountains, I fired, and was promoted, on a prairie road in the GreatBasin well known in the railway world. I was much like the rest of theboys until I commenced to try to get up a substitute for the linkmotion. I read an article in a scientific paper from the pen of ajackass who showed a Corliss engine card, and then blackguarded therailroad mechanics of America for being satisfied with the link becauseit was handy. I started in to design a motion to make a card, but--well, you know how good-for-nothing those things are to pull loadswith. 

"After my first attempt, I put in many nights making a wooden model forthe Patent Office. I was subsequently informed that the child of mybrain interfered with about ten other motions. Then I commenced tothink--which I ought to have done before. I went to studying _what hadbeen done_, and soon came to the conclusion that I just knew alittle--about enough to get along running. I gave up hope of being aninventor and a benefactor of mankind, but study had awakened in me thedesire for improvement; and after considerable thought I came to theconclusion that the best thing I could do was to try to be the bestrunner on the road, just as a starter. In reality, in my inmost soul, myhighest ideal was the master mechanic's position. 

"I was about twenty-five years old, and had been running between two orthree years, with pretty good success, when one day the general mastermechanic sent for me. In the office I was introduced to a gentleman, and the G. M. M. Said to him in my presence:

"'This is the engineer I spoke to you of. We have none better. I thinkhe would suit you exactly, and, when you are through with him, send himback; we are only lending him, mind, ' and he went out into the shop. 

"The meaning of it all was that the stranger represented a firm that hadput up the money to build a locomotive with a patent boiler for burninga patent fuel--she had an improved valve motion, too--and they had askedour G. M. M. For a good engineer, to send East and break in and run thenew machine and go with her around the country on ten-day trials on thedifferent roads. He offered good pay, it was work I liked, and I went. Icame right here to Boston and reported to the firm. They were a bigconcern in another line, and the head of the house was a relative of ourG. M. M. --that's why he had a chance to send me. 

"After the usual introductions, the president said to me:

"'Now, Mr. Wainright, this new engine of ours is hardly started yet. The drawings are done, and the builders' contract is ready to sign; butwe want you to look over the drawings, to see if there are any practicalsuggestions you can make. Then stay in the shops, and see that the workis done right. The inventor is not a practical man; help him if you can, for experience tells us that ten things fail because of bad _design_where one does because of bad manipulation. Come up into thedrawing-room, and I will introduce you to the inventor. '

"Up under the skylight I met the designer of the new engine, a mildlittle fellow--but he don't figure in this story. In five minutes I wasdeep in the study of the drawings. Everything seemed to be worked outall right, except that they had the fire-door opening the wrong way andthe brake-valve couldn't be reached--but many a good builder did thattwenty years ago. I was impressed with the beauty of the drawings--theywere like lithographs, and one, a perspective, was shaded and coloredhandsomely. I complimented him on them. 

"'They are beautiful, sir, ' he said; 'they were made by a lady. I'llintroduce you to her. '

"A bright, plain-faced little woman with a shingled head looked up fromher drawing-board as we approached, shook hands cordially whenintroduced, and at once entered into an intelligent discussion of theplans of the new record-beater. 

"Well, it was some months before the engine was ready for the road, andin that time I got pretty well acquainted with Miss Reynolds. She wasmighty plain, but sharp as a buzz-saw. I don't think she was reallyhomely, but she'd never have been arrested for her beauty. There wassomething 'fetching' about her appearance--you couldn't help liking her. She was intelligent, and it was such a novelty to find a woman who knewthe smoke stack from the steam chest. I didn't fall in love with her atall, but I liked to talk to her over the work. She told me her story;not all at once, but here and there a piece, until I knew her historypretty well. 

"It seems that her father had been chief draughtsman of those works foryears, but had lately died. She had a strong taste for mechanics, andher father, who believed in women learning trades, had taught hermechanical drawing, first at home and then in the shop. She had helpedin busy times as an extra, but never went to work for regular wagesuntil the death of her father made it necessary. 

"She seemed to like to hear stories of the road, and often asked me totell her some thrilling experience the second time. Her eyes sparkledand her face kindled when I touched on a snow-bucking experience. Sheoften said that if she was a man she'd go on the railroad, and aftersuch a remark she would usually sigh and smile at the same time. Oneday, when the engine was pretty nearly ready, she said to me:

"'Mr. Wainright, who is going to fire the Experiment?'

"'I don't know. I had forgot about that; I'll have to see about it. '

"'It wouldn't be of much use to get an experienced man, would it--theengine will burn a new fuel in a new way?'

"'No, ' said I, 'not much. '

"'Now, ' said she, coloring a little, 'let me ask a favor of you. I havea brother who is just crazy to go out firing. I don't want him to gounless it's with a man I can trust; he is young and inexperienced, youknow. Won't you take him? Please do. '

"'Why, I'll be glad to, ' said I. 'I'll speak to the old man about it. '

"'Don't tell him it's my brother. '

"'Well, all right. '

"The old man told me to hire whoever I liked, and I told Miss Reynoldsto bring the boy in the morning. 

"'Won't you wait until Monday? It will be an accommodation to me. '

"Of course I waited. 

"The next day Miss Reynolds did not come to the office, and I was busyat the shop. Monday came, but no Miss Reynolds. About nine o'clock, however, the foreman came down to the Experiment with a boy, apparentlyabout eighteen years old, and said there was a lad with a note for me. 

"Before reading the note I shook hands with the boy, and told him I knewwho he was, for he looked like his sister. He was small, but wiry, andhad evidently come prepared for business, as he had some overclothesunder his arm and a pair of buckskin gloves. He was bashful and quiet, as boys usually are during their first experience away from home. Thenote read:

 "'DEAR MR. WAINRIGHT. --This will be handed you by brother George. I hope you will be satisfied with him. I know he will try to please you and do his duty; don't forget how green he is. I am obliged to go into the country to settle up some of my father's affairs and may not see you again before you go. I sincerely hope the "Experiment, " George, and his engineer will be successful. I shall watch you all. 

 "'G. E. REYNOLDS. '

"I felt kind of cut up, somehow, about going away without bidding OldBusiness--as the other draughtsman called Miss Reynolds--good-by; but Iwas busy with the engine. 

"The foreman came along half an hour after the arrival of youngReynolds, and seeing him at work cleaning the window glass, asked who hewas. 

"'The fireman, ' said I. 

"'What! that kid?'

"And from that day I don't think I ever called young Reynolds by anyother name half a dozen times. That was the 'Kid' you knew. When it camequitting time that night, I asked the Kid where they lived, and he said, Charlestown. I remarked that his voice was like his sister's; but helaughed, and said I'd see difference enough if they were together; andbidding me good-night, caught a passing car. 

"We broke the Experiment in for a few days, and then tackled half atrain for Providence. She would keep her water just about hot enough towash in with the pump on. It was a tough day; I was in the front endhalf the time at every stop. The Kid did exactly what I told him, andwas in good spirits all the time. I was cross. Nothing will make a mancrosser than a poor steamer. 

"We got to Providence in the evening tired; but after supper the Kidsaid he had an aunt and her family living there, and if I didn't mind, he'd try to find them. I left the door unlocked, and slept on one sideof the bed, but the Kid didn't come back; he was at the engine when Igot there the next morning. 

"The Kid was such a nice little fellow I liked to have him with me, and, somehow or other (I hardly noticed it at the time), he had a goodinfluence on me. In them days I took a drink if I felt like it; but theKid got me into the habit of taking lemonade, and wouldn't go intodrinking places, and I soon quit it. He gave me many examples ofcontrolling my temper, and soon got me into the habit of thinking beforeI spoke. 

"We played horse with that engine for four or five weeks, mostly aroundtown, but I could see it was no go. The patent fuel was no good, and thepatent fire-box little better, and I advised the firm to put a standardboiler on her and a pair of links, and sell her while the paint wasfresh. They took my advice. 

"The Kid and I took the engine to Hinkley's, and left her there; wepacked up our overclothes, and as we walked away, the Kid asked: 'Whatwill you do now, Jim?'

"'Oh, I've had a nice play, and I'll go back to the road. I wish you'dgo along. '

"'I wouldn't like anything better; will you take me?'

"'Yes, but I ain't sure that I can get you a job right away. '

"'Well, I could fire for you, couldn't I?'

"'I'd like to have you, Kid; but you know I have a regular engine and aregular fireman. I'll ask for you, though. '

"'I won't fire for anybody else!'

"'You won't! What would you do if I should die?'

"'Quit. '

"Get out!'

"'Honest; if I can't fire for you, I won't fire at all. '

"I put in a few days around the 'Hub, ' and as I had nothing to do, mymind kept turning to Miss Reynolds. I met the Kid daily, and on one ofour rambles I asked him where his sister was. 

"'Out in the country. '

"'Send word to her that I am going away and want to see her, will you, Kid?'

"'Well, yes; but Sis is funny; she's too odd for any use. I don't thinkshe'll come. '

"'Well, I'll go and see her. '

"'No, Sis would think you were crazy. '

"'Why? Now look here Kid, I like that sister of yours, and I want to seeher. '

"But the Kid just stopped, leaned against the nearest building, andlaughed--laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. The next day hebrought me word that his sister had gone to Chicago to make somesketches for the firm and hoped to come to see us after she was through. I started for Chicago the day following, the Kid with me. 

"I had little trouble in getting the Kid on with me, as my old firemanhad been promoted. I had a nice room with another plug-puller, and in afew days I was in the old jog--except for the Kid. He refused to roomwith my partner's fireman; and when I talked to him about saving moneythat way, he said he wouldn't room with any one--not even me. Then helaughed, and said he kicked so that no one could room with him. The Kidwas the butt of all the firemen on account of his size, but he kept thecleanest engine, and was never left nor late, and seemed more and moreattached to me--and I to him. 

"Things were going along slick enough when Daddy Daniels had a row withhis fireman, and our general master mechanic took the matter up. Daniels' fireman claimed the run with me, as he was the oldest man, and, as they had an 'oldest man' agreement, the master mechanic orderedSmutty Kelly and the Kid changed. 

"I was not in the roundhouse when the Kid was ordered to change, but hewent direct to the office and kicked, but to no purpose. Then he came tome. 

"'Jim, ' said he, with tears in his eyes, 'are you satisfied with me onthe 12?'

"'Why, yes, Kid. Who says I'm not?'

"'They've ordered me to change to the 17 with that horrible old ruffianDaniels, and Smutty Kelly to go with you. '

"'They have!' says I. 'That slouch can't go out with me the first time;I'll see the old man. '

"But the old man was mad by the time I got to him. 

"'That baby-faced boy says he won't fire for anybody but you; what haveyou been putting into his head?'

"'Nothing; I've treated him kindly, and he likes me and the 12--that'sthe cleanest engine on the--'

"'Tut, tut, I don't care about that; I've ordered the firemen on the 12and 17 changed--and they are going to be changed. '

"The Kid had followed me into the office, and at this point said, veryrespectfully:

"'Excuse me, sir, but Mr. Wainright and I get along so nicely together. Daniels is a bad man; so is Kelly; and neither will get along withdecent men. Why can't you--'

"'There! stop right there, young man. Now, will you go on the 17 _asordered_?'

"'Yes, if Jim Wainright runs her. '

"'No _ifs_ about it; will you go?'

"'No, sir, I won't!'

"'You are discharged, then. '

"'That fires me, too, ' said I. 

"'Not at all, not at all; this is a fireman row, Jim. '

"I don't know what struck me then, but I said:

"'No one but this boy shall put a scoop of coal in the 12 or any otherengine for me; I'll take the poorest run you have, but the Kid goes withme. '

"Talk was useless, and in the end the Kid and I quit and got our time. 

"That evening the Kid came to my room and begged me to take my job backand he would go home; but I wouldn't do it, and asked him if he was sickof me. 

"'No, Jim, ' said he. 'I live in fear that something will happen toseparate us, but I don't want to be a drag on you--I think more of youthan anybody. '

"They were buying engines by the hundred on the Rio Grande and Santa Féand the A. & P. In those days, and the Kid and I struck out for theWest, and inside of thirty days we were at work again. 

"We had been there three months, I guess, when I got orders to take anew engine out to the front and leave her, bringing back an old one. Thelast station on the road was in a box-car, thrown out beside the trackon a couple of rails. There was one large, rough-board house, where theyserved rough-and-ready grub and let rooms. The latter were stalls, thepartitions being only about seven feet high. It was cold and bleak, butright glad we were to get there and get a warm supper. Everything wasrough, but the Kid seemed to enjoy the novelty. After supper I asked thelandlord if he could fix us for the night. 

"'I can jest fix ye, and no more, ' said he; 'I have just one room left. Ye's'll have to double up; but this is the kind o' weather for that;it'll be warmer. '

"The Kid objected, but the landlord bluffed him--didn't have any otherroom--and he added: 'If I was your pardner there, I'd kick ye down tothe foot, such a cold strip of bacon as ye must be. '

"About nine o'clock the Kid slipped out, and not coming in for an hour, I went to look for him. As I went toward the engine, I met the watchman:

"'Phy don't that fireman o' yourn sleep in the house or on the caboosefloor such a night as this? He'll freeze up there in that cab wid noblankets at all; but when I tould him that, he politely informed meselfthat he'd knowed men to git rich mindin' their own biz. He's a sassyslip of a Yankee. '

"I climbed up on the big consolidation, and, lighting my torch, lookedover the boiler-head at the Kid. He was lying on a board on the seat, with his overcoat for a covering and an arm-rest for a pillow. 

"'What's the matter with you, Kid?' I asked. 'What are you doingfreezing here when we can both be comfortable and warm in the house? Areyou ashamed or afraid to sleep with me? I don't like this for a cent. '

"'Hope you won't be mad with me, Jim, but I won't sleep with any one;there now!'

"'You're either a fool or crazy, ' said I. 'Why, you will half freezehere. I want some explanation of such a trick as this. '

"The Kid sat up, looked at me soberly for a few seconds, reached up andunhooked his door, and said:

"'Come over and sit down, Jim, and I'll tell you something. '

"I blew out the torch and went over, half mad. As I hooked the door tokeep out the sharp wind I thought I heard a sob, and I took the Kid'shead in my hands and turned his face to the moonlight. There were bigtears in the corner of each tightly closed eye. 

"'Don't feel bad, Kid, ' said I. 'I'm sure there's some reason keeps youat such tricks as this; but tell me all your trouble--it's imaginary, Iknow. '

"There was a tremor in the Kid's voice as he took my hand and said, 'Weare friends, Jim; ain't we?'

"'Why, of course, ' said I. 

"'I have depended on your friendship and kindness and manhood, Jim. Ithas never failed me yet, and it won't now, I know. I have a secret, Jim, and it gnaws to be out one day, and hides itself the next. Many and manya time I have been on the point of confessing to you, but something heldme back. I was afraid you would not let me stay with you, if you knew--'

"'Why, you ain't killed any one, Kid?' I asked, for I thought he wasexaggerating his trouble. 

"'No--yes, I did, too--I killed my sister. '

"I recoiled, hurt, shocked. 'You--'

"'Yes, Jim, there is no such person to be found as my sister, Georgiana--_for I am she_!''

"'You! Why, Kid, you're crazy!'

"'No, I'm not. Listen, Jim, and I will explain. '

"'My father was always sorry I was not a boy. Taught me boyish tricks, and made me learn drawing. I longed for the life on a locomotive--Iloved it, read about it, thought of it, and prayed to be transformedinto _something_ that could go out on the road. My heart went out toyou early in our acquaintance, and one day the thought to get started asa fireman with you shot into my brain and was acted upon at once. Afterthe first move there was no going back, and I have acted my part well; Ihave even been a good fireman. I am strong, healthy, and happy when onthe road with you. I love the life, hard as it is, and can't think ofgiving it up, and--and you, Jim. '

"And then she broke down, and cried as only a woman can. 

"I took both her hands in mine and kissed her--think of kissing yourfireman on the engine--and told her that we could be happy yet. Then Itold her how I had tried to get a letter to the lost sister, and howthey never came back, and were never answered--that I loved the sisterand loved her. She reminded me that she herself got all the letters Ihad sent, and was pretty sure of her ground when she threw herself on myprotection. 

"It was a strange courting, John, there on that engine at the front, theboundless plains on one side, the mountains on the other, the winds ofthe desert whirling sand and snow against our little house, and the moonlooking coldly down at the spectacle of an engineer making love to hisfireman. 

"That night the Kid slept in the bed in the house, and I stayed on theengine. 

"When we got back to headquarters the Kid laid off to go home, and Imade a trip or two with another fireman, and then I had to go toIllinois to fix up some family business--Kid and I arranged that. 

"We met in St. Louis, the Kid hired a ball dress, and we were married asquiet as possible. I had promised the Kid that, for the present atleast, she could stay on the road with me, and you know that the yearyou were there I done most of the heavy firing while the Kid did therunning. We remained in the service for something like two years--astrange couple, but happy in each other's company and our work. 

"I often talked to my wife about leaving the road and starting in new, where we were not known, as man and wife, she to remain at home; but shewouldn't hear of it, asking if I wanted an Irishman for a side-partner. This came to be a joke with us--'When I get my Irishman I will doso-and-so. '

"One day, as our 'hog' was drifting down the long hill, the Kid said tome, 'Jim, you can get your Irishman; I'm going to quit this trip. '

"'Kind o' sudden, hey, Kid?'

"'No, been hating to give up, but--' and then the Kid came over andwhispered something to me. 

"John, we both quit and went South. I got a job in Texas, and the Kidwas lost sight of, and Mrs. J. E. Wainright appeared on the scene intea-gown, train, and flounces. We furnished a neat little den, and I washappy. I missed my kid fireman, and did indeed have an Irishman. Kid hada struggle to wear petticoats again, and did not take kindly todish-washing, but we were happy just the same. 

"Our little fellow arrived one spring day, and then our skies were allsunshiny for three long, happy years, until one day Kid and I followed alittle white hearse out beyond the cypress grove and saw the earthcovered over our darling, over our hopes, over our sunshine, and overour hearts. 

"After that the house was like a tomb, so still, so solemn, and at everyturn were reminders of the little one who had faded away like themorning mist, gone from everything but our memories--there his sweetlittle image was graven by the hand of love and seared by thebranding-iron of sorrow. 

"Men and women of intelligence do not parade their sorrows in themarket-place; they bear them as best they can, and try to appear asothers, but once the specter of the grim destroyer has crossed thethreshold, his shadow forever remains, a dark reminder, like aprison-bar across the daylight of a cell. This shadow is seen andrecognized in the heart of a father, but it is larger and darker andmore dreadful in the mother heart. 

"At every turn poor Kid was mutely reminded of her loss, and her heartwas at the breaking point day by day, and she begged for her old life, to seek forgetfulness in toil and get away from herself. So we wentback to the old road, as we went away--Jim Wainright and KidReynolds--and glad enough they were to get us again for the winter work. 

"Three years of indoor life had softened the wiry muscles of the Kid, and our engine was a hard steamer, so I did most of the work on theroad. But the work, excitement, and outdoor life brought back the colorto pale cheeks, and now and then a smile to sad lips--and I was glad. 

"One day the Kid was running while I broke up some big lumps of coal, and while busy in the tank I felt the air go on full and the reverselever come back, while the wheels ground sand. I stepped quickly towardthe cab to see what was the matter, when the Kid sprang into the gangwayand cried 'Jump!'

"I was in the left gangway in a second, but quick as a flash the Kid hadmy arm. 

"'The other side! Quick! The river!'

"We were almost side by side as she swung me toward the other side ofthe engine, and jumped as we crashed into a landslide. I felt Kid'shand on my shoulder as I left the deck--just in time to save my life, but not the Kid's. 

"She was crushed between the tank and boiler in the very act of keepingme from jumping to certain death on the rocks in the river below. 

"When the crew came over they found me with the crushed clay of my poor, loved Kid in my arms, kissing her. They never knew who she was. I tookher back to our Texas home and laid her beside the little one that hadgone before. The Firemen's Brotherhood paid Kid's insurance to me andpassed resolutions saying: 'It has pleased Almighty God to remove fromour midst our beloved brother, George Reynolds, ' etc. , etc. 

"George Reynolds's grave cannot be found; but over a mound offorget-me-nots away in a Southern land, there stands a stone on which iscut: 'Georgiana, wife of J. E. Wainright, aged thirty-two years. '

"But in my heart there is a golden pyramid of love to the memory of afireman and a sweetheart known to you and all the world but me, as 'JimWainright's Kid. '"

AN ENGINEER'S CHRISTMAS STORY

In the summer, fall, and early winter of 1863, I was tossing chips intoan old Hinkley insider up in New England, for an engineer by the name ofJames Dillon. Dillon was considered as good a man as there was on theroad: careful, yet fearless, kindhearted, yet impulsive, a man whosefriends would fight for him and whose enemies hated him right royally. 

Dillon took a great notion to me, and I loved him as a father; the factof the matter is, he was more of a father to me than I had at home, formy father refused to be comforted when I took to railroading, and Icould not see him more than two or three times a year at the most--sowhen I wanted advice I went to Jim. 

I was a young fellow then, and being without a home at either end of therun, was likely to drop into pitfalls. Dillon saw this long before Idid. Before I had been with him three months, he told me one day, comingin, that it was against his principles to teach locomotive-running to ayoung man who was likely to turn out a drunkard or gambler and disgracethe profession, and he added that I had better pack up my duds and comeup to his house and let "mother" take care of me--and I went. 

I was not a guest there: I paid my room-rent and board just as I shouldhave done anywhere else, but I had all the comforts of a home, andenjoyed a thousand advantages that money could not buy. I told Mrs. Dillon all my troubles, and found kindly sympathy and advice; sheencouraged me in all my ambitions, mended my shirts, and went with mewhen I bought my clothes. Inside of a month, I felt like one of thefamily, called Mrs. Dillon "mother, " and blessed my lucky stars that Ihad found them. 

Dillon had run a good many years, and was heartily tired of it, and heseldom passed a nice farm that he did not call my attention to it, saying: "Jack, now there's comfort; you just wait a couple ofyears--I've got my eye on the slickest little place, just on the edge ofM----, that I am saving up my pile to buy. I'll give you the 'RogerWilliam' one of these days, Jack, say good evening to grief, and me andmother will take comfort. Think of sleeping till eight o'clock, --and nopoor steamers, Jack, no poor steamers!" And he would reach over, andgive my head a gentle duck as I tried to pitch a curve to a front cornerwith a knot: those Hinkleys were powerful on cold water. 

In Dillon's household there was a "system" of financial management. Healways gave his wife just half of what he earned; kept ten dollars forhis own expenses during the month, out of which he clothed himself; andput the remainder in the bank. It was before the days of high wages, however, and even with this frugal management, the bank account did notgrow rapidly. They owned the house in which they lived, and out of herhalf "mother" had to pay all the household expenses and taxes, clotheherself and two children, and send the children to school. The oldest, agirl of some sixteen years, was away at normal school, and the boy, about thirteen or fourteen, was at home, going to the public school andwearing out more clothes than all the rest of the family. 

Dillon told me that they had agreed on the financial plan followed inthe family before their marriage, and he used to say that for the lifeof him he did not see how "mother" got along so well on the allowance. When he drew a small month's pay he would say to me, as we walked home:"No cream in the coffee this month, Jack. " If it was unusually large, hewould say: "Plum duff and fried chicken for a Sunday dinner. " Heinsisted that he could detect the rate of his pay in the food, but thiswas not true--it was his kind of fun. "Mother" and I were fast friends. She became my banker, and when I wanted an extra dollar, I had to askher for it and tell what I wanted it for, and all that. 

Along late in November, Jim had to make an extra one night on anotherengine, which left me at home alone with "mother" and the boy--I hadnever seen the girl--and after swearing me to be both deaf, dumb, andblind, "mother" told me a secret. For ten years she had been savingmoney out of her allowance, until the amount now reached nearly $2, 000. She knew of Jim's life ambition to own a farm, and she had the matter inhand, if I would help her. Of course I was head over heels into thescheme at once. She wanted to buy the farm near M----, and give Jim thedeed for a Christmas present; and Jim mustn't even suspect. 

Jim never did. 

The next trip I had to buy some underclothes: would "mother" tell me howto pick out pure wool? Why, bless your heart, no, she wouldn't, butshe'd just put on her things and go down with me. Jim smoked and read athome. 

We went straight to the bank where Jim kept his money, asked for thePresident, and let him into the whole plan. Would he take $2, 100 out ofJim's money, unbeknown to Jim, and pay the balance of the price of thefarm over what "mother" had?

No, he would not; but he would advance the money for the purpose--havethe deeds sent to him, and he would pay the price--that was fixed. 

Then I hatched up an excuse and changed off with the fireman on theM---- branch, and spent the best part of two lay-overs fixing up thingswith the owner of the farm and arranging to hold back the recording ofthe deeds until after Christmas. Every evening there was some part ofthe project to be talked over, and "mother" and I held many whisperedconversations. Once Jim, smiling, observed that, if I had any hair on myface, he would be jealous. 

I remember that it was on the 14th day of December, 1863, that paydaycame. I banked my money with "mother, " and Jim, as usual, counted outhis half to that dear old financier. 

"Uncle Sam'd better put that 'un in the hospital, " observed Jim, as hecame to a ragged ten-dollar bill. "Goddess of Liberty pretty near gother throat cut there; guess some reb has had hold of her, " he continued, as he held up the bill. Then laying it down, he took out his pocket-bookand cut off a little three-cornered strip of pink court-plaster, andmade repairs on the bill. 

"Mother" pocketed her money greedily, and before an hour I had that verybill in my pocket to pay the recording fees in the courthouse at M----. 

The next day Jim wanted to use more money than he had in his pocket, andasked me to lend him a dollar. As I opened my wallet to oblige him, thatpatched bill showed up. Jim put his finger on it, and then turning mearound towards him, he said: "How came you by that?"

I turned red--I know I did--but I said, cool enough, "'Mother' gave itto me in change. "

"That's a lie, " he said, and turned away. 

The next day we were more than two-thirds of the way home before hespoke; then, as I straightened up after a fire, he said: "JohnAlexander, when we get in, you go to Aleck (the foreman) and get changedto some other engine. "

There was a queer look on his face; it was not anger, it was notsorrow--it was more like pain. I looked the man straight in the eye, andsaid: "All right, Jim; it shall be as you say--but, so help me God, Idon't know what for. If you will tell me what I have done that is wrong, I will not make the same mistake with the next man I fire for. "

He looked away from me, reached over and started the pump, and said:"Don't you know?"

"No, sir, I have not the slightest idea. "

"Then you stay, and I'll change, " said he, with a determined look, andleaned out of the window, and said no more all the way in. 

I did not go home that day. I cleaned the "Roger William" from the topof that mountain of sheet-iron known as a wood-burner stack to the backcasting on the tank, and tried to think what I had done wrong, or notdone at all, to incur such displeasure from Dillon. He was in bed whenI went to the house that evening, and I did not see him until breakfast. He was in his usual spirits there, but on the way to the station, andall day long, he did not speak to me. He noticed the extra cleaning, andcarefully avoided tarnishing any of the cabfittings;--but that awfulquiet! I could hardly bear it, and was half sick at the trouble, thecause of which I could not understand. I thought that, if the patchedbill had anything to do with it, Christmas morning would clear it up. 

Our return trip was the night express, leaving the terminus at 9:30. Asusual, that night I got the engine out, oiled, switched out the cars, and took the train to the station, trimmed my signals and headlight, andwas all ready for Jim to pull out. Nine o'clock came, and no Jim; at9:10 I sent to his boarding-house. He had not been there. He did notcome at leaving time--he did not come at all. At ten o'clock theconductor sent to the engine-house for another engineer, and at 10:45, instead of an engineer, a fireman came, with orders for John Alexanderto run the "Roger William" until further orders, --I never fired alocomotive again. 

I went over that road the saddest-hearted man that ever made a maidentrip. I hoped there would be some tidings of Jim at home--there werenone. I can never forget the blow it was to "mother;" how she braced upon account of her children--but oh, that sad face! Christmas came, andwith it the daughter, and then there were two instead of one: the boywas frantic the first day, and playing marbles the next. 

Christmas day there came a letter. It was from Jim--brief and coldenough--but it was such a comfort to "mother. " It was directed to MaryJ. Dillon, and bore the New York post-mark. It read:

 "Uncle Sam is in need of men, and those who lose with Venus may win with Mars. Enclosed papers you will know best what to do with. Be a mother to the children--you have _three_ of them. 

 "JAMES DILLON. "

He underscored the three--he was a mystery to me. Poor "mother!" Shedeclared that no doubt "poor James's head was affected. " The papers withthe letter were a will, leaving her all, and a power of attorney, allowing her to dispose of or use the money in the bank. Not a line ofendearment or love for that faithful heart that lived on love, askedonly for love, and cared for little else. 

That Christmas was a day of fasting and prayer for us. Many letters didwe send, many advertisements were printed, but we never got a word fromJames Dillon, and Uncle Sam's army was too big to hunt in. We were achanged family: quieter and more tender of one another's feelings, butchanged. 

In the fall of 64 they changed the runs around, and I was booked to runin to M----. Ed, the boy, was firing for me. There was no reason why"mother" should stay in Boston, and we moved out to the little farm. That daughter, who was a second "mother" all over, used to come down tomeet us at the station with the horse, and I talked "sweet" to her; yetat a certain point in the sweetness I became dumb. 

Along in May, '65, "mother" got a package from Washington. It containeda tin-type of herself; a card with a hole in it (made evidently byhaving been forced over a button), on which was her name and the oldaddress in town; then there was a ring and a saber, and on the blade ofthe saber was etched, "Presented to Lieutenant Jas. Dillon, for braveryon the field of battle. " At the bottom of the parcel was a note in astrange hand, saying simply, "Found on the body of Lieutenant Dillonafter the battle of Five Forks. "

Poor "mother!" Her heart was wrung again, and again the scalding tearsfell. She never told her suffering, and no one ever knew what she bore. Her face was a little sadder and sweeter, her hair a little whiter--thatwas all. 

I am not a bit superstitious--don't believe in signs or presentiments orprenothings--but when I went to get my pay on the 14th day of December, 1866, it gave me a little start to find in it the bill bearing thechromo of the Goddess of Liberty with the little three-cornered piece ofcourt-plaster that Dillon had put on her wind-pipe. I got rid of it atonce, and said nothing to "mother" about it; but I kept thinking of itand seeing it all the next day and night. 

On the night of the 16th, I was oiling around my Black Maria to take outa local leaving our western terminus just after dark, when a tall, slimold gentleman stepped up to me and asked if I was the engineer. I don'tsuppose I looked like the president: I confessed, and held up my torch, so I could see his face--a pretty tough-looking face. The white mustachewas one of that military kind, reinforced with whiskers on the right andleft flank of the mustache proper. He wore glasses, and one of thelights was ground glass. The right cheek-bone was crushed in, and a redscar extended across the eye and cheek; the scar looked blue around thered line because of the cold. 

"I used to be an engineer before the war, " said he. "Do you go toBoston!"

"No, to M----. "

"M----! I thought that was on a branch. "

"It is, but is now an important manufacturing point, with regular trainsfrom there to each end of the main line. "

"When can I get to Boston?"

"Not till Monday now; we run no through Sunday trains. You can go toM---- with me to-night, and catch a local to Boston in the morning. "

He thought a minute, and then said, "Well, yes; guess I had better. Howis it for a ride?"

"Good; just tell the conductor that I told you to get on. "

"Thanks; that's clever. I used to know a soldier who used to run up inthis country, " said the stranger, musing. "Dillon; that's it, Dillon. "

"I knew him well, " said I. "I want to hear about him. "

"Queer man, " said he, and I noticed he was eying me pretty sharp. 

"A good engineer. "

"Perhaps, " said he. 

[Illustration: "I noticed his long, slim hand on the top of thereverse-lever. "]

I coaxed the old veteran to ride on the engine--the first coal-burner Ihad had. He seemed more than glad to comply. Ed was as black as a negro, and swearing about coal-burners in general and this one in particular, and made so much noise with his fire-irons after we started, that theold man came over and sat behind me, so as to be able to talk. 

The first time I looked around after getting out of the yard, I noticedhis long slim hand on the top of the reverse-lever. Did you ever noticehow it seems to make an ex-engineer feel better and more satisfied toget his hand on the reverse-lever and feel the life-throbs of the greatgiant under him? Why, his hand goes there by instinct--just as anambulance surgeon will feel for the heart of the boy with a broken leg. 

I asked the stranger to "give her a whirl, " and noticed with what eagerjoy he took hold of her. I also observed with surprise that he seemed toknow all about "four-mile hill, " where most new men got stuck. He caughtme looking at his face, and touching the scar, remarked: "A little lovepat, with the compliments of Wade Hampton's men. " We talked on a goodmany subjects, and got pretty well acquainted before we were over thedivision, but at last we seemed talked out. 

"Where does Dillon's folks live now?" asked the stranger, slowly, aftera time. 

"M----, " said I. 

He nearly jumped off the box. "M----? I thought it was Boston!"

"Moved to M----. "

"What for?"

"Own a farm there. "

"Oh, I see; married again?"

"No. "

"No!"

"Widow thought too much of Jim for that. "

"No!"

"Yes. "

"Er--what became of the young man that they--er--adopted?"

"Lives with 'em yet. "

"So!"

Just then we struck the suburbs of M----, and, as we passed the cemetery, I pointed to a high shaft, and said: "Dillon's monument. "

"Why, how's that?"

"Killed at Five Forks. Widow put up monument. "

He shaded his eyes with his hand, and peered through the moonlight for aminute. 

"That's clever, " was all he said. 

I insisted that he go home with me. Ed took the Black Maria to thehouse, and we took the street cars for it to the end of the line, andthen walked. As we cleaned our feet at the door, I said: "Let me see, Idid not hear your name?"

"James, " said he, "Mr. James. "

I opened the sitting-room door, and ushered the stranger in. 

"Well, boys, " said "mother, " slowly getting up from before the fire andhurriedly taking a few extra stitches in her knitting before laying itdown to look up at us, "you're early. "

She looked up, not ten feet from the stranger, as he took off hisslouched hat and brushed back the white hair. In another minute herarms were around his neck, and she was murmuring "James" in his ear, andI, like a dumb fool, wondered who told her his name. 

Well, to make a long story short, it was James Dillon himself, and thedaughter came in, and Ed came, and between the three they nearlysmothered the old fellow. 

You may think it funny he didn't know me, but don't forget that I hadbeen running for three years--that takes the fresh off a fellow; then, when I had the typhoid, my hair laid off, and was never reinstated, andwhen I got well, the whiskers--that had always refused to grow--came onwith a rush, and they were red. And again, I had tried to switch with anold hook-motion in the night and forgot to take out the starting-bar, and she threw it at me, knocking out some teeth; and taking italtogether, I was a changed man. 

"Where's John?" he said finally. 

"Here, " said I. 

"No!"

"Yes. "

He took my hand, and said, "John, I left all that was dear to me once, because I was jealous of you. I never knew how you came to have thatmoney or why, and don't want to. Forgive me. "

"That is the first time I ever heard of that, " said "mother. "

"I had it to buy this farm for you--a Christmas present--if you hadwaited, " said I. 

"That is the first time I ever heard of that, " said he. 

"And you might have been shot, " said "mother, " getting up close. 

"I tried my darndest to be. That's why I got promoted so fast. "

"Oh, James!" and her arms were around his neck again. 

"And I sent that saber home myself, never intending to come back. "

"Oh, James, how could you!"

"Mother, how can you forgive me?"

"Mother, " was still for a minute, looking at the fire in the grate. "James, it is late in life to apply such tests, but love is like gold;ours will be better now--the dross has been burned away in the fire. Idid what I did for love of you, and you did what you did for love of me;let us all commence to live again in the old way, " and those arms ofhers could not keep away from his neck. 

Ed went out with tears in his eyes, and I beckoned the daughter tofollow me. We passed into the parlor, drew the curtain over thedoorway--and there was nothing but that rag between us and heaven. 

THE CLEAN MAN AND THE DIRTY ANGELS

When I first went firing, down in my native district, where Bean isKing, there was a man on the road pulling a mixed train, by the name ofClark--'Lige Clark. 

Being only a fireman, and a new one at that, I did not come very much incontact with Clark, or any of the other engineers, excepting myown--James Dillon. 

'Lige Clark was a character on the road; everybody knew "old 'Lige;" hewas liked and respected, but not loved; he was thought puritanical, orreligious, or cranky, by some, yet no one hated him, or even had astrong dislike for him. 

His honesty and straightforwardness were proverbial. He was always incharge of the funds of every order he belonged to, as well as of theSunday-school and church. 

He was truthful to a fault, but above all, just. 

"'Cause 'tain't right, that's why, " was his way of refusing to do athing, and his argument against others doing it. 

After I got to running, I saw and knew more of 'Lige, and I think, perhaps, I was as much of a friend as he ever had. We never were chums. I never went to his house, and he never went to mine; we were simplyroundhouse acquaintances; used to talk engine a little, but usuallytalked about children--'Lige had four, and always spoke about "doing theright thing by them. "

'Lige had a very heavy full beard, that came clear up to his eyes, and amass of wavy hair--all iron grey. His eyes were steel grey, and matchedhis hair, and he had a habit of looking straight at you when he spoke. 

On his engine he invariably ran with his head out of the side window, rain or shine, and always bareheaded. When he stepped upon thefootboard, he put his hat away with his clothes, and there it stayed. Hewas never known to wear a cap, excepting in the coldest weather. 

Once in a while, when I was firing, I have seen him come in, in winter, with his beard white with frost and ice, and some smoke-shoveling witdubbed him Santa Claus. 

'Lige had a way of looking straight ahead and thinking of his work, and, after he got to running express, would go through a town, where othertrains were sidetracked for him, looking at the track ahead, and at thetrains, but never seeming to care that they were there, never nodding orwaving a hand. Once in a while he would blink his eyes, --that was all. The wind tossed his mane and hair and made him look for all the worldlike a lion, who looks at, but appears to care nothing for the crowdsaround his den. Someone noticed the comparison, and dubbed him "TheLion, " and the name clung to him. He was spoken of as "Old 'Lige, theLion. " Just why he was called old, I don't know--he was little more thanforty then. 

When the men on the road had any grievances, they always asked 'Lige to"go and see the old man. " 'Lige always went to lodge and to meetings ofthe men, but was never known to speak. When the demands were drawn upand presented to him, he always got up and said: "Them air declarationsain't right, an' I wouldn't ask any railroad to grant 'em;" or, "Thedeclarations are right. Of course I'll be glad to take 'em. "

When old 'Lige declined to bear a grievance it was modified orabandoned; and he never took a request to headquarters that was notgranted--until the strike of '77. 

When the war broke out, 'Lige was asked to go, and the railroad boyswanted him to be captain of a company of them; but he declined, sayingthat slavery was wrong and should be crushed, but that he had a sicklywife and four small children depending on his daily toil for bread, andit wouldn't be right to leave 'em unprovided for. They drafted himlater, but he still said it "wa'n't right" for him to go, and paid for asubstitute. But three months later his father-in-law died, up in thecountry somewhere, and left his wife some three thousand dollars, and'Lige enlisted the next, day, saying "'Tain't right for any man to staythat can be spared; slavery ain't right; it must be stopped. " He servedas a private until it was stopped. 

Shortly after the war 'Lige was pulling the superintendent over theroad, when he struck a wagon, killing the driver, who was a farmer, andhurting his wife. The woman afterward sued the road, and 'Lige wascalled as a witness for the company. He surprised everybody by statingthat the accident was caused by mismanagement of the road, and explainedas follows: "I pull the regular Atlantic express, and should have beenat the crossing where the accident occurred, an hour later than I was;but Mr. Doe, our superintendent, wanted to come over the road with hisspecial car, and took my engine to pull him, leaving a freight engine tobring in the express. Mr. Doe could have rode on the regular train, orcould have had his car put into the train, instead of putting thecompany to the expense of hauling a special, and kept the patrons ofthe road from slow and poor service. We ran faster than there was anyuse of, and Mr. Doe went home when he got in, showing that there was nourgent call for his presence at this end of the line. If there had beenno extra train on the road this farmer wouldn't have been killed:'twa'n't right. "

The widow got pretty heavy damages, and the superintendent tried todischarge 'Lige. But 'Lige said '"twa'n't right, " and the men on theroad, the patrons and even the president agreed with him, so the iratesuper gave the job up for the time being. 

A couple of weeks after this, I went to that super. 's office on somebusiness, and had to wait in the outer pen until "His Grace" got throughwith someone else. The transom over the door to the "Holy of Holies" wasopen, and I heard the well-known voice of 'Lige "the Lion". 

"Now, there's another matter, Mr. Doe, that perhaps you'll say is noneof my business, but 'tain't right, and I'm going to speak about it. You're hanging around the yards and standing in the shadows of cars andbuildings half the night, watching employees. You've discharged severalyardmen, and I want to tell you that a lot of the roughest of them arelaying for you. My advice to you is to go home from the office. They'llhurt you yet. 'Tain't right for one man to know that another is indanger without warning him, so I've done it; 'twouldn't be right forthem to hurt you. You're not particularly hunting them but me, but youwon't catch me. "

Mr. Doe assured "the Lion" that he could take care of himself, and twonights later got sand-bagged, and had about half his ribs kicked loose, over back of the scale house. 

When the trouble commenced in '77, old 'Lige refused to take up arequest for increase of pay, to headquarters; said the road could affordto keep us just where we were, which was more than some roads weredoing, and "'twa'n't right" to ask for more. Two months later they cutus ten per cent. , and offered to pay half script. Old 'Lige said'"twa'n't right, " and he'd strike afore he'd stand it;--and, in the end, we all struck. 

The fourth day after the strike commenced I met 'Lige, and he asked mewhere I was going to hunt work. I told him I was going back when we won. He laughed, and said there wa'n't much danger of any of us going back;we were beat; mail trains all running, etc. '"Tain't right, BrotherJohn, to loaf longer'n you can help. I'm goin' out West to-morrer"--andhe went. 

Some weeks afterward Joe Johnson and I concluded that, contrary to allprecedent, the road was going to run without us, and we also went West;but by that time the country was full of men just like us. When I didget a job, it was drying sand away out at the front on one of the newroads. The first engine that come up to the sand house had a familiarlook, even with a boot-leg stack that was fearfully and wonderfullymade. There was a shaggy head sticking out of the side window, and twocool grey eyes blinked at me, but didn't seem to see me; yet a cheeryvoice from under the beard said: "Hello, Brother John, you're late, butguess you'll catch on pretty quick. There's lots of 'em here that don'tknow nothin' about railroading, as far as I can see, and they're runningengines, too. 'Tain't right. "

The little town was booming, and 'Lige invested in lots, and becameinterested in many schemes to benefit the place and make money. He hadbeen a widower for some years, and with one exception his children weredoing for themselves, and that one was with his sister, and well caredfor. 'Lige had considerable means, and he brought it all West. Hepersonally laid the corner-stone of the courthouse, subscribed more thanany other working man to the first church, and was treasurer of half theinstitutions in the village. He ought to have quit the road, but hewouldn't; but did compromise on taking an easy run on a branch. 

'Lige was behind a benevolent scheme to build a hospital, to be underthe auspices of the church society, and to it devoted not a little timeand energy. When the constitution and by-laws were drawn up, the moreliberal of the trustees struck a snag in old 'Lige. He was bound thatthe hospital should not harbor people under the influence of liquor, orfallen women. 'Lige was very bitter against prostitution. "It is thecurse of civilization, " he often said. "Prostitutes ruin ten men wherewhiskey ruins one. They stand in the path of every young man in thecountry, gilded tempters of virtue, honesty and manhood; 'tain't rightthat they should be allowed in the country. " If you attributed theirexistence to man's passions, inhumanity or cruelty, or woman's weakness, he checked you at once. 

"Every woman that becomes a crooked woman does so from choice; sheneedn't to if she didn't want to. The way to stop prostitution is forevery honest man and woman to refuse to have anything to do with them inany way, or with those who do recognize them. 'Tain't right. "

In this matter 'Lige Clark had no sympathy nor charity. "'Twa'n'tright"--and that settled it as far as he was concerned. 

The ladies of the church sided with old 'Lige in his stand on thehospital board, but the other two men wanted the doors of theinstitution to be opened to all in need of medical attention or care, regardless of who they were or what caused their ailment. 'Lige gave inon the whiskey, but stood out resolutely against the soiled doves, andso matters stood until midwinter. 

Half the women in the town were outcasts from society--two dance-houseswere in full blast--and 'Lige soon became known to them and theirfriends as the "Prophet Elijah, second edition. "

The mining town over the hills, at the end of 'Lige's branch, wasbooming, too, and wanted to be the county seat. It had its church, dance-halls, etc. , and the discovery of coal within a few miles bid fairto make it a formidable rival. 

The boom called for more power and I went over there to pull freight, and 'Lige pulled passengers only. Then they put more coaches on histrain and put my engine on to help him, thus saving a crew's wages. Passenger service increased steadily until a big snow-slide in one ofthe gulches shut up the road. I'll never forget that slide. It happenedon the 26th of January. 'Lige and I were double-heading on nine coachesof passengers and when on a heavy grade in Alder Gulch, a slide of snowstarted from far up the mountain-side, swept over the track just aheadof us, carrying trees, telegraph poles and the track with it. We triedto stop, but 'Lige's engine got into it, and was carried sideways downsome fifty or sixty feet. Mine contented herself with simply turningover, without hurting either myself or fireman--much to my satisfaction. 

'Lige fared worse. His reverse lever caught in his clothing and beforehe could get loose, the engine had stopped on her side, with 'Lige'sfeet and legs under her. He was not badly hurt except for the scaldingwater that poured upon him. As soon as we could see him, the fireman andI got hold of him and forcibly pulled him out of the wreck. His limbswere awfully burned--cooked would be nearer the word. 

[Illustration: "It was a strange courting ... There on that engine. "]

The passengers crowded around, but did little good. One look was enoughfor most of them. There were ten or twelve women in the cars. They cameout slowly, and stood timidly away from the hissing boilers, with oneexception. This one came at once to the injured man, sat down in thesnow, took his head in her lap, and taking a flask of liquor from herulster pocket, gave poor 'Lige some with a little snow. 

I got the oil can and poured some oil over the burned parts to keep theair from them; we needed bandages, and I asked the ladies if they hadanything we could use for the purpose. One young girl offered ahandkerchief and another a shawl, but before they were accepted the coolwoman holding 'Lige's head got up quickly, laying his head down tenderlyon the snow, and without a word or attempt to get out of sight, pulledup her dress, and in a second kicked out two white skirts, and sat downagain to cool 'Lige's brow. 

That woman attended 'Lige like a guardian angel until we got back totown late that afternoon. The hospital was not yet in shape, so 'Ligewas taken to the rather dreary and homeless quarters of the hotel. 

As quick as it was known that Elijah Clark was hurt, he had plenty offriends, male and female, who came to take care of him, but the womanwho helped him live at the start came not; yet every day there weredainty viands, wine or books left at the house for him--but pains weretaken to let no one know from whom they came. 

One day a month after the accident I sat beside 'Lige's bed when he toldme that he was anticipating quite a discussion there that evening, asthe hospital committee was going to meet to decide on the rules of theinstitution. "Wilcox and Gorman are set to open the house to those whohave no part in our work and no sympathy with Christian institutions, and 'tain't right, " said he. "Brother John, you can't do no good byprolonging the life of a brazen woman bent on vice. "

"Don't you think, 'Lige, " said I, "that you are a little hard on anunfortunate class of humanity, who, in nine cases out of ten, are thevictims of others' wrong-doing, and stay in the mire because no hand isextended to help them out? Think of the woman of Samaria. It's sinners, not saints, that need saving. "

"They are as a coiled serpent in the pathway of mankind, Brother John, fascinating, but poisonous. There can be no good in one of thosecreatures. "

"Oh yes there is, I'm sure, " said I. "Why, 'Lige, don't you know who thewoman was that gave you brandy, held your head, and used her skirts forbandages when you were hurt?"

Old 'Lige raised up on his elbow, all eagerness. "No, John, I don't, butshe wa'n't one of them. She was too thoughtful, too tender, too womanly. I've blessed her from that day to this, and though I don't know it, Ithink she has sent me all these wines and fruits. She saved my life. Whois she? Do you know?"

"Yes. She is Molly May, who keeps the largest dance-house in CascadeCity. She makes lots of money, but spends it all in charity; there hasnever been a human being buried by the town since she has been there. Molly May is a ministering angel to the poor and sick, but a bird ofprey to those who wish to dissipate. "

The hospital was opened on Easter, and the first patient was a poorconsumptive girl, but lately an inmate of the Red-Light dance-house. 'Lige Clark did not run again; he became mayor of the little city, hadfaith in its future, invested his money in land and died rich some yearsago. 

'Lige must have changed his mind as he grew older, or at least abandonedthe idea that to crush out a wrong you should push it from all sides, and thus compress and intensify it at the heart, and come to theconclusion that the right way is to get inside and push out, thusseparating and dissolving it. For before me lies the tenth annualprospectus of a now noted institution in one of the great cities of thecontinent, and on its title page, I read through the dimmed glasses ofmy spectacles: "Industrial Home and Refuge for Fallen Women. Founded byElijah Clark. Mary E. May, Matron. "

A PEG-LEGGED ROMANCE

Some men are born heroes, some become heroic, and some have heroismthrust upon them; but nothing of the kind ever happened to me. 

I don't know how it is; but, some way or other, I remember all therailroad incidents I see or hear, and get to the bottom of most of thestories of the road. I must study them over more than most men do, orelse the other fellows enjoy the comedies and deplore the tragedies, andsay nothing. Sometimes I am mean enough to think that the romance, thedramas, and the tragedies of the road don't impress them as being asinteresting as those of the plains, the Indians, or the seas--people areso apt to see only the everyday side of life anyway, and to draw alltheir romance and heroics from books. 

I helped make a hero once--no, I didn't either; I helped make thegolden setting after the rough diamond had shown its value. 

Miles Diston pulled freight on our road a few years ago. He was ofmedium stature, dark complexion, but no beauty. He was a manly-lookingfellow, well-educated enough, sober, and a steady-going, reliableengineer; you would never pick him out for a hero. Miles was youngyet--not thirty--but, somehow or other, he had escaped matrimony: Iguess he had never had time. He stayed on the farm at home until he wasof age, and then went firing, so that when I first knew him he hadbarely got to his goal--the throttle. 

A good many men, when they first get there, take great interest in theirwork for a few months--until experience gives them confidence; then theytake it easier, look around, and take some interest in other things. Most of them never hope to get above running, and so sit down more orless contented, get married, buy real estate, gamble, or grow fat, eachaccording to the dictates of his own conscience or the inclinations ofhis make-up. Miles figured a little on matrimony. 

I can't explain it; but when a railroad man is in trouble, he comes tome for advice, just as he would go to the company doctor for kidneycomplaint. I am a specialist in heart troubles. Miles came to me. 

Miles was like the rest of them. They don't come right down and say, "Something's the matter with me; what would you do for it?" No, sir!They hem and haw, and laugh off the symptoms, until you come right outand tell them just how they feel and explain the cause; then they willdo anything you say. Miles hemmed and hawed a little, but soon came outand showed his symptoms--he asked me if I had ever noticed the"Frenchman's" girl. 

"The Frenchman, " be it known, was our boss bridge carpenter. He lived ata small place half-way over my division--I was pulling express--and thefreights stopped there, changing engines. I knew Venot, the bridgecarpenter, very well; met him in lodge occasionally, and once in awhile he rode on the engine with me to inspect bridges. His wife was aCanadian woman, and good-looking for her forty years and ten children. The daughter that was killing Miles Diston, Marie Venot, was the eldest, and had just graduated from some sisters' school. She was a veryhandsome girl, and you could read the romantic nature of her beingthrough her big, round, gray eyes. She was vivacious, and loved to go;but she was a dutiful daughter, and at once took hold to help her motherin a way that made her all the more adorable in the eyes of practicalmen like Miles. 

Miles made the most of his opportunities. 

But, bless you, there were other eyes for good-looking girls besidesthose in poor Miles Diston's head, and he was far from having the fieldto himself; this he wanted badly, and came to get advice from me. 

I advised strongly against wasting energy to clear the field, and infavor of putting it all into making the best show and in getting aheadof all competitors. Under my advice, Miles disposed of some vacantlots, and bought a neat little house, put it in thorough order, and madethe best of his opportunities with Marie. 

Marie came to our house regularly, and I had good opportunity to studyher. She was a sensible little creature, and, to my mind, just the girlfor Miles; as Miles was just the man for her. But she had confided to mywife the fact that she never, never could consent to marry and settledown in the regulation, humdrum way; she wanted to marry a hero, someone she could look up to--a king among men. 

My wife told her that kings and heroes were scarce just then, and that alot of pretty good women managed to be comparatively happy with commonrailroad men. But Marie wanted a hero, and would hear of nothing less. 

It was during one of her visits to my house that Miles took Marie outfor a ride and (accidentally, of course) dropped around by his newhouse, induced her to look at it, and told his story, asking her tomake the home complete. It would have caught almost any girl; but whenMiles delivered her at our door and drove off, I knew that there wouldbe a "For Rent" card on that house in a few days and that Marie Venotwas bound to have a hero or nothing. 

Miles took his repulse calmly, but it hurt. He told me that Marie washunting for a different kind of man from him; said that he thoughtperhaps if he would enlist, and go out to fight Sitting Bull, and comehome in a new, brass-bound uniform, with a poisoned arrow sticking outof his breast, she would fall at his feet and worship him. She told himshe liked him better than any of the town boys; his calling was nobleenough and hard enough; but she failed to see her ideal hero in a manwith blue overclothes on and cinders in his ears. If any of Miles'scompetitors had rescued a drowning child, or killed a bear with apenknife, at this juncture, I'm afraid Marie would have taken him. But, as I have indicated, it was a dull season for heroes. 

About this time our road invested in some mogul passenger engines, andI drew one. I didn't like the boiler sticking back between me and DennisRafferty. I didn't like six wheels connected. I didn't like aknuckle-joint in the side rod. I didn't like eighteen-inch cylinders. Iwas opposed to solid-end rods. And I am afraid I belonged to a class ofignorant, short-sighted, bull-headed engineers who didn't believe that arailroad had any right to buy anything but fifteen by twenty-twoeight-wheelers--the smaller they were the more men they would want. Igot over that a long time ago; but, at the time I write of, I was crankyabout it. The moguls were high and short and jerky, and they tossed aman around like a rat in a corn-popper. One day, as I was chasing timeover our worst division, holding on to the arm-rest and watching to seeif the main frame touched the driving-boxes as she rolled, DennisRafferty punched me in the small of the back, and said: "Jahn, for thelove ave the Vargin, lave up on her a minit. Oi does be chasing thatdure for the lasth twinty minits, and dang the wan'st has I hit itfair. She's the divil on th' dodge. "

Dennis had a pile of coal just inside and just outside of the door, theforward grates were bare, the steam was down, and I went in sevenminutes late, too mad to eat--and that's pretty mad for me. I laid off, and Miles Diston took the high-roller out next trip. 

Miles didn't rant and write letters or poetry, or marry some one else tospite himself, or take the first steamer for Burraga, or EquatorialAfrica, as rejected lovers in stories do. It hurt, and he didn't enjoyit, but he bore up all right, and went about his business, just ashundreds of other sensible men do every day. He gave up entirely, however, rented his house, and said he couldn't fill the bill--therewasn't a hero in his family as far back as he could remember. 

Miles had been making time with the Black Maria for about a week, whenthe big accident happened in our town. The boilers in a cotton mill blewup, and killed a score of girls and injured hundreds more. Miles was atthe other end of the division, and they hurried him out to take acar-load of doctors down. They were given the right of the road, andMiles tested the speed of that mogul--proving that a pony truck wouldstay on the track at fifty miles an hour, which a lot of us "cranks" haddisputed. 

A few miles out there is a coaling-station, and at that time they werebuilding the chutes. One of the iron drop-aprons fell just before Mileswith the mogul got to it; it smashed the headlight, dented the stack, ripped up the casing of the sand-box and dome, cut a slit in the jacketthe length of the boiler, tore off the cab, struck the end of the firstcar, and then tore itself loose, and fell to the ground. 

The throttle was knocked wide open, and the mogul was flying. Miles wasthrown down, his head cut open by a splinter, and his foot pretty badlyhurt. He picked himself up instantly, and took a look back as he closedthe throttle. Everything was "coming" all right, he remembered theemergency of the case, and opened the throttle again. A hastyinspection showed the engine in condition to run--she only lookedcrippled. Miles had to stand up. His foot felt numb and weak, so herested his weight on the other foot. He was afraid he would fall off ifhe became faint, and he had Dennis take off the bell-cord and tie itaround his waist, throwing a loop over the reverse lever, as a measureof safety. The right side of the cab and all the roof were gone, so thatMiles was in plain sight. The cut in his scalp bled profusely, and intrying to wipe the blood from his eyes, he merely spread it all overhimself, so that he looked as if he had been half murdered. 

It was this apparition of wreck, ruin, and concentrated energy thatMarie Venot saw flash past her father's door, hastening to the relief ofthe victims of a worse disaster, forty miles away. 

Her father came home for his dinner in a few minutes from his littleoffice in the depot. To his daughter's eager inquiry he said there hadbeen some big accident in town and the "extra" was carrying doctorsfrom up the road. But what was the matter with the engine, he didn'tknow; it was the 170; so it was old man Alexander, he said--and that'sthe nearest I ever came to being a hero. 

Marie knew who was running the 170 pretty well; so after dinner she wentto the telegraph office for information, and there she learned that thespecial had struck the new coal chute at Coalton and that the engineerwas hurt. It was time she ran down to see Mrs. Alexander, she said, andthat afternoon's regular delivered her in town. 

Like all other railroaders not better employed, I dropped round to thedepot at train time to talk with the boys and keep track of things ingeneral. The regular was late, but Miles Diston was coming with aspecial, and came while we were talking about it. Miles didn't realizehow badly he was hurt until he stopped the mogul in front of the generaloffice. So long as the excitement of the run was on, so long as he sawthe absolute necessity of doing his whole duty until the desired end wasaccomplished, so long as he had a reputation to protect, his will powersubordinated all else. But when several of us engineers ran up to theengine, we found Miles hanging to the reverse lever by his safety cord, in a dead faint. We carried him into the depot, and one of the doctorsadministered some restorative. Then we got a hack and started him andthe doctor for my house; but Miles came to himself, and insisted ongoing to his boarding-house and nowhere else. 

Mrs. Bailey, Miles's boarding-house keeper, had been a trained nurse, but had a few years before invested in a rather disappointingmatrimonial venture. She was one of the best nurses and one of the"crankiest" women I ever knew. I believe she was actually glad to seeMiles come home hurt, just to show how she could pull him through. 

The doctor found that Miles had an ankle out of joint; the little toewas badly crushed; there was a bad cut in the leg, that had bledprofusely; there was a black bruise over the short ribs on the rightside, and there was a button-hole in the scalp that needed about fourstitches. The little toe was cut off without ceremony, the anklereplaced and hot bandages applied, and other repairs were made, whichtook up most of the afternoon. 

When the doctor got through, he called Mrs. Bailey and myself out intothe parlor, and said that we must not let people crowd in to see thepatient; that his wounds were not dangerous, but very painful; thatMiles was weak from loss of blood, and that his constitution was not inparticularly good condition. The doctor, in fact, thought that Mileswould be in great luck if he got out of the scrape without a run offever. Thereafter Mrs. Bailey referred all visitors to me. I talked withthe doctor and the nurse, and we all agreed that it would stop mostinquisitive people to simply say that the patient had suffered anamputation. 

That evening, when I went home, there were two anxious women-to receiveme, and the younger of them looked suspiciously as if she had beencrying. I told them something of the accident, how it all happened, andabout Miles's injuries. Both of them wanted to go right down and help"do something, " but I told them of the doctor's order and of his fears. 

By this time the reporters came; and I called them into the parlor, andthen let them pump me. I detailed the accident in full, but declined totell anything about Miles or his history. "The fact is, " said I, "thatyou people won't give an engineer his just dues. Now, if Miles Distonhad been a fireman and had climbed down a ladder with a child, you wouldhave his picture in the paper and call him a hero and all that sort ofthing; but here is a man crushed, bleeding, with broken bones, and acrippled engine, who stands on one foot, lashed to his reverse lever, for eighty miles, and making the fastest time ever made over the road, because he knew that others were suffering for the relief he brought. "

"That's nerve, " said one of the young men. 

"Nerve!" said I, "nerve! Why, that man knows no more about fear than alion; and think of the sand of the man! This afternoon he sat up andwatched the doctor perform that amputation without a quiver; he wouldn'ttake chloroform; he wouldn't even lie down. "

[Illustration: "We carried him into the depot. "]

"Was the amputation above or below the knee?" asked the reporter. 

"Below" (I didn't state how far). 

"Which foot?"

"Left. "

"He is in no great danger?"

"Yes, the doctor says he will be a very sick man for some time--if herecovers at all. Boys, " I added, "there's one thing you mightmention--and I think you ought to--and that is that it is such heroes asthis that give a road its reputation; people feel as though they weresafe behind such men. "

If Miles Diston had read the papers the next morning he would have diedof flattery; the reporters did themselves proud, and they made a wholecolumn of the "iron will and nerves of steel" shown in that "amputationwithout ether. "

Marie Venot was full of sympathy for Miles; she wanted to see him, butMrs. Bailey referred her to me, and she finally went home, stillinquiring every day about him. I don't think she had much other feelingfor him than pity. She was down again a week later, and I talked freelyof going to pick out a wooden foot for Miles, who was improving rightalong. 

Meanwhile, the papers far and near copied the articles about the "Heroof the Throttle, " and the item about the road's interest in heroesattracted the attention of our general passenger agent--he liked thefree advertising and wanted more of it--so he called me in one day, andasked if I knew of a choice run they could give Miles as a reward ofmerit. 

I told him, if he wanted to make a show of gratitude from the road, andget a big free advertisement in the papers, to have Miles appointedsuperintendent of the Spring Creek branch, where a practical man wasneeded, and then give it out "cold" that Miles had been rewarded bybeing made superintendent of the road. This was afterwards done, with agreat hurrah (in the papers). 

The second Sunday after Miles was hurt, Marie was down, and I thoughtI'd have a little fun with her, and see how she regarded Miles. 

"There's quite a romance connected with Diston's affair, " said I at thedinner table, rather carelessly. "There is a young lady visiting here intown--I hear she is very wealthy--who saw Miles when we took him offhis engine. She sends flowers every day, calls him her hero, and is justcrazy for him to get well so she can see him. "

"Who is she, did you say?" asked my wife. 

"I forgot her name, " said I, "but I am here to tell you that she willget Miles if there is any chance in the world. Her father is an armyofficer, but she says that Miles Diston is a greater hero than the armyever produced. "

"She's a hussy, " said Marie. 

I don't know whether you would call that a bull or a bear movement onthe Diston stock, but it went up--I could see that. 

A week later Miles was able to come down to our house for dinner, and mywife asked Marie to come also. I met her at the depot, and after she wassafe in the buggy, I told her that Miles was up at the house. She nearlyjumped out; but I quieted her, and told her she mustn't notice or say aword about Miles's game leg, as he was extremely sensitive about it. 

My wife was in the kitchen, and I went to the barn to put out the horse. Marie went to the sitting-room to avoid the parlor and Miles, but he wasthere, I guess, and Marie found her hero, for when they came out todinner he had his arm around her. They were married a month later, andwent to Washington, stopping to see us on the way back. 

As I came home that night with my patent dinner pail, and with two rowsof wrinkles and a load of responsibility on my brow, Marie shook herfist in my face and called me "an old story-teller. "

"Story-teller, " said I; "what story?"

"Oh, what story? That _leg_ story, of course, you old cheat. "

"What leg story?"

"Old innocence; that amputation below the knee--you know. "

"Wa'n't it below the knee?"

"Yes, but it was only the little toe. "

"John, " said Miles, "she cried when she looked for that wooden foot andonly found a slightly flat wheel. "

"That's just like 'em, " said I. "Here Marie only expected a part of ahero, and we give her a whole man, and she kicks--that's gratitude foryou. "

"I got my hero all right, though, " said Marie; "you told me a big fibjust the same, but I could kiss you for it. "

"Don't you do that, " said I; "but if the Lord should send you manyblessings, and any of 'em are boys, you might name one after me. "

She said she'd do it--and she did. 

MY LADY OF THE EYES

One morning, some years ago, I struck the general master mechanic of aRocky Mountain road for a job as an engineer--I needed a job prettybadly. 

As quick as the M. M. Found that I could handle air on two hundred footgrades, he was as tickled as I was; engineers were not plenty in thecountry then, so many deserted to go to the mines. 

"The 'III' will be out in a couple of days, and you can have herregular, unless Hopkins comes back, " said he. 

I hustled around for a room and made my peace with the boarding-housepeople before I reported to break in the big consolidation that was tofall to my care. 

She was big and black and ugly and new, and her fresh fire made theasphalt paint on her fire-box and front-end stink in that peculiar andfamiliar way given to recently rebuilt engines; but it smelt better tome than all the perfumes of Arabia. 

A good-natured engineer came out on the ash-pit track to welcome me tothe West and the road, and incidentally to remark that it was a greatrelief to the gang that I had come as I did. 

"Why, " I asked, "are you so short-handed that you are doubling andtrebling?" "No, but they are afraid that some of 'em will have to takeout the 'III'--she is a holy terror. "

Hadn't she been burned the first trip? Didn't she kill Jim O'Neil withthe reverse lever? Hadn't she lain down on the bed of the Arkansas riverand wallowed on "Scar Face" Hopkins, and he not up yet? Hadn't she runaway time and again without cause or provocation?

But a fellow that has needed a job for six months will tackle almostanything, and I tackled the "holy terror. "

In fixing up the cab, I noticed an extra bracket beside the steam gagefor a clock, and mentally noted that it would come in handy just assoon as I had a twenty dollar bill to spare for one of those jeweled, nickle-plated, side-winding clocks, that are the pride and comfort ofthose particular engineers who want nice things, with their namesengraved on the case. 

Before I had got everything ready to take the "three aces" over theturn-table for her breaking-in trip, the foreman of the back-shop cameout with a package done up in a pair of old overalls, and said that herewas Hopkins's clock, which I might as well use until he got aroundagain--'fraid someone would steal it if left in his office. 

Hopkins's clock was put on its old bracket. 

Hopkins must have been one of those particular engineers; his clock wasa fine one; "S. H. Hopkins" was engraved on the case in German text. Thelower half of the dial was black with white figures, the upper halfwhite with black figures. But what struck me was part of a woman's faceburned into the enamel. Just half of this face showed, that on thewhite part of the dial; the black half hid the rest. 

It was the face, or part of the face, of a handsome young woman withhair parted in the middle and waved back over the ears, a broadforehead, and such glorious eyes--eyes that looked straight into yoursfrom every view point--honest eyes--reproving eyes--laughingeyes--loving eyes. I mentally named the picture "Her Eyes. "

Now, I was not and am not sentimental or superstitious. I'd been marriedand helped wean a baby or two even then, but those eyes bothered me. They hunted mine and looked at me and asked me questions and made meforget things, and made me think and dream and speculate; all of whichare sheer suicide for a locomotive engineer. 

I got a switchman and started out to limber up the "III. " I asked him tolet me out on the main line, took a five-mile spin, and sidetracked fora freight train. While the man was unlocking the switch, I looked intothe eyes and wondered what their owner was, or could be, or had been, to"Scar Faced" Hopkins, and--ran off the switch. Then I wondered ifHopkins was looking into those eyes when he and the "III" went into theArkansas river that dark night. 

A few days after this the "III, " Dennis Rafferty and I went into theregular freight service of the road. 

On the first trip, when half way up Greenhall grade, I glanced at theclock and was startled. The "Eyes" were looking at me; there was ascared, pained look, a you-must-do-something look in the eyes, or itseemed to me there was. 

"Damn that clock, " said I to myself, "I'm getting superstitious or havesoftening of the brain, " and I reached over to open the front door, sothat the breeze could cool me off. In doing so my hand touched the waterpipe to the injector--it was hot. The closed overflow injector was newto merit had "broke, " and was blowing steam back to the tank that Ithought was putting water into the boiler. I put it to work properly and"felt of the water:" there was just a flutter in the lower gage cock; infive minutes the crown sheet and my reputation would have been burnedbeyond recognition. Those eyes were good for something after all. 

I looked at them and they were calm. "It's all right now, but becareful, " they said. 

Dennis Rafferty had troubles of his own. The liner came off the new firedoor letting the door get red hot, but it wasn't half as hot as Dennis. He hammered it with the coal pick and burned his hands and swore, andDennis was an artist in profanity. He stepped up into the cab wiping hisface on his sleeve, and ripping the English and profane languages intotatters; but he stopped short in the middle of an oath and lookedashamed, glanced at me, crossed himself and went back to his workquietly. When he came back into the cab, I asked him what choked him sosudden. 

"Her, " said he, nodding his head toward the clock. "Howly Mither, man, she looked hurted and sorry-like, same's me owld mither uster, whin Iwas noctious with the blasthfemry. " So the "Eyes" were on Dennis, too. That took some of the conceit out of me, I was getting foolish about theeyes. 

We had a time order against a passenger train, it would be sharp work tomake the next station, the train was heavy, the road and the engine newto me, and I hesitated. The conductor was dubious but said the "204" orFrosty Keeler could do it any day of the week. I looked at my watch andthen at the clock. The eyes looked "Yes, go, you can do it easily; the'III' will do all you ask; trust her. " I went, and as we pulled ourcaboose in to clear and before the express whistled for the junction, the eyes looked "Didn't I tell you; wasn't that splendid. " Those eyeshad been over the road more than I had, and knew the "III" better. Iwould trust the eyes. 

On the return trip, a night run, I had a big train and a bad rail, butthe "III" did splendid work and made her time while "Her Eyes" approvedevery move I made, smiled at me and admired my handling of the engine. The conductor unbent enough to send over word that it was the best runhe'd ever had from a new man, but the "Eyes" looked, "That's nothing, you can do it every time, I know you can. "

Half over the division, we took a siding for the "Cannon Ball. " Wecleared her ten minutes and I had time to oil around while Denniscleaned his fire. I climbed up into the cab, wiping the long oiler andglanced at the clock. The "Eyes" were looking wild alarm--"do somethingquick. " The "Eyes" had the look, or seemed to me to have the look, youmight expect in those of a bound woman who sees a child at the stakejust before the fire is lighted--immeasurable pain, pity, appeal. Itried the water, unconsciously; it was all right. I stepped into thegangway and glanced back. Our tail-lights were "in" and the white lightof the switch flashed safely there, and we had backed in any way. Iglanced ahead. The switch light was white, the target showed main lineplainly, for my headlight shone on it full and clear. What could be thematter with "Her Eyes. "

As I turned to enter the cab the roar of the coming express came downthe wind on the frosty air and my eyes fell on the rail ahead. My God, they were full to the siding! It was a stub-rail switch, and the standhad moved the target and the light, but not the rails--the bridle-rodwas broken. 

I yelled like a mad man, but the brakeman had gone to the caboose forhis lunch pail. I ran to the switch. It was useless. I fought it aninstant and then turned to the rails. Putting my foot against the mainline rail, I grasped the switch rail and throwing all my strength intothe effort, jerked it-over to the main line, but would it stay until thetrain passed over? I felt sure it would not. I looked about forsomething to hold it. Part of a broken pin was the only thing in sight. The headlight of the express shone in my face, and something seemed tosay, "This is your trial, do something quick. " I threw myself prone onthe ground, my head near the rails, and held the broken pin between theend of the siding rail and the main line. The switch rails could not beforced over without shearing off the pin. The corner of the pilot ofthe flying demon caught my right sleeve and tore it off, and the cloththrew the cylinder cocks open with a hiss, the wind and dust blinded andshook me, and the rails hammered and bruised and pinched my hand, but Iheld on. Twenty seconds later I sat watching the red lights of the tenthsleeper whip themselves out of sight. Then I went back to the cab, and"Her Eyes" glorified me. "God bless your dear eyes, " said I, "wherewould we have all been now but for you?"

But the "Eyes" deprecated my remarks, and looked me upon a pedestal, butthe company doctor dressed my hand the next day, and the superintendentgave the whole crew ten days for backing into that siding. 

Another round trip, and I fear I watched "Her Eyes" more than thesignals and the track ahead. "Her Eyes" decided for me, chose for me, approved and disapproved. I was running by "Her Eyes. "

In a telegraph office they asked me if I could do something in a certaintime and I was dazed. I didn't give my usual quick decision, myjudgment was wobbly and uncertain. I must look at my clock--and "HerEyes. " I went out to the "III" to consult them, lost my chance and was"put in the hole" all over the division by the disgusted dispatcher. 

Then I got to thinking and moralizing and sitting in judgment on mythraldom. Was I running the "III" or was "Her Eyes?" Did the company payme for my knowledge, judgment, experience and skill in handling alocomotive, or for obeying orders from "Her Eyes. " Any fool could obeyorders. 

Then I declared for liberty, but I kept away from "Her Eyes. " I declaredfor liberty in the roundhouse. 

I am a man of decision, and no sooner had I taken this oath than I got ascrew driver, climbed into the cab of the "III, " without looking at "HerEyes, " held my hand over the face of the clock and took it down. Iwrapped it up and took it back to the foreman. 

"Why, yes, " said he, "'Scar Face' was here for it this morning. He'sround somewhere yet. Ain't goin' to railroad no more, goin' into thereal estate business. He's got money, so's his wife--daffool he didn'tquit long ago. "

"If 'Scar Face' Hopkins puts that clock over his desk and trusts 'HerEyes, ' he'll get rich, " thought I. Perhaps, though, those eyes don'treach the soul of "Scar Face" Hopkins; perhaps he don't see them changeas I did; men are conceited that way. 

During the next month I got acquainted with "Scar Face" Hopkins, who wasa first-class fellow, with a hand-clasp like a polar bear, a heart likea steam pulsometer, and a face that looked as if it might have been usedfor the butting post at the end of the world. 

"Scar Face" Hopkins got all his scars in the battle of life. Men whocommand locomotives on the firing line often get hurt, but Hopkins hadvotes of thanks from officials and testimonials from men, andlife-saver's medals from two governments to show that his scars were thebrands of honorable degrees conferred by the Almighty on the field forbrave and heroic deeds well done. 

"Scar Face" Hopkins was a fellow you'd like to get up close to of anight and talk with, and smoke with, and think with, until unlawfulhours. 

One day I went into his office and the clock was there, and his oldtorch and a nickle-plated oiler, mementoes of the field. I looked at theclock, and "Her Eyes" smiled at me, or I thought they did, and said, just as plain as words, "Glad to see you, dear friend; sit down. " But Iturned my back to that clock; I can resist temptation when I know whereit is coming from. 

One day, a few weeks later, I stopped before a store window in a crowdto examine some pictures, satisfied my curiosity, and in stepping backto go away, put the heel of my number ten on a lady's foot with thatpeculiar "craunch" that you know hurts. I turned to make an apology, andfaced the original of the picture on the clock. A beautiful pair ofeyes, the rest of the face was hidden by a peculiar arrangement of veilthat crossed the bridge of the nose and went around the ears and neck. 

Those eyes, full of pain at first, changed instantly to frankforgiveness, and, bowing low, I repeated my plea for pardon for myclumsy carelessness, but was absolved so absolutely and completely, anddismissed so naturally, that I felt relieved. 

I sauntered up to Hopkins' office. "Hopkins, " said I, "I just met yourwife. "

"You did?"

"Yes, and I stepped on her foot and hurt her badly, I know. " Then I toldhim about it. 

"What did she say?" asked Hopkins, and I noticed a queer look. I thoughtit might be jealousy. 

"Why, well, why I don't know as I remember, but it was very kindly andladylike. "

There was a queer expression on Hopkins' face. 

"Of course--"

"Sure she spoke?" asked Hopkins. "How did you know it was my wifeanyway?"

"Because it was the same face that is pictured on your clock, and someone in the crowd said it was Mrs. Hopkins. You know Hop. , I ran by thatclock for a few weeks, and I noticed the eyes. "

"Anything queer about 'em?" This was a challenge. 

"Yes, I think there is. In the first place, I know you will understandme when I say they are handsome eyes, and I'm free to confess that theyhad a queer influence on me, I imagined they changed and expressedthings and--"

"Talked, eh. "

"Well, yes. " Then I told Hopkins the influence the "Eyes" had on me. 

He listened intently, watching me; when I had finished, he came over, reached out his hand and said:

"Shake, friend, you're a damned good fellow. "

I thought Hopkins had been drinking--or looking at "Her Eyes. " He pulledup a chair and lit a cigar. 

"John, " said he, "it isn't every man that can understand what my wifesays. Only kindred spirits can read the language of the eyes. _Shehasn't spoken an audible word in ten years_, but she talks with hereyes, even her picture talks. We, rather she, is a mystery here; peoplebelieve all kinds of things about her and us; but we don't care. I wantyou to come up to the house some evening and know her better. We'll bethree chums, I know it, but don't ask questions; you will know thingslater on. "

Before I ever went to Hopkins' house, he had told her all about me, andwhen he introduced us, he said:

"Madeline, this is the friend who says your picture talked to him. "

I bowed low to the lady and tried to put myself and her at ease. 

"Mrs. Hopkins, I'm afraid your husband is poking fun at me, and thinksmy liver is out of order, but, really, I did imagine I saw changingexpression in your eyes in that picture--in fact, I named you 'My Ladyof the Eyes. '"

She laughed--with her eyes--held out her hands and made me welcome. 

"That name is something like mine, " said Hopkins, "I call her TalkingEyes. '"

Then Hopkins brought in his little three-year-old daughter, whoimmediately climbed on my knee, captured my watch, and asked:

"What oo name?"

"John, " said I. 

"Don, Don, " she repeated; "my name Maddie. "

"That's Daddy's chum, " put in Hopkins. 

"Tum, " repeated Maddie. 

"Uncle Chummy, " said Hopkins. 

"Untle Tummie. "

And I was "Untle Tummie" to little Madeline and "Chummy" to Hopkins andhis wife from then on. 

Mrs. Hopkins wore her veil at home as well as abroad, but it was soneatly arranged and worn so naturally that I soon became entirely usedto it, in fact, didn't notice it. Otherwise, she was a well-dressed, handsomely set up woman, a splendid musician and a capital companion. She sat at her work listening, while Hopkins and I "railroaded" andargued about politics, and religion and everything else under the sun. Mrs. Hopkins took sides freely; a glance at her eyes told where shestood on any question. 

Between "Scar Face" Hopkins and his handsome wife there appeared to beperfect sympathy and confidence. Sitting in silence, they glanced fromone to the other now and again, smiled, nodded--and understood. 

I was barred from the house for a month during the winter because littleMadeline had the scarlet fever, then epidemic, but it was reported alight case and I contented myself with sending her toys and candy. 

One day I dropped into Hopkins' office to make inquiry, when a clerktold me Hopkins had not been to the office for several days. Mrs. Hopkins was sick. I made another round trip and inquired again, and gotthe same answer; then I went up to the house. 

The officious quarantine guard was still walking up and down in front ofthe Hopkins residence. To a single inquiry, this voluble functionaryvolunteered the information that the baby was all right now, but thelady herself was very sick with scarlet fever. Hopkins was most crazy, no trained nurses could be had for love nor money, the doctor was comingthree times a day, and did I know that Mrs. Hopkins was some kind of aforeign Dago, and the whole outfit "queer?"

Hopkins was in trouble; I pushed open the gate and started up the walk. 

"Hey, young feller, where yer goin', " demanded the guard. 

"Into the house, of course. "

"D'ye know if you go in ye got to stay for the next two weeks?"

"Perfectly. "

"Then go on, you darned fool. "

And I went on. 

Hopkins met me, hollow-eyed and haggard. 

"Chum, " said he, "you've come to prison, but I'm glad. Help is out ofreach. If you can take care of Maddie, the girl will do the cooking andI will--I will do my duty. "

And night and day he did do his duty, being alone with his wife exceptfor the few moments of the doctor's calls. 

One evening, after my little charge had been put to sleep downstairs bycomplying with her invariable order to "tell me a 'tory 'bout when oowas a 'ittle teenty weenty boy, " the doctor came down with a grave face. 

"Our patient has reached the worst stage--delirium. The turn will cometo-night. Poor Hopkins is about worn out, and I'm afraid may need you. Please don't go to bed; be 'on call. '"

One hour, two hours, I sat there without hearing a sound from upstairs. I was drowsy and remembering that I had missed my evening smoke Ilighted my pipe, silently opened the front door and stepped out upon theporch to get a whiff of fresh air. It was a still dark night, and Itiptoed down to the end that overlooked the city and stood looking atthe lights and listening to the music of the switch engines in the yardsbelow the hill. The porch was in darkness except the broad beam oflight from the hall gas jet through the open door. 

The lights below made me think of home and my wife and little onessleeping safely, I hoped, close to the coastwise lights of the OldColony. 

I thought I heard a stealthy footfall behind me, and turned around toface an apparition that made the cold chill creep up my back. If everthere was a ghost, this must be one, an object in white not six feetfrom me. 

I'm not at all afraid of ghosts when I reach my second wind, and Igrabbed at this one. It moved backward silently and as I made a quickstep toward it that specter let out the most blood-curdling yell I everheard--the shriek of a maniac. 

I stepped quicker now, but it moved away until it stood in the flood oflight from the doorway, and then I saw a sight that took all thestrength out of me. The most awful and frightful face I ever beheld, and, --it was the face of Madeline Hopkins. 

The neck and jaw and mouth were drawn and seamed and scarred in afrightful and hideous manner, the teeth protruded and the mouth wasdrawn to one side in a frightful leer; above that was all the beauty of"My Lady of the Eyes. "

For a moment I was dumb and powerless, and in that moment Hopkinsappeared with a bound, and between us we captured my poor friend's wifeand struggled and fought with her up the long stairs and back to herbed. 

Sitting one on either side, we had all we could do to hold her hands. She would lift us both to our feet, she was struggling desperately, andthe eyes were the eyes of a tigress. 

When this strain was at its worst and every nerve on edge, anotherscream from behind us cut our ears like a needle, the eyes of thetigress as well as ours sought the door, and there in her golden curlsand white "nightie" stood little Madeline. The eyes of the tigresssoftened to tenderest love, and with a bound, the baby was on hermother's breast, her arms around her neck, and she was saying, "PoorMama, what they doin' to poor Mama?"

"My darling, my darling, " said the mother in the sweetest of tones. 

I unconsciously released my hold upon the arm I held, and she drew thesheet up and covered her face as I was wont to see it, and held itthere. With the other, she gently stroked the baby curls. 

I watched this transformation as if under a spell. 

Suddenly she turned her head toward Hopkins, her eyes full of tendernessand pity and love, reached out her hand and said:

"Oh, Steadman, my voice has come back, God has taken off the curse. "

But poor Hopkins was on his knees beside the bed, his face buried in hisarms, his strong shoulders heaving and pitiful sobs breaking from hisvery heart. 

A couple of months afterward I resigned to go back to God's country, thehome of the east wind, and where I could know my own children and speakto my own wife without an introduction, and the Hopkins invited me to afarewell dinner. 

"My Lady of the Eyes" presided, looking handsomer and stronger thanusual, but she didn't eat with us. But with eyes and voice sheentertained us so royally and pleasantly that Hopkins and I did eatingenough for all. 

After supper, Hop. And I lighted our cigars and "railroaded" for awhile, then "Her Eyes" went to the piano and sang a dozen songs as only atrained singer can. Her voice was wonderfully sweet and low. They wereold songs, but they seemed the better for that, and while she sangHopkins's cigar went out and he just gazed at her with pride and joy inevery lineament of his scarred and furrowed face. 

Little Maddie was allowed to sit up in honor of "Untle Tummy, " but afterawhile the little head bobbed quietly and the little chin fell betweenthe verses of her mother's song, and "My Lady of the Eyes" took her bythe hand and brought her over to us. 

"Tell papa good-night and Uncle Chum my good-bye, dear, and we'll go tobed. "

Hopkins kissed the baby, and I got my hug, and another to take to my"ittle dirl, " and Mrs. Hopkins held out both her hands to me. 

"Good-bye, dear Chum, " said she, "my love to you and yours, now andalways. "

Hopkins put his arm around his wife, kissed her forehead and said:

"Sweetheart, I'm going to tell Chum a story. "

"And don't forget the hero, " said she, and turning to me, "Don't believeall he says, and don't blame those that he blames, and remember thatwhat is, is best, and seeming calamities are often blessings indisguise. "

Hopkins and I looked into each other's faces and smoked in silence forten minutes, then he turned to his secretary and, opening a drawer, tookout a couple of cases and opened them. They contained medals. Then heopened a package of letters and selected one or two. We lighted freshcigars and Hopkins began his story. 

"My father was a pretty well-to-do business man and I his only child. Mymother died when I was young. I managed to get through a grammar schooland went to college. I wanted to go on the road from the time I couldremember and had no ambition higher than to run a locomotive. That wasmy ideal of life. 

"My father opposed this very strenuously, and offered to let me go towork if I'd select something decent--that's the way he put it. He usedto say, 'Try a brick-yard, you might own one some day, you'll never owna railroad. ' I had my choice, college or something decent, ' and I tookthe college, although I didn't like it. 

"The summer before I came of age my father died suddenly and my collegelife ended. "

Here Hopkins fumbled around in his papers and selected one. 

"Just to show you how odd my father was, here is the text of his will, leaving out the legal slush that lawyers always pack their papers in:

"'To my son, Steadman Hudson Hopkins, I leave one thousand dollars to bepaid immediately on my demise. All the residue of my estate consistingof etc. , etc. '--six figures, Chum, a snug little wad--'shall be placedin the hands of three trustees'--naming the presidents of threebanks--'to be invested by them in state, municipal or government bonds, principal and interest accruing to be paid by said trustees to my sonhereinbefore mentioned when he has pursued one calling, with averagesuccess, for ten consecutive years, and not until then. All in the bestjudgment of the trustees aforenamed. 

"'To my son I also bequeath this fatherly advice, knowing the waste ofmoney by heirs who have done nothing to produce it, and knowing that hadI been given a fortune at the beginning of my career, it would have beenlost for lack of business experience, and knowing too, the waste of timeusually made by young men who drift from one employment or occupation toanother'--having wasted fifteen years of my own life in this way--Imake these provisions in this my last will and testament, believing thatin the end, if not now, my son will see the wisdom of this provision, etc. , etc. '

"The governor had a long, clear head and he knew me and young men ingeneral, but bless you, I thought he was a little mean at the time. 

"I turned to the trustees and asked what they would consider asfulfilling the requirements of the will. 

"'Any honorable employment, ' answered the oldest man of the trio. 

"The next day, I went to see Andy Bridges, general superintendent of theold home road, who had been a friend of father's, and told him I wantedto go railroading. He offered to put me in his office, but I insisted onthe footboard, and to make a long story short, was firing inside ofthree weeks and running inside of three years. 

"I was the proudest young prig that ever pulled a throttle. I alwaysloved the work and--well, you know how the first five years of itabsorbs you if you are cut out for it and like it and intend to stay atit. 

"I had been running about two years, and had paid about as muchattention to young women as I had to the subject of astronomy, untilMadelene Bridges came out of a Southern convent to make her home withher uncle, our 'old man. '

"The first time I saw her I went clean, stark, raving, blind, drunkendaft over her. I tried to argue and reason myself out of it, but it wasno go. I didn't even know who she was then. 

"But I was in love and, being so, wasn't hardly safe on the road. 

"Then I spruced up and started in to see if I couldn't interest her inme half as much as I was interested in her. 

"I didn't have much trouble to get a start, for Andy Bridges had come upfrom the ranks and hadn't forgotten it--most of 'em do--and welcomed anydecent young man in his house, even if he was a car hand. Madelene had acouple of marriageable cousins then and that may account for old Andy. 

"I got on pretty well at first, for I was first in the field. I got in atheatre or two before the other young fellows caught on. About this timethere was a dance, and I lost my grip. I took Madelene but couldn'tdance, and all the others could, especially Dandy Tamplin, one of thetrain despatchers. 

"I took private dancing lessons, however, and squared myself that way. 

"Singing was a favorite mode of passing the evenings with the youngfolks at the Bridges's home, and I cursed myself for being tuneless. 

"It finally settled down to a race between Tamplin and myself, and eachof us was doing his level best. I was so dead in earnest and so truly inlove that I was no fit company for man or beast, and I'm afraid I wastwice as awkward and dull in Madelene's presence as in any other place. 

"Dandy Tamplin was a handsome young fellow, and a formidable rival, forhe was always well-dressed, a good talker and more or less of a lady'sman. Besides that, he was on the ground all the time and I had to beaway two-thirds of the time on my runs. 

"I came in one trip determined to know my fate that very evening--had mylittle piece all committed to memory. 

"As I registered I heard one of the other despatchers, behind apartition, telling some one that he was going to work Dandy's trickuntil eleven o'clock, and then the two entered into a discussion ofDandy's quest of the 'old man's' niece, one of them remarking that allthe opposition he had was Hopkins and that wasn't worth considering. Iresolved to get to Bridges's ahead of Tamplin. 

"But man--railroad man, anyway--proposes and the superintendentdisposes. I met Bridges at the door. 

"'Hopkins, ' said he, 'I want you to do me a personal favor. '

"'Yes, sir, '

"'I want you to double out in half an hour on some perishable freightthat's coming in from the West; there isn't one available engine in. Will you do it?'

"'Yes, ' I answered, slowly, showing my disappointment. 'But, Mr. Bridges, I was particularly anxious to go up to your house to-night; Iintend to ask--'

"'I know, I know, ' said he kindly, taking my hand; 'It'll be all right Ihope; there ain't another young chap I'd like to see go up _and stay_better than you, but my son, _she will keep_, and this freight wont. Yougo out, and I'll promise that no one shall get a chance to ask ahead ofyou. ' This was a friend at court and a strong one. 

"'It means a lot to me, ' said I

"'I know it my boy, and I'm proud to have you say so right out inmeeting, but--well, you get those fruit cars in by moonlight, and I'llhave you back light, and you can have the front parlor for a week. '

"On my return trip, I found a big Howe truss bridge on fire and didn'tget in for two days. The road was blocked, everything out of gear and Ihad to double back again, whether or no. 

"I was 'chewing the rag' with a roundhouse foreman about it when OldAndy came along. 

"'Go on, Hopkins, ' said he, 'and you can lay off when you get back. I'mgoing South with my car _and will take the girls with me_!'

"That was hint enough, and I said yes. 

"It was in the evening, and while the fireman and I got our supper, thehostler turned my engine, coaled her up, took water and stood her on thenorth branch track, next the head end of her train, that had not yetbeen entirely made up. 

"This north branch came into the south and west divisions off a veryheavy grade and on a curve, the view being cut off at this point bybuildings close to the track. The engine herself stood close to theoffice building, and after oiling around, I backed on to the train, bringing my cab right opposite a window in the despatcher's office. Justbefore this open window and facing me sat Dandy Tamplin at his key. Ihated Dandy Tamplin. 

"It was dark outside and in the cab, the conductor had given me myorders and said we'd go just as quick as the pony found a couple ofcars more and put them on the hind end. Dennis had put in a big fire forthe hill, and then gone skylarking around the station, and I was in thedark glaring at Dandy Tamplin in the light. 

"The blow-off cock on this engine was on the right side and opened fromthe cab. Ordinarily, you pulled the handle up, but the last time theboiler was washed out they had turned the plug cock half over and thehandle stuck up through the deck among the oil cans ahead of the reverselever, and opened by pushing it down. I remember thinking it wasdangerous, as a man might accidentally open it. On the cock was a pieceof pipe to carry the hot water away from the paint work, and this stuckstraight out under the footboard, the cock leaked a little and the endof the pipe dripped hot water and steam. 

"While I glared at Tamplin, old man Bridges and the girls came into theroom. Bridges went up to the narrow, shelf-like counter, looked at theregister and asked Tamplin a question. 

"Tamplin went up to the group, his back to me, and spoke to one afterthe other. Madelene was the last in the row and, while the others weretalking, laid her gloves, veil and some flowers on the counter. Tamplinspoke to her and I could see the color change in her face. Oh! if I onlyhad hold of Dandy Tamplin. 

"Bridges hurried out into the hall behind the passage way, the girlsfollowing. Tamplin turned around and espied Madelene's belongings. Hewent up to them, smelled the flowers, then hurriedly took a note out ofhis pocket and slipped it into one of the gloves. The other glove he putin his breast pocket. It was well for Dandy Tamplin I didn't have a gun. 

"Remember, all this happened quickly. Before Tamplin was fairly in hisseat and at work, Madelene came tripping back alone and made for herbundle, but Tamplin left his key open and went over to her. I couldn'thear what was said for by this time the safety valves of my engine wereblowing and drowned all sound. She evidently asked him what time it wasand leaned partly over the counter to hear his reply. He put his handunder her chin and turned her face toward the clock, this with such anair of assurance that my heart sank--but murder was in my soul. Thenquickly putting his hand behind her neck, he pulled her toward him andkissed her. I was a demon in an instant. 

"She sprang away from him and ran into the hall and he came back to hischair with a smile of triumph on his thin lips. 

"Somehow or other, just at this moment, I noticed the steam at the endof that blow-off pipe, and all the devils in hell whispered at once 'Onemove of your hand and your revenge is complete. ' I wasn't SteadmanHopkins then, I was a madman bent on murder, and I reached down for thathandle, holding on by the throttle with my left hand. The cock had somemud in it and I opened it wide before it blew out and then with a roarand a shriek it burst--and the crime was done. 

"All the devils flew away at once and left me alone, naked with myconscience. Murderer, murderer!' resounded in my ears; hisses, roars andscreams seemed to come to fill my brain and dance around my condemnedsoul; voices seemed shrieking and crash upon crash seemed to smite myears. I thought I was dying, and I remember distinctly how glad I was. Ididn't let go of that valve, I couldn't--I'd go to hell with it in myhand and let them do their worst. 

"Then remorse took possession of me. Wasn't it enough to maim anddisfigure poor Tamplin, why cook him to death--I'd shut off that cock. Ifought with it, but it wouldn't close, and I called Dennis to help me. 

"Some one stood behind me and put a cool hand on my brow, and a woman'svoice said, 'Poor brave fellow, he's still thinking of his duty; all theheroes don't live in books. '

"I opened my eyes, and looked around. I was in St. Mary's Hospital, anda nun was talking to herself. 

"Well, John, I'd been there for more than six weeks, and it took sixmore before I understood just what had happened and could hobblearound, for I had legs and ribs and an arm broken. 

"It must have been at the moment I opened that blow-off cock that partof a runaway train came down the north grade, backward, like a whirlwindand buried my engine and myself, piling up an awful wreck that tookfire. I was rescued at the last moment by the crowd of railroad men thatcollected and bodily tore the wreck apart to get at me. Every onethought I tried to close that blow-off cock and hold the throttle shut. I was a hero in the papers and to the men, and I couldn't get a chanceto tell the truth if I dared, and I was afraid to ask about DandyTamplin. 

"No word came from Madelene. One day Bridges came to see me, and broughtme this watch I wear now, a present from the company. I determined totell Bridges--but he wouldn't believe me. Looked, too, as if he thoughtI was off in my head yet and I must have looked crazy, for most of thesebrands I got that night. To be sure I've added to the collection hereand there, but I never was pretty after that roundup. 

"At last I mustered up courage and asked: 'How is Tamplin?' 'All right, working right along, but takes it hard, ' said Bridges. 

"'Was he laid up long? Is he as badly disfigured as I am?'

"'Why, man, he wasn't touched. He had gone to the other end of the roomfor a drink of water. I'm afraid, my boy, its Madelene he's worriedabout. '

"'She has refused him then?'

"'Well, I don't know that. She is still in bed, badly hurt. She has notseen a soul but her nurse, the doctor and my wife, and denies herself toall callers, even her best friends, even to me. '

"Chum, I won't tell you what I said or suffered. Madelene had come intothe room again for her belongings, and had faced the dagger of steamsent by the hand of a man who would give his immortal soul to make herwell again. 

"I couldn't get around much, but I wrote her a brief note asking if Imight call and sent it by a messenger. 

"She replied that she could not see me then. I waited. I hadn't theheart to write a confession I wanted to make in person, so after a weekor two I went to the house. 

"Madelene sent down word that she couldn't see me then and could nottell when she would see me. 

"I thought the nurse, who acted as messenger, did not interpret eithermy message or hers as they were intended--I would write a note. 

"I stepped into the library on one side of the hall, made myself at homeand wrote Madelene a note, a love letter, begging for just oneinterview. Taking blame for all that had happened and confessing my loveand devotion to her. 

"It was a long letter and just as I finished it, I heard some one in thehall. I thought it was a servant and started for the doorway to ask herto carry my message. It was the nurse. 

"I was partly concealed by the portieres. She was facing the door, herfinger on her lips, and before her stood Dandy Tamplin. 

"'It's all right' she whispered, 'be still, ' and both of them tiptoedupstairs. 

"This, then was why I could not see Madelene. Dandy Tamplin was heraccepted lover. 

"That night I left the old home for good to seek my fortunes andforgetfulness far away. I didn't care where, so long as it was a greatway off. 

"At New York I found some engineers going out to run on the Meig's roadin Peru. I signed a contract and in two days was on the Atlantic, boundfor the Isthmus of Panama. 

"I ran an engine in Peru until the war broke out with Chili. I was sentto the front with a train of soldiers one day and got on the battlefield. Our side was getting badly worsted, and I got excited and jumpingoff the engine, armed myself and lit into the fight. A little crowdgathered around me and I found myself the leader, no officer in sight. There was a charge and we didn't run--surprised the Chilians. I gotsome of these blue brands on my left cheek there and made a newreputation. Before I knew it, I had on a uniform and dangled a sword. They nicknamed me the 'Fighting Yankee. '

"Peru had lots of trouble and I saw a good deal of it. When it was allover, I found myself in command of a gun boat, just a tug, but she wasalive and had accounted for herself several times. 

"The president sent me on a special mission to Chili just after theclose of the war, and, all togged out in a new uniform, I went on boardof an American ship at Callao bound for Valparaiso. I thought I was somepumpkins then. I'd lived a rough and tumble life for about three yearsand was beginning to like it--and to forget. 

"I used to do the statuesque before the passengers, my scars attested myfighting propensities, and there were several Peruvian liars aboard thatknew me by reputation, and enlarged on it. 

"We touched at Coquimbo and an American civil engineer and family cameaboard, homeward bound. 

"That afternoon I was lolling in the smoking-room on deck, when I wasattracted by the sound of ladies talking on the promenade just outsidethe open port where I sat. It was the engineer's wife and daughter. 

"'Mamma, ' said the young lady. 'I must read you Madelene's letter. Poor, dear Madelene, it's just too sorrowful and romantic for anything. '

"Madelene! I hadn't heard that name pronounced for three years. It waswrong, I knew it, but I listened. 

"'Poor dear, she was awfully hurt and disfigured in a railroad wreck. '

"It was _my_ Madelene they were talking about. Wild horses could nothave dragged me from the spot. 

"The girl read something like this. I know for I've read that letter ahundred times. It's in this pile here. 

"'Dear Lottie: Your ever welcome'--'no, not that. '

"'Uncle Andrew is going'--'let me see, Oh! yes, here it is, now listenMamma, ' said the girl. 

"'Dear Schoolmate. I have never told a soul about my troubles or mytrials, for long I could not bear to think of them myself. But lately Ihave seen it in its true light, and have come to the conclusion that Ihave no right to moan my life away. I'm past all that, there is nothingfor me to live for in myself, but my life is spared for some purpose, and I propose to devote it to doing good to others'--'isn't she a sweetsoul, mamma?'

"'After I came to live with Uncle Andrew, I was very happy, it seemedlike a release from prison. I saw much company, and in six months hadtwo lovers--more than I deserved. One of these was a plain, honest manlyman; he was one of Uncle Andrew's engineers. He wasn't handsome, but hewas the kind of man that sensible women love. The other was a handsome, showy, witty man, also an employee of the railroad, considered 'thecatch' among the girls. Really, Lottie, both of them tried to proposeand I wouldn't let them, I didn't know which one of them I liked best. But if things had taken the usual course, I should have married thehandsome one--and been sorry forever after. '

"My heart stood still--she hadn't married Dandy Tamplin after all. "

"'The night of the wreck, I was going out on Uncle Andrew's private car. The handsome man was on duty in the office. The plain man on an enginethat stood before the open window, I didn't know that then. 

"'A runaway train crashed into the engine and something exploded and astream of boiling water came into the room and scalded me beyondrecognition. You would not know me, Lottie, I am so disfigured. 

"'The handsome man did nothing but wring his hands; the plain one staidon the engine and tried to stop the steam from coming out, and washimself terribly injured. 

"'I was for weeks in bed and suffered mental agony much beyond themerely physical pain. I was so wicked I cursed my life and my Maker andprayed for death--yet I lived. I was so resentful, so heartbroken, sowicked, that I refused to speak for weeks, then, when I tried, Icouldn't, God had put the curse of silence on my wickedness. '

"Think of Madelene being wicked, Chum. 

"'When I was getting well enough and reconciled to my own fate, enoughto think of others, I thought of my two lovers. Then I asked my nursefor a glass. One look, and I made up my mind never to see either of themagain. 

"'Both of them were clamoring to see me, and I refused to see either. The plain man wrote me the only love letter I ever received. I have wornit out reading it. It was so manly, so unselfish! He blamed himself forthe accident, and offered me his devotion and love, no matter in whatcondition the letter found me. This letter he wrote in Uncle Andrew'slibrary, left it open on the desk and--disappeared. 

"'I have never heard from him from that day to this. I never couldunderstand it. A man that could write that letter, couldn't run away. The last sentence in his letter proved that. It said: "Remember, dearMadelene, that somewhere, somehow, I am thinking of you always; thatwhether you see me or not, you will some day come to know that I loveyour soul, not your face; that your life is dear to me, and no calamitycan make any difference. "

"'Those were brave words, and after I read them, I knew for the firsttime that this was the man I loved. They told me he was frightfullydisfigured, too, but that made no difference to me, I loved him. But hewas gone, no one knew where. Why did he go?

"'The handsome man disappeared the same day, and he never came back, buthe left no letter. 

"'Dear Lottie, I have only now solved the mystery. My sometime nurse hasjust confessed that the night the letter was written the other man cameto the house, like a thief, he had bribed her to give me drugs to makeme sleep and then she led him into my room and showed him my scars. Ifhe ever loved me at all, he was in love with my face; the other manloved me. One went away because he saw me, the other one because he sawhis rival apparently granted the interview refused to him. My true lovermust have seen that man sneaking up to my room. '

"John, every fibre of my being danced for joy. I didn't hear the rest, and she read several pages. I had heard enough. 

"I went right out on the deck, begged pardon to begin with, introducedmyself, confessed to eavesdropping, told who I was, where I had been andasked for that letter. 

"I got it and Madelene's picture; the one you have seen on my clock. 

"I finished my task at Valparaiso while the vessel lay there, reportedby mail, and came home on the same ship. 

"I took that letter and photograph to Andy Bridges's house and wroteacross the envelope 'Madelene Bridges, I demand your immediate andunconditional surrender, signed, Steadman H. Hopkins. '

"And I got it in five minutes. Chum, that is the only case on recordwhere something worth having was ever surrendered to an officer of thePeruvian government. 

"In six months I was back on an engine in a new country, with my silent, loved and loving wife, in a new home. Three times before now someone hasseen Madelene's face, twice I told this story, and then we moved away;once I told it and trusted, and it was not repeated. Madelene can standbeing a mystery and wondered at, but she cannot stand pity andcuriosity. As for you, old Chum, I haven't even asked you not to repeatwhat I have told you--I know you won't. "

After a long while, I turned to Hopkins and said: "And yet, Hopkins, fools say there is no romance in railroad life. This is a story worthreading, and some day I'd like to write it. "

"Not in Madelene's time, or in mine, Chum, but if ever a time comes, I'll send you a token. "

"Send me your picture, Hop. "

"No, I'll send you Madelene's. No, I'll send you the clock with the'talking eyes. '"

And standing at Hopkins's gate, the scar-faced man with the romance andI parted, like ships that meet, hail and pass on, never to meet again. Hopkins and I moved away from one another, each on his own course, across the seven seas of life. 

And all this happened almost twenty years ago. 

The other day, my office boy brought me a card that read, "Mrs. HenryAdams, Washington, D. C. " "Is she a book agent?" I asked. 

"Nope, don't look like one. "

"Show her in. "

A young woman came in, looked at me hard for a moment, laid a package onmy desk and asked, "Is this the Mr. Alexander who used to be an engineer?"

I confessed. 

"I don't suppose you remember me, " she asked. 

I put on my glasses and looked at her. No, I never--then she put herhandkerchief up to her lips covering the lower part of her face; it wasthe face of Madelene Hopkins. 

"Yes, " said I, "I remember you perfectly, seventeen or eighteen yearsago you used to sit on my knee and call me 'Untle Tummy. ' and I calledyou Maddie. "

Then we laughed and shook hands. 

"Mr. Alexander, " said she, "In looking over some of father's papers, wecame across a request that under certain conditions you were to be sentan old keepsake of his, a clock with mother's picture on it. I havebrought it to you. "

"And your father and mother, what of them, my friend?" I asked, for thepromise of that clock "under certain conditions" was coming back to me. 

"Haven't you heard, sir, poor papa and mama were lost in that awfulwreck at Castleton, two years ago. "

And as I write, from the dial of "Scar Faced" Hopkins's clock "My Ladyof the Eyes" looks down at me from across the mystery of eternity. Theeyes do not change as once they did, or has age dimmed my sight andimagination? Long I look into their peaceful depths thinking of theirstory, and ask, "Dear Eyes, is it well with thee?"--and they seem toanswer, "It is well. "

SOME FREAKS OF FATE

I am just back from a visit to old scenes, old chums and old memories ofmy interesting experience on the western fringe of Uncle Sam's great, gray blanket--the plains. 

If some of these fellows who know more about writing than about runningengines would only go out there for a year and keep their eyes and earsand brains open, and mouths shut, they could come home and write us sometrue stories that would make fiction-grinders exceedingly weary. 

The frontier attracts strong characters, men with pioneer spirit, menwho are willing to sacrifice something, in order to gain an end; menwith loves and men with hates. Bad men are there, some of them huntedfrom Eastern communities, perhaps, but you will find no fools and mightyfew weak faces--there's character in every feature you look at. 

Every one is there for a purpose; to accomplish something; to get aheadin the world; to make a new start; perhaps to live down something, or toget out of the rut cut by ancestors; some may only want to drink, andshout, and shoot, but even these do it with a vim--they mean it. 

Of the many men who ran engines at the front, with me in the old days, Irecall few whose lives were purposeless; almost every one had alife-story. 

If there's anything that I enjoy, it's to sit down to a pipe and alife-story--told by the subject himself. How many have I listened to, out there, and every one of them worthy the pen of a Kipling!

The population of the frontier is never all made up of men, and thewomen all have strong features, too--self-sacrifice, devotion, degradation, or _something_, is written on every face. There are noblanks in that lottery--there's little material there for homes offeeble-minded. 

It isn't strange, either, when you come to think of it; fools never goanywhere, they are just born and raised. If they move it's because theyare "took"--you never heard of a pioneer fool. 

One of the strongest characters I ever knew was a runner out there bythe name of Gunderson--Oscar Gunderson. He was of Swedish parentage, very light-complexioned, very large, and a splendid mechanic, as Swedesare apt to be when they try. Gunderson's name was, I suppose, properlyentered on the company's time-book, but it never was in the nomenclatureof the road. With the railroaders' gift for abbreviation and nickname, Gunderson soon came down to "Gun, " his size, head, hand or heartfurnished the prefix of "Big, " and "Big Gun" he remains to-day. "BigGun" among his friends, but simple "Gun" to me. I think I called him"Gun" from the start. 

Gun ran himself as he did his engine, exercised the same care ofhimself, and always talked engine about his own anatomy, clothes, foodand drink. 

His hat was always referred to as his "dome-casing;" his Brotherhood pinwas his "number-plate;" his coat was "the jacket;" his legs the"drivers;" his hands "the pins;" arms were "side-rods;" stomach"fire-box;" and his mouth "the pop. "

He invariably referred to a missing suspender-button as a broken"spring-hanger;" to a limp as a "flat-wheel;" he "fired up" when eating;he "took water, " the same as the engine; and "oiled round, " when hetasted whisky. 

Gun knew all the slang and shop-talk of the road, and used it--was evenaccused of inventing much of it--but his engine talk was unique andinimitable. 

We roomed together a whole winter; and often, after I had gone to bed, Gun would come in, and as he peeled off his clothes he would deliverhimself something as follows:

"Say, John, you don't know who I met on the up trip? Well, sir, DockTaggert. I was sailin' along up the main line near Bob's, and who shouldI see but Dock backed in on the sidin'--seemed kinder dilapidated, likehe was runnin' on one side. I jest slammed on the wind and went over andshook. Dock looks pretty tough, John--must have been out surfacingtrack, ain't been wiped in Lord knows when, oiled a good deal, but narya wipe, jacket rusted and streaked, tire double flanged, valves blowin', packing down, don't seem to steam, maybe's had poor coal, or is alllimed up. He's got to go through the back shop 'efore the old man'llever let him into the roundhouse. I set his packin' out and put him in astall at the Gray's corral; hope he'll brace up. Dock's a mighty goodworkin' scrap, if you could only get him to carryin' his water right; ifhe'd come down to three gauges he'd be a dandy, but this tryin' to runfirst section with a flutter in the stack all the time is no good--hemust 'a flagged in. "

Which, being translated into English, would carry the information thatGun had seen one of the old ex-engineers at Bob Slattery's saloon, hadstopped and greeted him. Dock looked as if he had tramped, had drank, was dirty, coat had holes, soles of his boots badly worn, wheezing, seemed hungry and lifeless, been eating poor food, and was in a generalrun-down condition. Gun had "set out his packing" by feeding him and puthim in a bed at the Grand Central Hotel--nicknamed the "Grayback'sCorral. " Gun thought he would have to reform, before the M. M. Put himinto active service. He was a good engineer, but drank too much, andlastly, he was in so bad a condition he could not get himself intoheadquarters unless someone helped him by "flagging" for him. 

Gun was a bachelor; he came to us from the Pacific side, and told meonce that he first went west on account of a woman, but--begging Mr. Kipling's pardon--that's another story. 

"I don't think I'd care to double-crew my mill, " Gun would say when theconversation turned to matrimony. "I've been raised to keep your ownengine and take care of it, and pull what you could. In double-headingthere's always a row as to who ought to go ahead and enjoy the sceneryor stay behind and eat cinders. "

I knew from the first that Gun had a story to tell, if he'd only give itup, and I fear I often led up to it, with the hope that he would tell itto me--but he never did. 

My big friend sent a sum of money away every month, I supposed to somerelative, until one day I picked up from the floor a folded paper dirtyfrom having been carried long in Gun's pocket, and found a receipt. Itread:

 "MISSION, SAN ANTONIO, Jan. 1, 1878. "Received of O. Gunderson, for Mabel Rogers, $40. 00. "SISTER THERESA. "

Ah, a little girl in the story! I thought; it's a sad story, then. There's nothing so pure and beautiful and sweet and joyous as a littlegirl, yet when a little girl has a story it's almost always a sad story. 

I gave Gun the paper; he thanked me; said he must look out better forthose receipts, and added that he was educating a bit of a girl out onthe coast. 

"Yours, Gun?" I asked kindly. 

"No, John; she ain't; I'd give $5, 000 if she was. "

He looked at me straight, with that clear, blue eye, and I knew he toldme the truth. 

"How old is she?" I asked. 

"I don't know; 'bout five or six. "

"Ever seen her?"

"No. "

"Where did you get her?"

"Ain't had her. "

"Tell me about her?"

"She was willed to me, John, kinder put in extra, but I can't tell youher story now, partly because I don't know it all myself, and partlybecause I won't--I won't even tell her. "

I did not again refer to Gun's little girl, and soon other experiencesand other biographies crowded the story out of my mind. 

One evening in the spring, I sat by the open window, enjoying the coolnight breeze from off the mountains, when I heard Gun's cheery voice onthe porch below. He was lecturing his fireman, in his own, unique way. 

"Well, Jim, if I ain't ashamed of you! There ain't no one but you;coming into general headquarters with a flutter in the stack, so fullthat you can't whistle, air-pump a-squealing 'count of water, smearedfrom stack to man-hole, headlight smoked and glimmery, don't know yourown rights, kind o' runnin' wildcat, without proper signals, imaginingyou're first section with a regardless order. You want to blow out, man, and trim up, get your packing set out and carry less juice. You're worsethan one of them slippin', dancin', three-legged, no-good Grants. Thenext time I catch you at high-tide, I'll scrap you, that's what I'll do, fire you into the scrap-pile. Why can't you use some judgment in yourrunnin'? Why can't you say, 'Why, here's the town of Whisky, I'm goingto stop here and oil around, ' sail right into town, put the air onsteady and fine, bring her right down to the proper gait, throw her intofull release, so as to just stop right, shut off your squirt, drop alittle oil on the worst points, ring your bell and sail on. 

"But you, you come into town forty miles an hour, jam on the emergencyand while the passengers pick 'emselves out of the ends of the cars, yougo into the supply house and leave the injector on, and then, when youdo move, you're too full to go without opening your cylinder cocks andgivin' yourself dead away. 

"Now, I'm goin' to Californ', next month, and if you get so as you cantell when you've got enough liquor without waiting for it to break yourinjectors, I'll ask the old man to let you finger the plug on Old Baldywhilst I'm gone. But I'm damned if I don't feel as if you was like thatmeasly old 19--jest fit to be jacked up to saw wood with. "

While Gun was in California, I was taken home on a requisition from mywife, and Oscar Gunderson and his little girl became a memory--a page ina book that I had partly read and lost, but not entirely forgotten. 

One day last summer I took the westbound express at Topeka, andspreading my grip, hat, coat and umbrella, out on the seats, so as toresemble an experienced English tourist, I fished up a Wheeling stogieand a book and went into the smoking-pen of the sleeper, which I had allto myself for half-an-hour. 

The train stopped to give the thirsty tender a drink and a man came into wash his hands. He had been riding on the engine. 

After washing, he stepped to the door of the "smokery, " struck a matchon the leg of his pants, held both hands around the end of his cigarwhile he lighted it, then waving the match to put it out, he threw itdown and came in. 

While he was absorbed in all this, I took a glance at him. Six-foot-four, if an inch; high cheek bones; yellow beard; clear, blueeyes; white skin, and a hand about the size of a Cincinnati ham. I knewthat face despite twelve years of turkey-tracks about the eyes. 

"Gunderson, old man, how are you?" I said, offering my fin. 

"Well, John Alexander, how in the name of thunder did you get away outhere on the main stem, without orders?"

"Inspection-car, " said I; "how did you get here?"

"Deadheading home; been out on special, a gilt-edged special, took herclean through to New York. "

"You did!" I exclaimed; "why, how was that?"

"Went up special to a weddin', don't you see? Went up to see a newcompound start off--prettiest sight I ever saw--working smooth asgrease; but I'm kind of dubious about repairs and general running. I'manxious to see how the performance sheet looks at the end of the year, John. "

"Who's been double-heading, Gun?"

"Why--why, my little girl, trimmest, neatest, slickest little mill youever saw. Lord! but she was painted red and white and gold-leaf, threebrass bands on her stack, solid nickel trimming, all the latestimprovements, corrugated fire-box, high pressure smoke consumer andsand-jet--jest made a purpose for specials, and pay-car. But if sheain't got herself coupled onto a long-fire-boxed ten-wheeler, with a biglap and a Joy gear, you can put me down for a clinker. Yes, sir; thebaby is a heart-breaker on dress-parade, and the ten-wheeler is a whaleon business, and if they don't jump the track, you watch out for someexpress speed that will make the canals sick, see if they don't. "

Without giving me time to say a word, he was off again. 

"You ought to seen 'em start out, nary a slip, cutting off square as adie, small one ahead speaking her little piece chipper and fast onaccount of her smaller wheels, and the ten-wheeler barking bass, steadyas a clock, with a hundred-and-enough on the gauge, a full throttle, andhalf a pipe of sand. You couldn't tell to save you whether the littleone was pulling the big one or the big one shoving the little--never sawa relief train start out in such shape in my life. "

Gunderson was evidently enthusiastic over the marriage of his littlegirl. 

We talked over old times and the changes, and followed each other up todate with a great deal of mutual enjoyment, until the porter demandedthe "smokery" for his bunk. 

As we started for bed, Gun laid his hand on my shoulder and said:

"John, a good many years ago, you asked me to tell you the story of mylittle girl. I refused then for her sake. I'll tell you in the morning. "

After a hearty breakfast and a good cigar, Gunderson squared himself forthe story. He shut his eyes for a few minutes, as if to recallsomething, and then, speaking as if to himself, he said:

"Well, sir, there wasn't a simmer anywhere, dampers all shut; youwouldn't'a suspected they was up to the popping point, but the minutethey got their orders, and the con. Put up his hand, so, up went--"

"Say, " I interrupted, "I thought I was to have the story. I believe youtold me about the wedding, last night. The young couple started outwell. "

"Oh, yes, old man, I forgot, the story; well, get on the next pit here, "motioning to a seat next to him, "and I'll give you the history of anold, hook-motion, name of Oscar Gunderson, and a trim, Class "G" made ofsolid silver, from pilot to draft-gear. 

"You think I'm a Swede; well, I ain't, I don't know what I am, but Iguess I come nearer to being a Chinaman than anything else. My fatherwas a sea-captain, and my mother found me on the China sea--but theywere both Swedes just the same. I had two sisters older than myself, andin order to better our chances, father moved to New York when I was lessthan five years old. 

"He soon secured work as captain on a steamer in the Cuban trade, anddied at sea, when I was ten. 

"I had a bent for machinery, and tried the old machine-shops of theCentral road, but soon found myself firing. 

"I went to California, shortly after the war, on account of awoman--mostly my fault. 

"Well, after running around there for some years, I struck a job on theVirginia & Truckee, in '73. 

"Virginia City and Carson and all the Nevada towns were doing afall-rush business, turning every wheel they had, with three crews to amill. Why, if you'd go down street in any one of them towns at night, and see the crowds around the gamblers and molls, you'd think hell wasa-coming forty-mile an hour, and that it wan't more than a car-lengthaway. 

"Well, one morning, I came into Virginia about breakfast time, and withthe rest of the crew, went up to the old California Chop-house forbreakfast. This same chop-house was a building about good-enough for astable, these days; but it had a reputation then for steaks. All thegamblers ate there; and it's a safe rule to eat where the gamblers do, in a frontier town, if you want the best there is, regardless of price. 

"It was early for the regular trade, and we had the dining-room mostlyto ourselves, for a few minutes, then there were four women folks camein and sat down at a table bearing a card: 'Reserved for Ladies. '

"Three of them were dressed loud, had signs out whereby any one couldtell that they wouldn't be received into no Four Hundred; but one ofthem was a nice-looking, modestly-dressed woman, had on half-mourning, if I remember. She had one of them sweet, strong faces, John, like thenun when I had my arm broke and was scalded, --her sweet mouth keptmumblin' prayers, but her fingers held an artery shut that was tryingits damndest to pump Gun Gunderson's old heart dry--strong character, you bet. 

"Well, that woman sat facing our table and kept looking at me; Icouldn't see her without turning, but I knew she was looking. John, didyou ever notice that you could _feel_ the presence of some people; youknew they were near you without seeing them? Well, when that happens, don't forget to give that fellow due credit; for whoever it is he or shehas the strongest mind--the dominant one. 

"I _had_ to look around at that woman. I shall never forget how shelooked; her hand was on the side of her face; her great, brown, tendereyes were staring right at me--she was reading my very soul. I let herread. 

"I had been jacking up a gilly of a gafter who had referred to hismother as "the old woman, " and I didn't let the four females disturb me. I meant to hold up a looking-glass for that young whelp to look into. Ihate a man that don't love his mother. 

"Why, " says I, "you miserable example of Divine carelessness, do youknow what that 'old woman' mother has done for you, you drivelin' idiot, a-thankin' God that you're alive and forgetting the very mother thatbore you; if you could see the tears that she has shed, if you couldcount the sleepless nights that she has put in, the heartaches, thepain, the privation that she has humbly, silently, even thankfully bornethat you might simply live, you'd squander your last cent and your lastbreath to make her life a joy, from this day until her light goes out. Aman that don't respect his mother is lost to all decency; a man who willhear her name belittled is a Judas, and a man who will call his mother'old woman' is a no-good, low-down, misbehaven whelp. Why, damn it, I'dfight a buzz-saw, if it called my mother 'old woman'--and she's beendead a long time; gone to that special, exalted, gilt-edged and gloriousheaven for mothers. No one but mothers have a right to expect to go to aheaven, and the only question that'll be asked is, 'Have you been amother?'

[Illustration: "He was the first man I ever killed. "]

"Well, sir, I had forgot about the women, but they clapped their handsand I looked around, and there were tears in the eyes of that one woman. 

"She got up; came to our table and laid a card by my plate, and said, 'Ibeg your pardon; but won't you call on me? Please do. '

"I was completely knocked out, but told her I would, and she went outalone; the others finished their breakfast. 

"She had no sooner gone than Cy Nash, my conductor, commenced togiggle--'Made a mash on the flyest woman in town, ' he tittered; 'ain't ablood in town but what would give his head for your boots, old man;that's Mabel Verne--owns the Odeon dance hall, and the Tontine, inCarson. '

"I glanced at the card, and it did read, 'Mabel Verne, 21 Floodavenue. '

"Well, Flood avenue is no slouch of a street, the best folks livethere, " I answered. 

"'Yes, that's her private residence, and if you go there and are let in, you'd be the first man ever seen around there. She's a curious critter, never rides or drives, or shows herself off at all; but you bet she seesthat the rest of the stock show off. She's in it for money, I tell you. '

"I don't know why, but it made me kind of heart-sick to think of thehell that woman must be in, for I knew by her looks that she had a heartand a brain, and that neither of them was in the Odeon or the Tontinedance-houses. 

"I thought the matter over, --and didn't go to see her. The next trip, she sent a carriage for me. 

"She met me at the door, and took my hat, and as I dropped into an easychair, I opened the ball to the effect that 'this here was a strangeproceeding for a lady. '

"'Yes, ' said she, sitting down square in front of me; 'it is; I felt asif I had found a true man, when I first saw you, and I have asked youhere to tell you a story, my story, and ask your help and advice. I amso earnest, so anxious to do thoroughly what I have undertaken, that Ifear to overdo it; I need counsel, restraint; I can trust you. Won't youhelp me?"

"'If I can; what is it that you want me to do, madam?'

"'First of all, keep a secret, and next, protect or help protect, aninnocent child. '

"'Suppose I help the child, and you don't tell me the secret?'

"'No, it concerns the child, sir; she is my child; I want her to grow upwithout knowing what her mother has done, or how she has lived andsuffered; you wouldn't tell her that, would you?'

"'No; certainly not!'

"'Nor anyone else?'

"'No. '

"'You would judge her alone, forgetting her mother?'

"'Yes. '

"'Then I will tell you the story. '

"She got up and changed the window blinds, so that the light shone onmy face; I guess she wanted to study the effect of her words. 

"'I was born at Sacramento, ' she began; 'my father was a well-to-domechanic, and I his only child; I grew up pretty fair-looking, and myparents spent about all they could make to complete my education, especially in music, of which I was fond. When I was eighteen years old, I fell in love with a young man, the son of one of the rich merchants ofSan Francisco, where we had removed. Like many another foolish girl, Itrusted too implicitly, and believed too easily, and soon found myselfin a humiliating position, but trusted to the honor of my lover to standby me. 

"'When I explained matters to him he seemed pleased, said he could fixthat easy enough; we would get married at once and claim a secretmarriage for some months past. 

"'He arranged that I should meet him the next evening, and go to an oldpriest in an obscure parish, and be married. 

"'I stood long hours on a corner, half dead with fear, that night, for alover that never came. He's dead now, got run over in Oakland yard, thatvery night, as he was running away from me, and as I waited and shiveredunder the stars and the fire of my own conscience. '

"'Did he stand on one track, to get out of the way of another train, andget struck?' I asked. 

"'Yes, ' looking at me close. 

"'Did he have on a false moustache, and a good deal of money andsecurities in a satchel, and everybody think at first he was a burglar?'

"'Yes; but how did you know that?'

"'Because, I killed him. '

"'You?'

"'Yes; I ran an engine over him, couldn't make him hear or see me. Hewas the first man I ever killed; strange he should be _this_ particularman. '

"'It's fate, ' said the woman, rocking slowly back and forth, 'it's fate, but it seems as though I like you better now that you were my avenger. That accident drove revenge out of my heart, caused me to let _him_ beforgotten, and to live for my child. I have lived for her. I live to-dayfor her and I will continue to live for her. '

"'My disgrace killed my mother and ruined my father. I swore I would bean honest woman, and I sought employment to earn a living for my babeand myself, but every avenue was closed to me. I washed and scrubbedwhile I was able to teach music splendidly, but I could get no pupils. Imade shirts for a pittance and daily refused, to me, fortunes fordishonor. I have gone hungry and almost naked to pay for my baby'sboard, but I was hunted down at last. 

"'One day, after many rebuffs in seeking employment, I went to the homeof a sister of my child's father, and took the baby, told her who I wasand asked her to help me to a chance to work. The good woman scarcelylooked at me or the child; she said that had it not been for such as I, poor Charles would have been alive; his blood was on my head; I oughtto ask God to wash my blood-stained hands. 

"'I went away from that house with my mind made up what to do. I wouldput my child in honest hands, and chain myself to the stake to suffereverlasting damnation for her sweet sake. 

"'She is in the Mission San Antonio now, between three and four, aperfect little princess, she looks like me, and grows, oh, so lovely! Ifyou could see her, you'd love her. 

"'I can't go to see her any more; she is old enough to remember. Thelast time I was there, she demanded a papa!

"'I am making a great deal of money. Many of the rich men, whose Puritanwives and daughters refused me honest work, are squandering lots oftheir wealth in my houses. I am saving money, too; and propose, as soonas I can get a neat fortune together to go away to the ends of theearth, and have my little girl with me. I will raise her to know herselfand to know mankind. '

"'And what do you want me to do, madam?'

"'I want you to be that child's guardian; the honest man through whomshe will reach the outside of San Antonio and the world. Who will gobetween her and me until a happier time. '

"'I am only a rough engineer; the child will be raised to considerherself well off, perhaps rich. '

"'Adopt her. I will stay in the background; make her expenditures andher education what you like. I will trust you. '

"'I can't do that. '

"'You are single; your life is hard; I have money enough for us all. Letus go to the Sandwich islands, anywhere, and commence life anew. Thelittle one will know no other father, and all inquiry will be stopped. '

"'I couldn't think of it, my dear madam; it's too easy; it's likepulling jerkwater passenger--I like through freight. '

"Well, John, to make a long story short, the interview ended about here, and several more got to about the same place. There were a thousandthings I could not help but admire in that woman, and I liked her betterthe more I knew her. But it wan't love; it was a sort of an admirationfor her love of the child, and the nerve she displayed in its behalf. But I shrank from becoming her husband or companion, although I thinkshe loved me, in the end, better than she ever did anybody. 

"However, I finally agreed to look after the little one, in caseanything happened to the mother, and commenced then to send the moneyfor her board and tuition, and the mother dropped out of all connectionwith the child or those having her in charge. 

"The mother made her pile and got out of the business, and at mysuggestion went down near Los Angeles and bought a nice country place, to start respectable before she took the little one home. She left moneyin Carson, subject to my check, for the little girl, and things slidalong for a year or so all smooth enough. 

"I was out on a snow-bucking expedition one time the next winter, sleeping in cars, shanties or on the engine, and I soon found myself allbunged up with the worst dose of rheumatiz' you ever see. I had to getdown to a lower altitude, and made for Sacramento in the spring. I paidthe Mission a year in advance, and with less than a hundred dollars ofmy own, struck out, hoping to dodge the twists that were in my bones. 

"A hundred blind gaskets don't go far when you're sick, and the firstthing I knew I was dead broke; couldn't pay my board, couldn't buymedicine, couldn't walk--nothing but think and suffer. I finally had togo to a hospital. Not one of the old gang ever came to see me. Old Gunwas a dandy, when he was making--and spending--a couple hundred a month;the rest of the time he was supposed to be dead. 

"I might have died in the hospital, if fate hadn't decreed to send merelief. It suddenly dawned upon me that I was getting far bettertreatment than usual, had a special nurse, the best of food, flowers, etc. , all labeled 'From the Boys. '"

"I found out, after I was well enough to take a sun bath on the porch, that a woman had sent all my luxuries, and that her purse had beenopened for my relief. I knew who it was at once, and was anxious to getwell and at work, so as not to live on one who was only too glad to doeverything for me. 

"A six months' wrastle with the twisters leaves a fellow stiff-jointedand oldish, and lying in bed takes the strength out of him. I took thenotion to get out and go to work, one day, and walked down to theshops--I was carried back, chuck full of 'em again. 

"The doctor said I must go to Ojo Caliente, away down south, if I was toget well. John, if the Santa Fé road had 'a been for sale for a centthen, I couldn't 'a bought a spike. 

"At about the height of my ill-luck, I got a letter from MabelVerne--she had another name, but that don't matter--and she asked meagain to come to her; to have a home, and care and devotion. It wasn't alove-sick letter, but it was one of them strong, tender, _fetching_letters. It was unselfish, it asked very little of me, and offered agood deal. 

"I thought over it all night, and decided at last to go. What better wasI than this woman? Surely she was better educated, better bred. She hadmade one mistake, I had made many. She had no friends on earth; I didn'tseem to have any, either. I hadn't had a letter from either of mymarried sisters for six or eight years, then. We could trust oneanother, and have an object in life in the education of the child. I'dbe no worse off than I was, anyway. 

"The next morning I felt better. I got ready to leave, bid all my fellowflat-wheels good-by; and had a gig ordered to take me to the train--thedoctor had given me two-hundred dollars a short time before--'from alady friend. '

"As I sat waiting for the hack, they brought me a letter from home--abig one, with a picture in it. It was from my youngest sister, and thepicture was of her ten-year boy, named for me--such a happy, sunnylittle Swede face you never see. 'He always talks of Uncle Oscar as agreat and good man, ' wrote Carrie, 'and says every day that he's goingto do just like you. He will do nothing that we tell him Uncle Oscarwould not like, and anything that he would. If you are as good as hethinks you are, you are sure of heaven. '

"And I was even then going off to live with a woman who made a fortuneout of Virginia City dance-houses. I had a sort of a remorseful chill, and before I really knew just where I was, I had got to Arizona, andfrom there to the Santa Fé where you knew me. 

"I wrote my benefactress an honest letter, and told her why I had notcome, and in a short time sent her the money she had put up for me; butit was returned again, and I sent it to the mission for my little girl. 

"Well, while I was with you there, I got a fare-thee-well letter, sayingthat when I got that Mabel Verne would be no more--same as dead--andthat she had deposited forty thousand dollars in the Phoenix Bank for_your_ little girl--_yours_, mind ye--and asked me to adopt her legallyand tell her that her mother was dead. 

"John, I ain't heard of that woman from then until now. I thought shehad got tired of waiting on me and got married, but I believe she isdead. 

"I went to California and adopted the baby--a daisy too--and I'vehonestly tried to be a father to her. 

"I got to making money in outside speculations, and had plenty; so I lether money accumulate at the Phoenix and paid her way myself. 

"About four years ago, I left the road for good; bought me a nice placejust outside of Oakland, and settled down to take a little comfort. 

"Mabel, my daughter Mabel, for she called me papa, went to Germany, nearly three years ago, in charge of her music teacher, Sister Florence, to finish herself off. Ah, John, you ort to see her claw ivory! Beforeshe went, she called me into the mission parlor, one day, and almost gotme into a snap; she wanted me to tell her all about her parents rightthen, and asked me if there wasn't some mystery about her birth, and theway she happened to be left in the mission all her life, her motherdisappearing, and my adoption of her. "

"What did you tell her, Gun?" I asked. 

"Why, lied to her, of course, as any honorable man would have done. Itold her that her father was an engineer and a friend of mine, and thathe was killed in an accident before she was born--that was all plausibleenough. 

"Then I told her that her mother was in poor health, and had died justbefore I had adopted her, and had left a will, giving her to me, andbesides had left forty thousand dollars in the bank for her, when shemarried or became of age. 

"Well, John, cutting down short, she met a fellow over there, a NewYorker, that just seemed to think she was made a-purpose for him, andabout a year ago he wrote and asked me for my daughter--just think ofit! His petition was seconded by the baby herself, and recommended bySister Florence. 

"They came home six months ago, and the baby got ready for dress-parade;and I went down to New York and seen 'em off; but here's where old Fategets in his work again. That rascal of an O. B. Sanderson--I didn'tnotice the name before--was my own nephew, the very young cuss whosepicture kept me from marryin' the baby's mother! I never tumbled till Iran across his mother, she was my sister Carrie. 

"John, I don't care a continental cuss how good he was, the baby wasgood enough for him--too good--I just said nothing--and watched thesignals. You ort to a seen me a-givin' the bride away! Then, when it wasall over, and I was childless, I give my little girl a check forforty-seven thousand and a fraction; kissed her, and lit out forhome--and here I am. 

"But I ain't satisfied now, and just as quick as I get back, I'm a-goingrunning again; then, when I've got so old I can't see more'n a carlength, I'm going to ask for a steam-pump to run. I'm a-going to dierailroading. "

"Have you ever made any inquiries about the mother, Gun?" I asked. 

"No; not much; it's so long now, it ain't no use; I guess that herlight's gone out. "

"What would you do, if she was to turn up?"

"Well, I don't know; I guess I'd keep still and see what she done. "

"Suppose, Gun, that she showed up now; loved you more than ever for whatyou have done, and renewed her old proposal? You know it's leap year. "

"Well, old man, if an angel flew down out of the sky and give me asecond-hand pair of wings just rebuilt, and ordered me to put 'em on andfollow her, I guess I wouldn't refuse to go out. Time was, though, whenI'd a-held out for new, gold-mounted ones, or nothing; but that won'tcome, John; but you just ort to a been to the consolidation; it was justsimply--well, pulling the president's special would be just like haulinga gravel-train to it!"

The train stopped suddenly here, and "Gun" said he was going ahead toget acquainted with the water-boiler, and I took out my note-book andjotted down a few points. 

After the train got into motion again, I was reading over my notes, when, without looking, I thought Gunderson had come back, and I movedalong in the seat to give him room, but a black dress sat down besideme. 

We had been sitting with our backs to a curtain between the first berthand a state-room. The lady came from the state-room. 

"Pardon me, sir, " she said, "I want to finish that story. I have heardit all; I am Sister Florence, music teacher to Mr. Gunderson's daughter;he does not know that I am on this train. 

"Mr. Gunderson did not tell you that the Phoenix bank failed some monthsago, and that the fortune of his adopted child was lost. He never toldher and she does not know it to-day--"

"He said he paid her the full amount--" I interrupted. 

"Very true. He did; but he paid it out of his own pocket. Sold hisfarm; put up all his securities, and borrowed seven hundred dollars tomake the sum complete. That is the reason he is going to run an engineagain. He does not know that I am aware of this, so don't mention it tohim. "

"Gun is a man, " said I; "a great, big-hearted, true man. "

"He is a nobleman!" said the nun, arising and going back into thestate-room. 

Half an hour later, Gunderson came back, took a seat beside me andcommenced to talk. 

"Say, John, that's the hardest-riding old pelter I ever see, about threeinches of slack between engine and tank, pounding like a stamp-milland--" looking over his shoulder and then at me, "John, I could a sworethere was some one standing right there, I _felt_ 'em. 

"It seems to me they ort to keep up their engines here in pretty goodshape. They've got bad water, and so much boiler work that they have tohave new flues before the machinery gets worn much. But, Lord, theydon't seem--" he looked over his shoulder again, quickly, then settledin his seat to resume, when a pair of hands covered Gun's eyes--thenun's hands. 

"Guess who it is, Gun, " said I; and noticed that he was very pale. 

"It's Mabel, " said he, putting up his hands and taking both of hers; "noone but her ever made me feel like that. "

MORMON JOE, THE ROBBER

I'm on intimate terms with one of the biggest robbers in this country. He's an expert at the business, but has now retired from active work. The fact of the matter is, Joe didn't know he was robbing, at the timehe did it, but he got there, just the same, and come mighty nigh doingtime in the penitentiary for it, too. 

Maybe I'd better commence at the beginning and tell you that I firstknew Joe Hogg in '79, out at the front, on the Santa Fé. Joe hailed fromSalt Lake City, and had run on the Utah Central, which gave him thenickname of "Mormon Joe, " a name he never resented being called, and towhich he always answered. I never did really know whether he was aMormon or not, and never cared; he was a good engineer, that's about allI cared for. Joe took good care of his engine, wore a clean shirt andbehaved himself--which was doing more than the average engineer at thefront did. 

I remember, one night, Jack McCabe--"Whisky Jack, " we used to callhim--made some mean remark about the Mormons in general and Joe inparticular, and Joe replied: "I don't propose to defend the Mormonfaith; it's as good as any, to my mind. I don't propose to judge ormisjudge any man by his belief or absence of belief. All that I have gotto say is, that the Mormon religion is a _practical_ religion. Theydon't give starving women a tract, or tramps jobs on the stone-pile. Thewomen get bread, and the tramps work for _pay_. Their faith is based onthe Christian Bible, with a book added--guess they have as big a rightto add or take away as some of the old kings had--bigamy is upheld bythe Bible, but has been dead in Utah, for some years. It can't live forthe young people are against it. In Utah the woman has all the rights aman has, votes, and is a _person_. (Since cut out of new constitution. )Before the Gentiles came to Salt Lake, the Mormons had but _one_policeman, no jail, few saloons, no houses of prostitution--now theGentile Christian has sway, and the town is full of them. I guess youcould argue on the quality and quantity of rot-gut whisky a goodengineer ought to drink, better than on theology, anyhow. "

I never heard any of the gang twit Joe about the Mormons again. 

I didn't take an awful sight of notice about Joe until I came in, onenight, and the boys told me that Joe was arrested as an accomplice inthe robbery of the Black Prince mine, in Constitution gulch. 

This Black Prince was a gold placer owned by two middle-aged Englishmen. They had a small stamp-mill, run by mule power; and a large number ofsluice-boxes. They always worked alone, and said they were developingthe mine. No one had any idea that they were taking out much dust, untilthe mill and sluice-boxes were burned one night, and the story came outthat they had been robbed of more than thirty thousand dollars. 

Each partner accused the other of the theft. Both were arrested, anddetectives commenced to follow every clue. 

Joe's arrest fell like a thunder-clap among us. The Brotherhood men tookit up right away, and I went to see Joe, that very night. It was saidthat Joe had visited the Black Prince, the day before, and had been seencarrying away a large package, the night before the robbery. 

Joe absolutely refused to say a word for or against himself. 

"The detectives got this scheme up and know what they are doing, " saidhe; "I don't. When they get all through, you'll know how it'll comeout. "

To all questions as to his guilt or innocence, to every query about thecrime or his arrest, he replied alike, to friend or foe:

"Ask the sheriff; he's doing this. "

He was in jail a long time, but nothing was proven against him and hewas finally released. 

Neither of the Englishmen could fasten the crime on his partner, andthey sold out and drifted away, one going back to England and the otherto Mexico. 

Joe ran awhile on the road again and then took a job as chief-engineerof a big stamp-mill in Arizona, and going there he was lost to myselfand the men on the road, and finally the Black Prince robbery passedinto history, and nothing remained but the tradition, a sort of a mythof the mountains, like Captain Kidd's treasures, the amount only beingincreased by time. I believe that the last time I heard the story, itwas calmly stated that thirty million dollars was taken. 

When I was out West, last time, I got off the train at Santa Fé, andwhen gunning through the baggage for my _kiester_, I saw a trunk, bearing on its end this legend:

 "MRS. JOS. HOGG. "

While I was "gopping" at it, as they say down East, and wondering if itcould be my Joe Hogg, a very nice-looking lady came in, leading a littlegirl, glanced along the lines of trunks, put her hand on the one I waslooking at, and said:

"That's the one; yes; the little one. I want it checked to New York. "

Just then, a little fellow with whiskers on his chin and a twinkle inhis eye came in and took charge of the trunk, the woman and the child, and with the little one's arms around his neck, bid them good-by, andgot them into their seats in the sleeper. 

I watched this individual with a great deal of interest; he looked likemy old friend, "Mormon Joe, " only for the whiskers and the stockmanclothes. 

Finally he jumped off the moving train, waved his hand and stoodwatching it out of sight, to catch the last glimpse of (to him) preciousburden-bearer; he raised his hand to shade his eyes, and as he did so, Isaw that it was minus one thumb, and I remembered that "Mormon Joe" leftone of his under an engine up in Colorado--I was sure of him. 

There was a tear in his eye, as he turned to go away, so I stepped up tohim and asked:

"Any new wives wanted down your way, Elder?"

He glanced up, half angry, looked me straight in the eye, and a smilestarted at the southeast corner of his phiz and ran around to his portear. 

"Well, John, old man, I don't mind being _sealed_ to one about yoursize, right now. I've just sent away the best one in the wide world. Oldman, you're looking plump; by the Holy Joe Smith, a sight of you is goodfor sore eyes!"

Well, we started, and--but there ain't no use in telling you all aboutit--I went home with Joe, went up a creek with a jaw-breaking Spanishname, for miles, to a very good cattle ranch, that was the property of"Mormon Joe. "

Joe only quit running some three or four years ago, and the ranch andits neat little home represented the savings of Joe Hogg's life. 

His wife and only child had just started for a visit to England whereshe was born. 

The next day we rode the range to see Joe's cattle, and the next westarted out for a little hunt. It was sitting by a jolly camp-fire, backin the hills of New Mexico, that "Mormon Joe" told me the true story ofthe robbery of the Black Prince mine and the romance of his life. 

Filling his cob pipe with cut-plug, Joe sat looking away over spacetoward our hobbled horses and then said:

"Old man, I reckon you remember all about the Black Prince robbery. Idon't forget you were the first man that came to the cooler to see mewhile I was doing time as a _suspect_. Well, coming right down to thepoint, _I had the dust all the time_! and the working out of the mysterywould be rather interesting reading if it was written up, and, as youare such an accomplished liar, I wouldn't be surprised if you made itthe base-line of one of them yarns of yourn--only, mind you, don't gotoo far with it, for it's as curious as a lie itself. I would not try toimprove on it, if I was you. I'll tell it to you as it was. 

"About four days before the robbery, I was introduced to RachelRokesby, daughter of one of the partners in the Black Prince. I met her, in what seemed to be a casual way, at Mother Cameron's hash-foundry, butI found out, a long time afterward, that she had worked for two weeks tobring about the introduction. 

"I don't know as you remember seeing her, but she was a quiet, retiring, well-educated, rosy-cheeked English girl--impressed you right away asbeing the pure, unrefined article, about twenty-two karat. She "chinned"me about an hour, that evening, and just cut a cameo of her pretty faceright on my old heart. 

"Well, course I saw her home, and tried my best to be interesting, butif a fellow ever in his natural life becomes a double-barreled jackass, it's just immediately after he falls in love. Why, he ain't asinteresting as the unlettered side of an ore-sack. 

"But we got on amazing well; the girl did most of the talking and alongtoward the last, mentioned that she was in great trouble--of course Iwa'n't interested in that at all. I liked to have broken my neck ingetting her to tell me at once if I couldn't do something to help her, say, for instance, move Raton mountain up agin Pike's Peak. 

"I went home that night, promising to call on her the next trip, not tolet any one know I was coming, not to tell anybody I had been there, notfor _worlds_ to repeat or intimate what she told me, and she would tellme her trouble from start to finish, and then I could help her, if Iwanted to. Well, I wanted to, _bad_. 

"I went up to the Rokesby's cabin, next trip in; it was dark, and as Iwent up the front walk, I heard the old gentleman going out the back, bound for the village 'diggin's. ' I had it all to myself--the secret, Imean. 

"When I went in, I got about a forty-second squeeze of a neat littlehand, and things did look so nice and clean and homelike that I had iton the end of my tongue to ask right then to camp in the place. 

"After a few commonplaces, she turned around and asked me if I stillwanted to help her and would keep the secret, if I concluded in the endto keep out of her troubles. You bet your life, old man, she didn't haveto wait long for assurance--why I wouldn't'a waited a minute to havecontracted to turn the Mississippi into the Mammoth Cave, if she hadasked it. 

"'Well, " says she, finally, "it is not generally known, in fact, isn'tknown at all, that the Black Prince is a paying placer, and that papaand Mr. Sanson have been taking out lots of gold for some time. Theyhave over fifty pounds of gold-dust and nuggets hidden under the floorof the old mill. '

"'Well, ' says I, 'that hadn't ought to worry you so. '

"'But that isn't all the story, ' she continued; 'we have discovered aplot on the part of Mr. Sanson to rob papa of the gold and burn the milland sluice-boxes, to hide the crime. You will find that every tough intown is his friend, because he buys whisky for them, and they alldislike papa. If he carried out his plan, we would have no redresswhatever; all the justices in town can be bribed. The plan is to takethe gold, burn the mill, and then accuse papa of the crime. Now, can'tyou help me to fool that old villain of a Sanson, and put papa's half ofthe money in a safe place?'

"I thought quite a while before I answered; it seemed strange to me thatthe case should be as she stated, and I half feared I might be made acat's-paw and get into trouble, but the girl looked at me so trustinglywith her blue eyes and added:

"'I am afraid that I am the cause of all the trouble, too. Papa andSanson got along well until I refused to marry him; after that, the rowbegan--I hate him. He said I would _have_ to marry him before he wasdone with me--but I won't!'

"'You bet you won't, darling, ' says I, before I thought. 'Pardon me, Miss Rokesby, but if there is any marrying done around here, I want ahand in the game myself. '

"She blushed deeply, looked at the toe of her shoe a minute, and said:

"'I'm only eighteen, and am too young to think of marrying. Suppose wedon't talk of that until we get out of the present difficulties. '

"'Sensible idea, ' says I. 'But when we are out, suppose you and I have atalk on that subject. '

"She looked at the toe of her shoe for a minute again, turned red andwhite around the gills, looked up at me, shyly at first, then fully andfairly, stretched out her hand and said:

"'Yes; if you care to. '

"Course, I didn't _care_, or nothing--no more than a man cares for hishead. 

"I guess that was about a half engagement, anyhow, it's the only one weever had. She said it would be ruinous to our plans if I was seen withher then or afterward; and agreed to leave a note at the house for me bynext trip, telling me her plan--which she should talk over with herfather. 

"A couple of days later I got in from a round trip and made a dive forthe boarding-house. 

"'Any mail for me, mother?' I asked old Mrs. Cameron. 

"'No, young man; I'm sorry to say there ain't'

"'I was anxious to hear from home. '

"'Too bad; but maybe it'll come to-morrow. '

"I was up to fever heat, but could do nothing but wait. I went to bedlate, and, raising up my pillow to put my watch under it, I found anote; it read:

 "'Midnight, July 17. 

 "'DEAR JOE:

 "'Just thought of that rule for changing counter-balance you wanted. There has always been a miscalculation about the weight of counter-balance; they are universally _too heavy_. The weights are in pieces; take out two _pieces_; this treatment would even improve a mule sweep. When once out, pieces should be changed or placed where careless or malicious persons cannot get hold of them and replace them. All is well; hope you are the same; will see you some time soon. 

 "'JACK. '

"Here was apparently a fool letter from one young railroader to another, but I knew well enough that it was from Rachel and meant something. 

"I noticed that it was dated the _next night_; then I commenced to see, and in a few minutes my instructions were plain. The old five-stamp millwas driven by a mule, who wandered aimlessly around a never-endingcircle at the end of a long, wooden sweep; this pole extended past thepost of the mill a few feet, and had on the short end a box of stones asa counter-weight. I would find two packages of gold there at midnight ofJuly 17. 

"I was running one of those old Pittsburgh hogs then, and she had tohave her throttle ground the next day, but it was more than likely thatshe would be ready to go out at 8:30 on her turn; but I arranged to haveit happen that the stand-pipe yoke should be broken in putting it up, sothat another engine would have to be fired up, and I would lay in. 

"I told stories in the roundhouse until nearly ten o'clock that fatefulnight, and then started for the hash-foundry, dodged into a lumberyard, got onto the rough ground back of town and made a wide detourtoward Constitution Gulch, the Black Prince and the mule-sweep. I creptup to the washed ground through some brush and laid down in a path towait for midnight. I felt a full-fledged sneak-thief, but I thought ofRachel and didn't care if I was one or not, so long as she wassatisfied. 

"I looked often at my watch in the moonlight, and at twelve o'clockeverything was as still as death. I could hear my own heart beat againstmy ribs as I sneaked up to that counter-balanced sweep. I got therewithout accident or incident, found two packages done up in canvas withtarred-string handles; they were heavy but small, and in ten minutes Ihad them alone with me among the stumps and stones on the little _mesa_back of town. 

"I'll never forget how I felt there in the dark with all that money thatwasn't mine, and if some one had have said 'boo' from behind a stump, Ishould have probably dropped the boodle and taken to the brush. 

"As I approached the town, I realized that I could never get through itto the boarding-house or the roundhouse with those two bundles that_looked like country sausages_. I studied awhile on it and finally putthem under an old scraper beside the road, and went without them to theshops. I got from my seat-box a clean pair of overalls and jacket andcame back without being seen. 

"I wrapped one of the packages up in these and boldly stepped out intothe glare of the electric lights--I remember I thought the town toodarned enterprising. 

"One of the first men I met was the marshal, Jack Kelly. He was reportedto be a Pinkerton man, and was mistrusted by some of the men, but triedto be friendly and 'stand in' with all of us. He slapped me on the backand nearly scared the wits out of me. He insisted on treating me, and Iwent into a saloon and 'took something' with him, in fear and trembling. The package was heavy, but I must carry it lightly under my arm, as ifit were only overclothes. 

"I treated in return, and had it charged, because I dare not attempt toget my right hand into my pocket. Jack was disposed to talk, and Ifeared he was just playing with me like a cat does with a mouse, but Ifinally got off and deposited my precious burden in my seat-box, underlock and key--then I sneaked back for the second haul. I met Jack and apoliceman, on my next trip, and he exclaimed:

"'Why, ain't you gone out yet?' and started off, telling the roundsmanto keep the bunkos off me up to the shop. _I thought then I was caught_, but I was not, and the bluecoat bid me a pleasant good-night, at theshop yard. 

"When I got near my engine, I was surprised to see Barney Murry, thenight machinist, with his torch up on the cab--he was putting in thenewly-ground throttle. 

"Just before I had decided to emerge from the shadow of the next engine, Barney commenced to yell for his helper, Dick, to come and help him onwith the dome-cover. 

"Dick came with a sandwich in one hand and a can of coffee in the other. This reminded Barney of his lunch, and setting his torch down on thetop of the cab, he scrambled down on the other side and hurried off tothe sand-dryer, where the gang used to eat their dyspepsia insurance andswap lies. 

"After listening a moment, to be sure I was alone, I stepped lightly tothe cab, and in a minute the two heavy and dangerous packages were sideby side again. 

"But just here an inspiration struck me. I opened the front door of thecab, stepped out on the running-board, and a second later was holdingBarney's smoking torch down in the dome. 

"The throttle occupied most of the space, but there was considerableroom each side of it and a good two feet between the top of the boilershell and the top row of flues. I took one of the bags of gold, held itdown at arm's length, swung it backward and forward a time or two, andlet go, so as to drop it well ahead on the flues: the second bagfollowed at once, and again I held down the light to see if the bagswere out of sight; satisfied on this point, I got down, took my clothesunder my arm, and jumped off the engine into the arms of the nightforeman. "

"'What did you call me for? That engine is not ready to go out on theextra, ' I demanded, off-hand. 

"'I ain't called you; you're dreaming. '

"'May be I am, ' said I, 'but I would 'a swore some one came and calledunder my window that I got out at 2:10, on a stock-train, extra. '

"Just then, Barney and Dick came back, and I soon had the satisfactionof seeing the cover screwed down on my secret and a fire built underit--then I went home and slept. 

"I guess it was four round trips that I made with the old pelter, beforeKelly put this and that together, and decided to put me where the dogswouldn't bite me. 

"I appeared as calm as I could, and set the example since followed bypoliticians, that of 'dignified silence. ' Kelly tried to work one of the'fellow convict' rackets on me, but I made no confessions. I soon becamea martyr, in the eyes of the women of the town. You boys got to talkingof backing up a suit for false imprisonment; election was coming on andthe sheriff and county judge were getting uneasy, and the districtattorney was awfully unhappy, so they let me out. 

"Nixon, the sheriff, pumped me slyly, to see what effect my imprisonmentwould have on future operations, and I told him I didn't propose to loseany time over it, and agreed to drop the matter for a little nest-eggequal to the highest pay received by any engineer on the road. PatDailey was the worst hog for overtime, and I selected his pay as thestandard and took big money, --from the campaign funds. I wasn't afraidof re-arrest;--I had 'em for bribery. 

"Whilst I was in hock, I had cold chills every time I heard the 313'swhistle, for fear they would wash her out and find the dust; but shegave up nothing. 

"When I reported for work, the old scrap was out on construction andthey were disposed to put me on another mill, pulling varnished cars, but I told the old man I was under the weather and 'crummy, ' and thatput him in a good humor; and I was sent out to a desolate siding, andonce again took charge, of the steam 'fence, ' for the robber of theBlack Prince mine. 

"On Sunday, by a little maneuvering, I managed to get the crew to go offon a trout-fishing expedition, and under pretext of grinding-in herchronically leaky throttle, I took off her dome-cover and looked in;there was nothing in sight. 

"I was afraid that the cooking of two months or more had destroyed thecanvas bags; then again the heavy deposit of scale might have cementedthe bags to the flues. In either case, rough handling would send thedust to the bottom of the boiler, making it difficult if not impossibleto recover; and worse yet, manifest itself sometime and give me deadaway. 

"I concluded to go at the matter right, and after two hours of hardwork, managed to get the upright throttle-pipe out of the dome. I drewher water down below the flue-line, and though it was tolerably warm, Igot in. 

"Both of my surmises were partially correct; the canvas was rotted, in ameasure, and the bags were fastened to the flues. The dust had been putup in buckskin bags, first, and these had been put into shot-sacks; thebuckskin was shrunken but intact. I took a good look around, before Idared take the treasure into the sunlight; but the coast was clear, andinside of an hour they were locked in my clothes-box, and the cover wason the kettle again and I was pumping her up by hand. 

"I was afraid something would happen to me or the engine, so I buriedthe packages in a bunch of willows near the track. 

"It must have been two weeks after this that a mover's wagon stoppednear the creek within half a mile of the track, and hobbled horses soonbegan to 'rustle' grass, and the smoke of a camp-fire hunted the clouds. 

"We saw this sort of thing often, and I didn't any more than glance atit; but after supper I sauntered down by the engine, smoking andthinking of Rachel Rokesby, when I noticed a woman walking towards me, pail in hand. 

"She had on a sunbonnet that hid her face and she got within ten feetof me before she spoke--she asked for a pail of drinking-water from thetank--the creek was muddy from a recent rain. 

"Just as soon as she spoke, I knew it was Rachel, but I controlledmyself, for others were within hearing. I walked with her to the engineand got the water; I purposely drew the pail full, which she promptlyspilled, and I offered to carry it for her. 

"The crew watched us walk away and I heard some of them mention 'mash, 'but I didn't care, I wanted a word with my girl. 

"When we were out of earshot, she asked without looking up:

"'Well, old coolness, are you all right?'

"'You bet! darling. '

"'Papa has sold out his half and we are going away for good. I think ifwe get rid of the dust without trouble, we may go to England. Just assoon as all is safe, you shall hear from me; can't you trust me, Joe?'

"'Yes, Rachel, darling; now and forever. '

"'Where's the gold?'

"'Within one hundred feet of you, in those willows; when it is dark, Iwill go and get it and put it on that stump by the big tree; go then andget it. But where will you put it?'

"'I'm going to pack it in the bottom of a jar of butter. '

"'Good idea, little girl! I think you'd make a good thief yourself. How's my friend, Sanson?'

"'He's gone to Mexico; says yet that papa robbed him, but he knows aswell as you or I that all his bluster was because he only found _half_that he expected; I pride myself on getting ahead of a wicked man once, thanks to our hero, by the name of Hogg. '

"It was getting dusk and we were out of sight, so I sat down the pailand asked:

"'Do I get a kiss, this evening?'

"'If you want one. '

"'There's only one thing I want worse. '

"'What is that, Joe?'

"My arm was around her waist now, and the sunbonnet was shoved back fromthe face. I took a couple of cream-puffs where they were ripe, andanswered:

"That message to come and have that talk about matrimony. '

"Here a man's voice was heard calling: 'Rachel! Rachel!' and throwingher arms around my neck, she gave me one more kiss, snatched up her pailand answered:

"'Yes; I'm coming. '

"Then to me, hurriedly:

"'Good-by, dear; wait patiently, you shall hear from me. '

"I went back and put the dangerous dust on the stump and returned to thebunk-car. The next morning when I turned out, the outlines of the wagonwere dimly discernible away on a hill in the road; it had been gone anhour. 

"I walked down past my stump--the gold was gone. 

"Well, John, I settled down to work and to wait for that precious letterthat would summon me to the side of Rachel Rokesby, wherever she was;but it never came. Uncle Sam never delivered a line to me from her fromthat day to this. "

Joe kicked the burning sticks in our fire closer together, lit his pipeand then proceeded:

"I was hopeful for a month or two; then got impatient, and finally gotangry, but it ended in despair. A year passed away before I commenced to_hunt_, instead of waiting to be hunted; but after another year I gaveit up, and came to the belief that Rachel was dead or married toanother. But the very minute that such a treasonable thought flashedthrough my mind, my heart held up the image of her pure face and rebukedme. 

"I was discharged finally, for forgetting orders--I was thinking ofsomething else--then I commenced to pull myself together and determinedto control myself. I held the job in Arizona almost a year, but the millcompany busted; then I drifted down on to the Mexican National, when itwas building, and got a job. A few months later, it came to my ears thatone of our engineers, Billy Gardiner, was in one of their damnableprisons, for running over a Greaser, and I organized a reliefexpedition. I called on Gardiner, and talked over his trouble fully; hewas in a loathsome dobie hole, full of vermin, and dark. As I sattalking to him, I noticed an old man, chained to the wall in a littleentry on the other side of the room. His beard was grizzly white, longand tangled. He was hollow-cheeked and wild-eyed, and looked at me in astrange, fascinated way. 

"'What's he in for, ' I whispered to Gardiner. 

"'Murdered his partner in a mining camp. Got caught in the act. He don'tknow it yet, but he's condemned to be shot next Friday--to-morrow. Poordevil, he's half crazy, anyhow. '

"As I got up to go, the old man made a sharp hiss, and as I turned tolook at him, he beckoned with his finger. I took a step or two nearer, and he asked, in an audible whisper:

"'Mr. Hogg, don't you know me?'

"I looked at him long and critically, and then said:

"'No; I never saw you before. '

"'Yes; that's so, ' said he; 'but I have seen you, many times. Youremember the Black Prince robbery?'

"'Yes, indeed; then you are Sanson?'

"'No; Rokesby. '

"'Rokesby! My God, man, where's Rachel?'

"'I thought so, ' he muttered. 'Well, she's in England, but I'm here. '

"'What part of England?'

"'Sit down on that box, Mr. Hogg, and I will tell you something. '

"'Is she married?' I asked eagerly. 

"'No, lad, she ain't, and what's more, she won't be till she marriesyou, so be easy there. '

"Just here a pompous Mexican official strode in, stepped up in front ofthe old man and read something in Spanish. 

"'What in hell did he say?' asked the prisoner of Gardiner. 

"'Something about sentence, pardner. '

"'Well, it's time they was doing something; did he say when it was?'

"'To-morrow. '

"'Good enough; I'm dead sick o' this. '

"'Can't I do anything for you, Mr. Rokesby--for Rachel's sake?'

"'No--yes, you can, too, young man; you can grant me a pardon for aworse crime nor murder, if you will--for--for Rachel's sake. "

"'It's granted then. '

"'Good! that gives me heart. Now, Mr. Hogg, to business, it was me thatrobbed the Black Prince mine. I took every last cent there was, and Iused you and Rachel to do the work for me and take the blame if caught. Sanson was honest enough, I fired the mill myself. 

"'It was me that sent Rachel to you; I admired your face, as you rode bythe claim every day on your engine. I knew you had nerve. If you andRachel hadn't fallen in love with one another, I'd 'a lost though; but Iwon. 

"'Well, I took the money I got for the claim and sent Rachel back to hermother's sister, in England. You may not know, but she is not mydaughter; she thinks she is, though. Her parents died when she wassmall, and I provided for her. I'm her half-uncle. I got avaricious inmy old age, and went into a number of questionable schemes. 

"'After leaving New Mexico, I worked the dust off, a little at a time, an' wasted the money--but never mind that. 

"'It was just before she got aboard the ship that Rachel sent me aletter containing another to you, to be sent when all was right--I'vecarried it ever since--somehow or other I was afraid it would drop aclew to send it at first, and after it got a year old, I didn't think ofit much. '

"He fumbled around inside of his dirty flannel shirt for a minute, andsoon fished up a letter almost as black as the shirt, and holding it up, said:

"'That's it. '

"'I had the envelope off in a second, and read:

 "'DEAR JOSEPH:

 "'I am going to my aunt, Mrs. Julia Bradshaw, 15 Harrow Lane, Leicester, England. If you do not change your mind, I will be happy to talk over our affairs whenever you are ready. I shall be waiting. 

 "'RACHEL'. 

"I turned and bolted toward a door, when Gardiner yelled:

"'Where are you going?'

"'To England, ' said I. 

"'This door, then, sir, ' said a Mexican. 

"I came back to the old man. 

"'Rokesby, ' said I, 'you have cut ten years off my life, but I forgiveyou; good-by. '

"'One thing more, Mr. Hogg; don't tell 'em at home how I went--nothingabout this last deal. '

"'Well, all right; but I'll tell Rachel, if we marry and come toAmerica. '

"'I've got lots of honest relations, and my old mother still lives, inher eighties. '

"'Well, not till after she goes, unless to save Rachel in some way. '

"'Good-by, Mr. Hogg, God bless you! and--and, little Rachel. '

"'Good-by, Mr. Rokesby. '

"The next day I left Mexico for God's country, and inside of ten dayswas on a Cunarder, eastward bound. I reached England in proper time; Ifound the proper pen in the proper train, and was deposited in theproper town, directed to the proper house, and street, and number, andhad pulled out about four yards of wire attached to the proper bell. 

"A kindly-faced old lady looked at me over her spectacles, and I asked:

"'Does Mrs. Julia Bradshaw live here?'

"'Yes, sir; that's me. '

"'Have you a young lady here named Rachel R--'

"The old lady didn't wait for me to finish the name, she just turned herhead fifteen degrees, put her open hand up beside her mouth, and shoutedupstairs:

"'Rachel! Rachel! Come down here, quick! Here's your young man fromAmerica!'"

A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S TRIP

It is all of twenty years now since the little incident happened that Iam going to tell you about. After the strike of '77, I went into exilein the wild and woolly West, mostly in "bleeding Kansas, " but often inColorado, New Mexico, and Arizona--the Santa Fé goes almost everywherein the Southwest. 

One night in August I was dropping an old Baldwin consolidator down along Mexican grade, after having helped a stock train over the divisionby double-heading. It was close and hot on this sage-brush waste, something not unusual at night in high altitudes, and the heat and sheetlightning around the horizon warned me that there was to be one of thoseshort, fierce storms that come but once or twice a year in theselatitudes, and which are known as cloudbursts. 

The alkali plains, or deserts, as they are often erroneously called, are great stretches of adobe soil, known as "dobie" by the natives. Thissoil is a yellowish brown, or perhaps more of a gray color, and as fineas flour. Water plays sad havoc with it, if the soil lies so as tooppose the flow, and it moves like dust before a slight stream. On theflat, hard-baked plains, the water makes no impression, but on arailroad grade, be it ever so slight, the tendency is to dig pitfalls. Ihave seen a little stream of water, just enough to fill the ditches oneach side of the track, take out all the dirt, and keep the ties andtrack afloat until the water was gone, then drop them into a hole eightor ten feet deep, or if the washout was short, leave them suspended, looking safe and sound, to lure some poor engineer and his mate todeath. 

Another peculiarity of these storms is that they come quickly, ragefuriously for a few minutes, and are gone, and their lines are sharplydefined. It is not uncommon to find a lot of water, or a washout, within a mile of land so dry that it looks as if it had never seen adrop of water. 

All this land is fertile when it can be brought under irrigating ditchesand watered, but here it lies out almost like a desert. It is sparselyinhabited along the little streams by a straggling off-shoot of theMexican race; yet once in a while a fine place is to be seen, like anoasis in the Sahara, the home of some old Spanish Don, with thousands ofcattle or sheep ranging on the plains, or perhaps the headquarters ofsome enterprising cattle company. But these places were few and farbetween at the time of which I write; the stations were mere passingplaces, long side-tracks, with perhaps a stock-yard and section houseonce in a while, but generally without buildings or even switch lights. 

Noting the approach of the storm, I let the heavy engine drop thefaster, hoping to reach a certain sidetrack, over twenty miles away, where there was a telegraph operator, and learn from him the conditionof the road. But the storm was faster than any consolidator thatBaldwins ever built, and as the lightning suddenly ceased and the airbecame heavy, hot, and absolutely motionless, I realized that we wouldhave the storm full upon us in a few moments. I had nothing to meet formore than thirty miles, and there was nothing behind me; so I stopped, turned the headlight up, and hung my white signal lamps down below thebuffer-beams each side of the pilot--this to enable me to see the endsof the ties and the ditch. 

Billy Howell, my fireman, and a good one, hastily went over theboiler-jacket with signal oil, to prevent rust; we donned our gum coats;I dropped a little oil on the "Mary Ann's" gudgeon's, and we proceededon our way without a word. On these big consolidators you cannot seewell ahead, past the big boiler, from the cab, and I always ran with myhead out of the side window. Both of us took this position now, standingup ready for anything; but we bowled safely along for one mile--twomiles, through the awful hush. Then, as sudden as a flash of light, "boom!" went a peal of thunder as sharp and clear as a signal gun. There was a flash of light along the rails, the surface of the desertseemed to break out here and there with little fitful jets ofgreenish-blue flame, and from every side came the answering reports fromthe batteries of heaven, like sister gunboats answering a salute. Therain fell in torrents, yes, in sheets. I have never, before or since, seen such a grand and fantastic display of fireworks, nor heard suchrivalry of cannonade. I stopped my engine, and looked with awe andinterest at this angry fit of nature, watched the balls of fire playalong the ground, and realized for the first time what a sight was anelectric storm. 

As the storm commenced at the signal of a mighty peal of thunder, so itended as suddenly at the same signal; the rain changed in an instantfrom a torrent to a gentle shower, the lightning went out, the batteriesceased their firing, the breeze commenced to blow gently, the air waspurified. Again we heard the signal peal of thunder, but it seemed agreat way off, as if the piece was hurrying away to a more urgentquarter. The gentle shower ceased, the black clouds were torn asunderoverhead; invisible hands seemed to snatch a gray veil of fleecy cloudsfrom the face of the harvest moon, and it shone out as clear and sereneas before the storm. The ditches on each side of the track were halffull of water, ties were floating along in them, but the track seemedsafe and sound, and we proceeded cautiously on our way. Within two milesthe road turned to the West, and here we found the water in the ditchesrunning through dry soil, carrying dead grass and twigs of sage upon itssurface; we passed the head of the flood, tumbling along through the dryditches as dirty as it well could be, and fast soaking into the soil;and then we passed beyond the line of the storm entirely. 

Billy put up his seat and filled his pipe, and I sat down and absorbed asandwich as I urged my engine ahead to make up for lost time; we took upour routine of work just where we had left it, and--life was the sameold song. It was past midnight now, and as I never did a great deal oftalking on an engine, I settled down to watching the rails ahead, andwondering if the knuckle-joints would pound the rods off the pins beforewe got to the end of the division. 

[Illustration: "'Mexican, ' said I. "]

Billy, with his eyes on the track ahead, was smoking his second pipe andhumming a tune, and the "Mary Ann" was making about forty miles an hour, but doing more rolling and pitching and jumping up and down than aneight-wheeler would at sixty. All at once I discerned something awaydown the track where the rails seemed to meet. The moon had gone behinda cloud, and the headlight gave a better view and penetrated further. Billy saw it, too, for he took his pipe out of his mouth, and with hiseyes still upon it, said laconically, as was his wont: "Cow. "

"Yes, " said I, closing the throttle and dropping the lever ahead. 

"Man, " said Billy, as the shape seemed to assume a perpendicularposition. 

"Yes, " said I, reaching for the three-way cock, and applying the tenderbrake, without thinking what I did. 

"Woman, " said Billy, as the shape was seen to wear skirts, or at leastdrapery. 

"Mexican, " said I, as I noted the mantilla over the head. We were fastnearing the object. 

"No, " said Billy, "too well built. "

I don't know what he judged by; we could not see the face, for it wasturned away from us; but the form was plainly that of a comely woman. She stood between the rails with her arms stretched out like a cross, her white gown fitting her figure closely. A black, shawl-like mantillawas over the head, partly concealing her face; her right foot was uponthe left-hand rail. She stood perfectly still. We were within fifty feetof her, and our speed was reduced to half, when Billy said sharply:"Hold her, John--for God's sake!"

But I had the "Mary Ann" in the back motion before the words left hismouth, and was choking her on sand. Billy leaned upon the boiler-headand pulled the whistle-cord, but the white figure did not move. I shutmy eyes as we passed the spot where she had stood. We got stopped a rodor two beyond. I took the white light in the tank and sprang to theground. Billy lit the torch, and followed me with haste. The form stillstood upon the track just where we had first seen it; but it faced usand the arms were folded. I confess to hurrying slowly until Billycaught up with the torch, which he held over his head. 

"Good evening, señors, " said the apparition, in very sweet English, justtinged with the Castilian accent, but she spoke as if nearly exhausted. 

"Good gracious, " said I, "whatever brought you away out here, and hadn'tyou just as lief shoot a man as scare him to death?"

She laughed very sweetly, and said: "The washout brought me just here, and I fancy it was lucky for you--both of you. "

"Washout?" said I. "Where?"

"At the dry bridge beyond. "

Well, to make a long story short, we took her on the engine--she was wetthrough--and went on to the dry bridge. This was a little woodenstructure in a sag, about a mile away, and we found that the storm wehad encountered farther back had done bad work at each end of thebridge. We did not cross that night, but after placing signals wellbehind us and ahead of the washout, we waited until morning, the threeof us sitting in the cab of the "Mary Ann, " chatting as if we were oldacquaintances. 

This young girl, whose fortunes had been so strangely cast with ours, was the daughter of Señor Juan Arboles, a rich old Spanish Don who owneda fine place and immense herds of sheep over on the Rio Pecos, some tenmiles west of the road. She was being educated in some Catholic schoolor convent at Trinidad, and had the evening before alighted at the bigcorrals, a few miles below, where she was met by one of her father'sMexican rancheros, who led her saddle broncho. They had started on theirfifteen-mile ride in the cool of the evening, and following the roadback for a few miles were just striking off toward the distant hedge ofcotton woods that lined the little stream by her home when the stormcame upon them. 

There was a lone pine tree hardly larger than a bush about a half-milefrom the track, and riding to this, the girl, whose name was Josephine, had dismounted to seek its scant protection, while the herder tried tohold the frightened horses. As peal on peal of thunder resounded and theelectric lights of nature played tag over the plain, the horses becamemore and more unmanageable and at last stampeded, with old Paz mutteringMexican curses and chasing after them wildly. 

After the storm passed, Josephine waited in vain for Paz and thebronchos, and then debated whether she should walk toward her home orback to the corrals. In either direction the distance was long, and theadobe soil is very tenacious when wet, and the wayfarer needs greatstrength to carry the load it imposes on the feet. As she stood there, thinking what it was best to do, a sound came to her ears from thedirection of the timber and home, which she recognized in an instant, and without waiting to debate further, she turned and ran with all herstrength, not toward her home, but away from it. Across the waste ofstunted sage she sped, the cool breeze upon her face, every musclestrained to its utmost. Nearer and nearer came the sound; the deep, regular bay of the timber wolf. These animals are large and fierce; theydo not go in packs, like the smaller and more cowardly breeds of wolves, but in pairs, or, at most, six together. A pair of them will attack aman even when he is mounted, and lucky is he if he is well armed andcool enough to despatch one before it fastens its fangs in his horse'sthroat or his own thigh. 

As the brave girl ran, she cast about for some means of escape or placeof refuge. She decided to run to the railroad track and climb atelegraph pole--a feat which, owing to her free life on the ranch, shewas perfectly capable of. Once up the pole, she could rest on thecross-tree, in perfect safety from the wolves, and she would be sure tobe seen and rescued by the first train that came along after daybreak. 

She approached the track over perfectly dry ground. To reach thetelegraph poles, she sprang nimbly into the ditch; and as she did so, she saw a stream of water coming rapidly toward her--it was the front ofthe flood. The ditch on the opposite side of the track, which she mustalso cross to reach the line of poles, she found already full-flooded. She decided to run up the track, between the walls of water. This wouldput a ten-foot stream between her and her pursuers, and change hercourse enough, she hoped, to throw them off the scent. In this designshe was partly successful, for the bay of the wolves showed that theywere going to the track as she had gone, instead of cutting straightacross toward her. Thus she gained considerable time. She reached thelittle arroyo spanned by the dry bridge; it was like a mill-pond, andthe track was afloat. She ran across the bridge; she scarcely slackenedspeed, although the ties rocked and moved on the spike-heads holdingthem to the rails. 

She hoped for a moment that the wolves would not venture to follow herover such a way; but their hideous voices were still in her ear and camenearer and nearer. Then there came to her, faintly, another, a strange, metallic sound. What was it? Where was it? She ran on tiptoe a few pacesin order to hear it better; it was in the rails--the vibration of atrain in motion. Then there came into view a light--a headlight; but itwas so far away, so very far, and that awful baying so close! The "MaryAnn, " however, was fleeter of foot than the wolves; the light grew bigand bright and the sound of working machinery came to the girl on thebreeze. 

Would they stop for her? Could she make them see her? Then she thoughtof the bridge. It was death for them as well as for her--they _must_ seeher. She resolved to stay on the track until they whistled her off; butnow the light seemed to come so slow. A splash at her side caused her toturn her head, and there, a dozen feet away, were her pursuers, theirtongues out, their eyes shining like balls of fire. They were justentering the water to come across to her. They fascinated her by theirvery fierceness. Forgetting where she was for the instant, she stareddumbly at them until called to life and action by a scream from thelocomotive's whistle. Then she sprang from the track just in the nick oftime. She actually laughed as she saw two grayish-white wolf-tails bobhere and there among the sage brush, as the wolves took flight at sightof the engine. 

This was the story she told as she dried her garments before the furnacedoor, and I confess to holding this cool, self-reliant girl in highadmiration. She never once thought of fainting; but along toward morningshe did say that she was scared then at thinking of it. 

Early in the morning a party of herders, with Josephine's father ahead, rode into sight. They were hunting for her. Josephine got up on thetender to attract their attention, and soon she was in her father'sarms. Her frightened pony had gone home as fast as his legs would carryhim, and a relief party swam their horses at the ford and rode forwardat once. 

The old Don was profuse in his thanks, and would not leave us untilBilly and I had agreed to visit his ranch and enjoy a hunt with him, andactually set a date when we should meet him at the big corral. I wanteda rest anyway, and it was perfectly plain that Billy was beyond hisdepth in love with the girl at first sight; so we were not hard topersuade when she added her voice to her father's. 

Early in September Billy and I dropped off No. 1 with our guns and"plunder, " as baggage is called there, and a couple of the old Don's menmet us with saddle and pack animals. I never spent a pleasanter twoweeks in my life. The quiet, almost gloomy, old Don and I became fastfriends, and the hunting was good. The Don was a Spaniard, butJosephine's mother had been a Mexican woman, and one noted for herbeauty. She had been dead some years at the time of our visit. Billydevoted most of his time to the girl. They were a fine looking youngcouple, he being strong and broad-shouldered, with laughing blue eyesand light curly hair, she slender and perfect in outline, with a typicalSouthern complexion, black eyes--and such eyes they were--and hair andeyebrows like the raven's wing. 

A few days before Billy and I were booked to resume our duties on thedeck of the "Mary Ann, " Miss Josephine took my arm and walked me downthe yard and pumped me quietly about "Mr. Howell, " as she called Billy. She went into details a little, and I answered all questions as best Icould. All I said was in the young man's favor--it could not, in truth, be otherwise. Josephine seemed satisfied and pleased. 

When we got back to headquarters, I was given the care of a cold-waterHinkley, with a row of varnished cars behind her, and Billy fell heir tothe rudder of the "Mary Ann. " We still roomed together. Billy put inmost of his lay-over time writing long letters to somebody, and everyThursday, as regular as a clock, one came for him, with a censor's markon it. Often after reading the letter, Billy would say: "That girl hasmore horse sense than the rest of the whole female race--she don't slopover worth a cent. " He invariably spoke of her as "my Mexican girl, " andoften asked my opinion about white men intermarrying with that mongrelrace. Sometimes he said that his mother would go crazy if he married aMexican, his father would disown him, and his brother Henry--well, Billydid not like to think just what revenge Henry would take. Billy's fatherwas manager of an Eastern road, and his brother was assistant to thefirst vice-president, and Billy looked up to the latter as a great manand a sage. He himself was in the West for practical experience in themachinery department, and to get rid of a slight tendency to asthma. Hecould have gone East any time and "been somebody" on the road under hisfather. 

Finally, Billy missed a week in writing. At once there was a cog gonefrom the answering wheel to match. Billy shortened his letters; theanswers were shortened. Then he quit writing, and his Thursday letterceased to come. He had thought the matter all over, and decided, nodoubt, that he was doing what was best--both for himself and the girl;that his family's high ideas should not be outraged by a Mexicanmarriage. He had put a piece of flesh-colored court-plaster over hiswound, not healed it. 

Early in the winter the old Don wrote, urging us to come down and huntantelope, but Billy declined to go--said that the road needed him, andthat Josephine might come home from school and this would make them bothuncomfortable. But Henry, his older brother, was visiting him, and hesuggested that I take Henry; he would enjoy the hunt, and it would helphim drown his sorrow over the loss of his aristocratic young wife, whohad died a year or two before. So Henry went with me, and we huntedantelope until we tired of the slaughter. Then the old Don planned adeer-hunting trip in the mountains, but I had to go back to work, andleft Henry and the old Don to take the trip without me. While they werein the mountains, Josephine came home, and Henry Howell's staylengthened out to a month. But I did not know until long afterward thatthe two had met. 

Billy was pretty quiet all winter, worked hard and went out butlittle--he was thinking about something. One day I came home and foundhim writing a letter. "What now, Billy?" I asked. 

"Writing to my Mexican girl, " said he. 

"I thought you had got over that a long time ago?"

"So did I, but I hadn't. I've been trying to please somebody elsebesides myself in this matter, and I'm done. I'm going to work for Billnow. "

"Take an old man's advice, Billy, and don't write that girl a line--goand see her. "

"Oh, I can fix it all right by letter, and then run down there and seeher. "

"Don't do it. "

"I'll risk it. "

A week later Billy and I sat on the veranda of the company'shash-foundry, figuring up our time and smoking our cob meerschaums, when one of the boys who had been to the office, placed two letters inBilly's hands. One of them was directed in the handwriting that used tobe on the old Thursday letters. Billy tore it open eagerly--and his ownletter to Josephine dropped into his hand. Billy looked at the groundsteadily for five minutes, and I pretended not to have seen. Finally hesaid, half to himself: "You were right, I ought to have gone myself--butI'll go now, go to-morrow. " Then he opened the other letter. 

He read its single page with manifest interest, and when his eyesreached the last line they went straight on, and looked at the ground, and continued to do so for fully five minutes. Without looking up, hesaid: "John, I want you to do me two favors. "

"All right, " said I. 

Still keeping his eyes on the ground, he said, slowly, as if measuringeverything well: "I'm going up and draw my time, and will leave for OldMexico on No. 4 to-night. I want you to write to both these parties andtell them that I have gone there and that you have forwarded both theseletters. Don't tell 'em that I went after reading 'em. "

"And the other favor, Billy?"

"Read this letter, and see me off to-night. "

The letter read:

 "Philadelphia, May 1, 1879. 

 "DEAR BROTHER WILL: I want you and Mr. A. To go down to Don Juan Arboles's by the first of June. I will be there then. You must be my best man, as I stand up to marry the sweetest, dearest wild-flower of a woman that ever bloomed in a land of beauty. Don't fail me. Josephine will like you for my sake, and you will love her for your brother. 

 HENRY. "

Most engineers' lives are busy ones and full of accident and incident, and having my full share of both, I had almost forgotten all thesepoints about Billy Howell and his Mexican girl, when they were allrecalled by a letter from Billy himself. With his letter was aphotograph of a family group--a be-whiskered man of thirty-five, agood-looking woman of twenty, but undoubtedly a Mexican, and acurly-headed baby, perhaps a year old. The letter ran:

 "City of Mexico, July 21, 1890. 

 "DEAR OLD JOHN: I had lost you, and thought that perhaps you had gone over to the majority, until I saw your name and recognized your quill in a story. Write to me; am doing well. I send you a photograph of all there are of the Howell outfit. _No half-breeds for your uncle this time. _

 "WM. HOWELL. "

THE POLAR ZONE

Very few of my friends know me for a seafaring man, but I sailed thesalt seas, man and boy, for nine months and eighteen days, and I knowjust as much about sailing the hereinbefore mentioned salt seas as Iever want to. 

Ever so long ago, when I was young and tender, I used to have fits ofwanting to go into business for myself. Along about the front edge ofthe seventies, pay for "toting" people and truck over the easternrailroads of New England was not of sufficient plenitude to worry a manas to how he would invest his pay check--it was usually invested beforehe got it. One of my periodical fits of wanting to go into business formyself came on suddenly one day, when I got home and found another babyin the house. I was right in the very worst spasms of it when mybrother Enoch, whom I hadn't seen for seventeen years, walked in on me. 

Enoch was fool enough to run away to sea when he was twelve years old--Isuppose he was afraid he would get the chance to do something besideswhaling. We were born down New Bedford way, where another boy and myselfwere the only two fellows in the district, for over forty years, whodidn't go hunting whales, icebergs, foul smells, and scurvy, up in KingFrost's bailiwick, just south of the Pole. 

Enoch had been captain and part owner of a Pacific whaler; she hadrecently burned at Honolulu, and he was back home now to buy a new ship. He had heard that I, his little brother John, was the best locomotiveengineer in the whole world, and had come to see me--partly on accountof relationship, but more to get my advice about buying a steamwhaling-ship. Enoch knew more about whales and ships and such thingsthan you could put down in a book, but he had no more idea _how_ steampropelled a ship than I had what a "skivvie tricer" was. 

Well, before the week was out, Enoch showed me that he was pretty wellfixed in a financial way, and as he had no kin but me that he caredabout, he offered me an interest in his new steam whaler, if I would goas chief engineer with her to the North Pacific. 

The terms were liberal and the chance a good one, so it seemed, andafter a good many consultations, my wife agreed to let me go for _one_cruise. She asked about the stops to be made in going around the Horn, and figured mentally a little after each place was named--I believe now, she half expected that I would desert the ship and walk home from one ofthese spots, and was figuring on the time it would take me. 

When the robins were building their nests, the new steam whaler, "Champion, " left New Bedford for parts unknown (_via_ the Horn), withthe sea-sickest chief engineer that ever smelt fish oil. The steam plantwasn't very much--two boilers and a plain twenty-eight by thirty-sixdouble engine, and any amount of hoisting rigs, blubber boilers, andother paraphernalia. We refitted in San Francisco, and on a clear summermorning turned the white-painted figurehead of the "Champion" toward thenorth and stood out for Behring sea. But, while we lay at the mouth ofthe Yukon river, up in Alaska, getting ready for a sally into the realmof water above the Straits, a whaler, bound for San Francisco and home, dropped anchor near us, the homesickness struck in on me, and--nevermind the details now--your Uncle John came home without any whales, andwas mighty glad to get on the extra list of the old road. 

The story I want to tell, however, is another man's story, and it waswhile lying in the Yukon that I heard it. I was deeply impressed with itat the time, and meant to give it to the world as soon as I got home, for I set it all down plain then, but I lost my diary, and half forgotthe story--who wouldn't forget a story when he had to make two hundredand ten miles a day on a locomotive and had five children at home? Butnow, after twenty years, my wife turns up that old diary in the garretthis spring while house-cleaning. Fred had it and an old Fourth-of-Julycannon put away in an ancient valise, as a boy will treasure up uselessthings. 

Under the head of October 12th, I find this entry:

"At anchor in Yukon river, weather fair, recent heavy rains; set outpacking and filed main-rod brasses of both engines. Settled with Enochto go home on first ship bound south. Demented white man brought onboard by Indians, put in my cabin. "

In the next day's record there appears the following: "Watched besidesick man all night; in intervals of sanity he tells a strange story, which I will write down to-day. "

The 14th has the following:

"Wrote out story of stranger. See the back of this book. "

And at the back of the book, written on paper cut from an old log of the"Champion, " is the story that now, more than twenty-five years later, Itell you here:

On the evening of the 12th, I went on deck to smoke and think of home, after a hard day's work getting the engines in shape for a siege. Theship was very quiet, half the crew being ashore, and some of the resthaving gone in the boat with Captain Enoch to the "Enchantress, "homeward bound and lying about half a mile below us. I am glad to saythat Enoch's principal business aboard the "Enchantress" is to get mepassage to San Francisco. I despise this kind of dreariness--rather bein state prison near the folks. 

I sat on the rail, just abaft the stack, watching some natives handletheir big canoes, when a smaller one came alongside. I noticed that oneof the occupants lay at full length in the frail craft, but paid littleattention until the canoe touched our side. Then the bundle of skins andIndian clothes bounded up, almost screamed, "At last!" made a spring atthe stays, missed them, and fell with a loud splash into the water. 

The Indians rescued him at once, and in a few seconds he lay like onedead on the deck. I saw at a glance that the stranger in Indian clotheswas a white man and an American. 

A pretty stiff dram of liquor brought him to slightly. He opened hiseyes, looked up at the rigging, and closing his eyes, he murmured:"Thank God!--'Frisco--Polaria!"

I had him undressed and put into my berth. He was shaking as with anague, and when his clothes were off we plainly saw the reason--he was askeleton, starving. I went on deck at once to make some inquiry of theIndians about our strange visitor, but their boat was just disappearingin the twilight. 

The man gained strength, as we gave him nourishment in small, frequentdoses, and talked in a disjointed way of everything under the sun. I satwith him all night. Toward morning he seemed to sleep longer at a time, and in the afternoon of yesterday fell into a deep slumber, from whichhe did not waken for nearly twenty hours. 

When he did waken, he took nourishment in larger quantities, and thenwent off into another long sleep. The look of pain on his face lessened, a healthy glow appeared on his cheek, and he slept so soundly that Iturned in--on the floor. 

I was awake along in the small hours of the morning, and heard mypatient stirring, so I got up and drew the little curtain over thebulls-eye port--it was already daylight. I gave him a drink and abiscuit, and told him I would go to the cook's galley and get him somebroth, but he begged to wait until breakfast time--said he feltrefreshed, and would just nibble a sea biscuit. Then he ate a dozen inas many minutes. 

"Did you take care of my pack?" he said eagerly, throwing his legs outof the berth, and looking wildly at me. 

"Yes, it's all right; lie down and rest, " said I; for I thought that tocross him would set him off his head again. 

"Do you know that dirty old pack contains more treasures than the minesof Africa?"

"It don't look it, " I answered, and laughed to get him in a pleasantframe of mind--for I hadn't seen nor heard of his pack. 

"Not for the little gold and other valuable things, but the proofs of adiscovery as great as Columbus made, the discovery of a new continent, a new people, a new language, a new civilization, and riches beyond thedreams of a Solomon--"

He shut his eyes for a minute, and then continued: "But beyondPurgatory, through Death, and the other side of Hell--"

Just here Enoch came in to inquire after his health, and sat down for aminute's chat. Enoch is first, last, and all the time captain of awhaler; he knows about whales and whale-hunters just as an engineer onthe road knows every speck of scenery along the line, every man, andevery engine. Enoch couldn't talk ten minutes without being "reminded"of an incident in his whaling life; couldn't meet a whaleman without"yarning" about the whale business. He lit his pipe and asked: "Beenwhaling, or hunting the North Pole?"

"Well, both. "

"What ship?"

"The 'Duncan McDonald. '"

"The--the 'McDonald!'--why, man, we counted her lost these five years;tell me about her, quick. Old Chuck Burrows was a particular friend ofmine--where is he?"

"Captain, Father Burrows and the 'Duncan McDonald' have both gone overthe unknown ocean to the port of missing ships. "

"Sunk?"

"Aye, and crushed to atoms in a frozen hell. "

Enoch looked out of the little window for a long time, forgot his pipe, and at last wiped a tear out of his eye, saying, as much to himself asto us: "George Burrows made me first mate of the first ship he eversailed. She was named for his mother, and we left her in the ice away upabout the seventy-third parallel. He was made of the salt of theearth--a sailor and a nobleman. But he was a dare-devil--didn't knowfear--and was always venturing where none of the rest of us would darego. He bought the 'McDonald, ' remodeled and refitted her after he gotback from the war--she was more than a whaler, and I had a feeling thatshe would carry Burrows and his crew away forever--"

Eight bells rung just here, and Enoch left us, first ordering breakfastfor the stranger, and saying he would come back to hear the rest afterbreakfast. 

As I was going out, a sailor came to the door with a flat package, perhaps six inches thick and twelve or fourteen square, covered with adirty piece of skin made from the intestines of a whale, which is usedby the natives of this clime because it is light and water-proof. 

"We found this in a coil of rope, sir; it must belong to him. It must bemostly lead. "

It was heavy, and I set it inside the door, remarking that here was hisprecious pack. 

"Precious! aye, aye, sir; precious don't describe it. Sacred, that's theword. That package will cause more excitement in the world than thediscovery of gold in California. This is the first time it's been out ofmy sight or feeling for months and months; put it in the bunk here, please. "

I went away, leaving him with his arms around his "sacred" package. 

After breakfast, Enoch and I went to the little cabin to hear thestranger's story, and I, for one, confess to a great deal of curiosity. Our visitor was swallowing his last bowl of coffee as we went in. "Soyou knew Captain Burrows and the 'Duncan McDonald, '" said he. "Let mesee, what is your name?"

"Alexander, captain of the 'Champion, ' at your service, sir. "

"Alexander; you're not the first mate, Enoch Alexander, who sat on adead whale all night, holding on to a lance staff, after losing yourboat and crew?"

"The same. "

"Why, I've heard Captain Burrows speak of you a thousand times. "

"But you were going to tell us about the 'Duncan McDonald. ' Tell us thewhole cruise from stem to stern. "

"Let's see, where shall I begin?"

"At the very beginning, " I put in. 

"Well, perhaps you've noticed, and perhaps you have not, but I'm not asailor by inclination or experience. I accidentally went out on the'Duncan McDonald. ' How old would you take me to be?"

"Fifty or fifty-five, " said Enoch. 

"Thanks, captain, I know I must look all of that; but, let me see, forty-five, fifty-five, sixty-five, seventy--seventy--what year isthis?"

"Seventy-three. "

"Seventy-three. Well, I'm only twenty-eight now. "

"Impossible! Why, man, you're as gray as I am, and I'm twice that. "

"I was born in forty-five, just the same. My father was a sea captain inthe old clipper days, and a long time after. He was in the West Indiatrade when the war broke out, and as he had been educated in the navy, enlisted at once. It was on one of the gunboats before Vicksburg that hewas killed. My mother came of a well-to-do family of merchants, theClarks of Boston, and--to make a long story short--died in sixty-six, leaving me considerable money. 

"An itching to travel, plenty of money, my majority, and no ties athome, sent me away from college to roam, and so one spring morning insixty-seven found me sitting lazily in the stern of a little pleasureboat off Fort Point in the Golden Gate, listlessly watching a steamwhaler come in from the Pacific. My boatman called my attention to her, remarking that she was spick-and-span new, and the biggest one he eversaw, but I took very little notice of the ship until in tacking acrossher wake, I noticed her name in gold letters across the stern--'DuncanMcDonald. ' Now that is my own name, and was my father's; and try as Iwould, I could not account for this name as a coincidence, common as thename might be in the highlands of the home of my ancestors; and beforethe staunch little steamer had gotten a mile away, I ordered the boat tofollow her. I intended to go aboard and learn, if possible, something ofhow her name originated. 

"As she swung at anchor, off Goat island, I ran my little boat alongsideof her and asked for a rope. 'Rope?' inquired a Yankee sailor, stickinghis nose and a clay pipe overboard; 'might you be wantin' to comeaboard?'

"'Yes, I want to see the captain. '

"'Well, the cap'en's jest gone ashore; his dingy is yonder now, enemostto the landin'. You come out this evenin'. The cap'en's particular aboutstrangers, but he's always to home of an evenin'. '

"'Who's this boat named after?'

"'The Lord knows, stranger; I don't. But I reckon the cap'en ken tell;he built her. '

"I left word that I would call in the evening, and at eight o'clock wasalongside again. This time I was assisted on board and shown to the doorof the captain's cabin; the sailor knocked and went away. It was a fullminute, I stood there before the knock was answered, and then from theinside, in a voice like the roar of a bull, came the call: 'Well, comein!'

"I opened the door on a scene I shall never forget. A bright light swungfrom the beams above, and under it sat a giant of the sea--CaptainBurrows. He had the index finger of his right hand resting near theNorth Pole of an immense globe; there were many books about, rolls ofcharts, firearms; instruments, clothing, and apparent disordereverywhere. The cabin was large, well-furnished, and had somethingstriking about it. I looked around in wonder, without saying a word. Captain Burrows was the finest-looking man I ever saw--six feet three, straight, muscular, with a pleasant face; but the keenest, steadiestblue eye you ever saw. His hair was white, but his long flowing beardhad much of the original yellow. He must have been sixty. But for allthe pleasant face and kindly eye, you would notice through his beard thebroad, square chin that proclaim the decision and staying qualities ofthe man. "

"That's George Burrows, stranger, to the queen's taste--just as good asa degerry-type, " broke in Enoch. 

"Well, " continued the stranger, "he let me look for a minute or two, andthen said: 'Was it anything particular?'

"I found my tongue then, and answered; 'I hope you'll excuse me, sir;but I must confess it is curiosity. I came on board out of curiosityto--'

"'Reporter, hey?' asked the captain. 

"'No, sir; the fact is that your ship has an unusual name, one thatinterests me, and I wish to make so bold as to ask how she came to haveit. '

"'Any patent on the name?'

"'Oh, no, but I--'

"'Well, young man, this ship--by the way, the finest whaler that wasever stuck together--is named for a friend of mine; just such a man asshe is a ship--the best of them all. '

"'Was he a sailor?'

"'Aye, aye, sir, and such a sailor. Fight! why, man, fighting was meatand drink to him--'

"'Was he a whaler?'

"'No, he wa'n't; but he was the best man I ever knew who wa'n't awhaler. He was a navy sailor, he was, and a whole ten-pound battery byhisself. Why, you jest ort to see him waltz his old tin-clad gun-boat upagin one of them reb forts--jest naturally skeered 'em half to deathbefore he commenced shooting at all. '

"'Wasn't he killed at the attack on Vicksburg?'

"'Yes, yes; you knowed him didn't you? He was a--'

"'He was my father. '

"'What? Your father?' yelled Captain Burrows, jumping up and graspingboth my hands. 'Of course he was; darn my lubberly wit that I couldn'tsee that before!' Then he hugged me as if I was a ten-year-old girl, anddanced around me like a maniac. 

"'By all the gods at once, if this don't seem like Providence--yes, sir, old man Providence himself! What are you a-doin'? When did you come outhere? Where be you goin', anyway?'

"I found my breath, and told him briefly how I was situated. 'Old manProvidence has got his hand on the tiller of this craft or I'm agrampus! Say! do you know I was wishin' and waitin' for you? Yes, sir;no more than yesterday, says I to myself, Chuck Burrows, says I, you aregettin' long too fur to the wind'ard o' sixty fur this here trip all toyourself. You ort to have young blood in this here enterprise; and thenI just clubbed myself for being a lubber and not getting married youngand havin' raised a son that I could trust. Yes, sir, jest nat'rallycussed myself from stem to stern, and never onct thought as mebbe my oldmessmate, Duncan McDonald, might 'a'done suthin' for his country aforethat day at Vicks--say! I want to give you half this ship. Mabee I'll dothe square thing and give you the whole of the tub yet. All I want isfor you to go along with me on a voyage of discovery--be my helper, secretary, partner, friend--anything. What de ye say? Say!' he yelledagain, before I could answer, 'tell ye what I'll do! Bless me if--if Idon't adopt ye; that's what I'll do. Call me pop from this out, and I'llcall you son. _Son!_' he shouted, bringing his fist down with a bang onthe table. '_Son!_ that's the stuff! By the bald-headed Abraham, whosays Chuck Burrows ain't got no kin? The "Duncan McDonald, " Burrows &Son, owners, captain, chief cook, and blubber cooker. And who the hellsays they ain't?'

"And the old captain glared around as if he defied anybody and everybodyto question the validity of the claims so excitedly made. 

"Well, gentlemen, of course there was much else said and done, but thatannouncement stood; and to the day of his death I always called thecaptain Father Burrows, and he called me 'son, ' always addressing me sowhen alone, as well as when in the company of others. I went every dayto the ship, or accompanied Father Burrows on some errand into the city, while the boat was being refitted and prepared for a three-years'cruise. 

"Every day the captain let me more and more into his plans, told meinteresting things of the North, and explained his theory of the way toreach the Pole, and what could be found there; which fascinated me. Captain Burrows had spent years in the North, had noted thatparticularly open seasons occurred in what appeared cycles of a givennumber of years, and proposed to go above the eightieth parallel andwait for an open season. That, according to his figuring, would occurthe following year. 

"I was young, vigorous, and of a venturesome spirit, and entered intoevery detail with a zest that captured the heart of the old sailor. Myeducation helped him greatly, and new books and instruments were addedto our store for use on the trip. The crew knew only that we were goingon a three-years' cruise. They had no share in the profits, but werepaid extra big wages in gold, and were expected to go to out-of-the-wayplaces and further north than usual. Captain Burrows and myself onlyknew that there was a brand-new twenty-foot silk flag rolled up inoil-skin in the cabin, and that Father Burrows had declared: 'By thehoary-headed Nebblekenizer, I'll put them stars and stripes on new land, and mighty near to the Pole, or start a butt a-trying. '

"In due course of time we were all ready, and the 'Duncan McDonald'passed out of the Golden Gate into the broad Pacific, drew her fires, and stopped her engines, reserving this force for a more urgent time. She spread her ample canvas, and stood away toward Alaska and theunknown and undiscovered beyond. 

"The days were not long for me, for they were full of study andanticipation. Long chats with the eccentric but masterful man whosefriendship and love for my father had brought us together were theentertainment and stimulus of my existence--a man who knew nothing ofscience, except that he was master of it in his own way; who knew allabout navigation, and to whom the northern seas were as familiar as thecontour of Boston Common was to me; who had more stories of whaling thanyou could find in print, and better ones than can ever be printed. 

"I learned first to respect, then to admire, and finally to love thisold salt. How many times he told me of my father's death, and how andwhen he had risked his life to save the life of Father Burrows or someof the rest of his men. As the days grew into weeks, and the weeks intomonths, Captain Burrows and myself became as one man. 

"I shall never forget the first Sunday at sea. Early in the morning Iheard the captain order the boatswain to pipe all hands to prayers. Ihad noticed nothing of a religious nature in the man, and, full ofcuriosity, went on deck with the rest. Captain Burrows took off his hatat the foot of the mainmast, and said:

"'My men, this is the first Sunday we have all met together; and as someof you are not familiar with the religious services on board the 'DuncanMcDonald, ' I will state that, as you may have noticed, I asked no manabout his belief when I employed him--I hired you to simply work thisship, not to worship God--but on Sundays it is our custom to meet herein friendship, man to man, Protestant and Catholic, Mohammedan, Buddhist, Fire-worshiper, and pagan, and look into our own hearts, worshiping God as we know him, each in his own way. If any man hascommitted any offense against his God, let him make such reparation ashe thinks will appease that God; but if any man has committed anoffense against his fellow-man, let him settle with that man now andhere, and not worry God with the details. Religion is goodness andjustice and honesty; no man needs a sky-pilot to lay a course for him, for he alone knows where the channel, and the rocks, and the bar of hisown heart are--look into your hearts. '

"Captain Burrows stood with his hat in his hand, and bowed as if inprayer, and all the old tars bowed as reverently as if the most eloquentdivine was exhorting an unseen power in their behalf. The new menfollowed the example of the old. It was just three minutes by thewheel-house clock before the captain straightened up and said 'Amen, 'and the men turned away about their tasks. 

"'Beats mumblin' your words out of a book, like a Britisher, ' said thecaptain to me; 'can't offend no man's religion, and helps every one on'em. '

"Long months after, I attended a burial service conducted in the sameway--in silence. 

"In due course of time we anchored in Norton Sound, and spent the restof the winter there; and in the spring of sixty-eight, we worked our waynorth through the ice. We passed the seventy-fifth parallel of latitudeon July 4th. During the summer we took a number of whales, storing awayas much oil as the captain thought necessary, as he only wanted it forfuel and our needs, intending to take none home to sell unless we wereunsuccessful in the line of discovery--in that event he intended to stayuntil he had a full cargo. "

Here our entertainer gave out, and had to rest; and while resting hewent to sleep, so that he did not take up his story until the next day. 

In the morning our guest expressed a desire to be taken on deck; and, dressed in warm sailor clothes, he rested his hand on my shoulder, andslowly crawled on deck and to a sheltered corner beside the captain'scabin. Here he was bundled up; and again Enoch and I sat down to listento the strange story of the wanderer. 

"I hope it won't annoy you, gentlemen, " said he, "but I can't settledown without my pack; I find myself thinking of its safety. Would youmind sending down for it?"

It was brought up, and set down beside him; he looked at it lovingly, slipped the rude strap-loop over his arm, and seemed ready to take uphis story where he left off. He began:

"I don't remember whether I told you or not, but one of the objects ofCaptain Burrows's trip was to settle something definite about thelocation of the magnetic pole, and other magnetic problems, anddetermine the cause of some of the well-known distortions of themagnetic needle. He had some odd, perhaps crude, instruments, of his owndesign, which he had caused to be constructed for this purpose, and wefound them very efficient devices in the end. Late in July, we foundmuch open water, and steamed steadily in a northwesterly course. Wewould find a great field of icebergs, then miles of floe, and then againopen water. The aurora was seen every evening, but it seemed pale andwhite. 

"Captain Burrows brought the 'Duncan McDonald's' head around to the westin open water, one fine day in early August, and cruised slowly; takinga great many observations, and hunting, as he told me, for floatingice--he was hunting for a current. For several days we kept in the openwater, but close to the ice, until one morning the captain ordered theship to stand due north across the open sea. 

"He called me into his cabin, and with a large map of the polar regionson his table, to which he often referred, he said: 'Son, I've beenhunting for a current; there's plenty of 'em in the Arctic ocean, butthe one I want ain't loafing around here. You see, son, it's currentsthat carries these icebergs and floes south; I didn't tell you, but somedays when we were in those floes, we lost as much as we gained. Weworked our way north through the floe, but not on the surface of theglobe; the floe was taking us south with it. Maybe you won't believeit, but there are currents going north in this sea; once or twice in alifetime, a whaler or passage hunter returns with a story of beingdrifted _north_--now that's what I want, I am hunting for a northerncurrent. We will go to the northern shore of this open water, be it onemile or one thousand, and there--well, hunt again. '

"Well, it was in September when we at last got to what seemed thenorthern shore of this open sea. We had to proceed very slowly, as therewere almost daily fogs and occasional snow-storms; but one morning theship rounded to, almost under the shadow of what seemed to be a gianticeberg. Captain Burrows came on deck, rubbing his hands in glee. 

"'Son, ' said he, 'that is no iceberg; that's ancient ice, perpetual ice, the great ice-ring--palæcrystic ice, you scientific fellows call it. Isaw it once before, in thirty-seven, when a boy; that's it, and, son, beyond that there is something. Take notice that that is ice; clear, glary ice. You know a so-called iceberg is really a snowberg; it'sthree-fourths under water. Now, it may be possible that, that being icewhich will float more than half out of water, the northern currents maygo under it--but I don't believe it. Under or over, I am going to findone of 'em, if it takes till doomsday. '

[Illustration: "What seemed to be a giant iceberg.... "]

"We sailed west, around close to this great wall of ice, for two weeks, without seeing any evidence of a current of any kind, until there cameon a storm from the northwest that drove a great deal of ice around thegreat ring; but it seemed to keep rather clear of the great wall of iceand to go off in a tangent toward the south. The lead showed no bottomat one hundred fathoms, even within a quarter of a mile of the ice. 

"It was getting late in the season, the mercury often going down tofifteen below zero, and every night the aurora became brighter. Wesailed slowly around the open water, and finally found a place where thesheer precipice of ice disappeared and the shore sloped down tosomething like a beach. Putting out a sea-anchor, the 'Duncan McDonald'kept within a half-a-mile of this icy shore. The captain had determinedto land and survey the place, which far away back seemed to terminate inmountain peaks of ice. 

"That night the captain and I sat on the rail of our ship, talking overthe plans for to-morrow's expedition, when the ship slowly but steadilyswung around her stern to the mountain of ice--the engines had beenmoving slowly to keep her head to the wind. Captain Burrows jumped tohis feet in joy. 'A current!' he shouted; 'a current, and toward thenorth, too--old man Providence again, son; he allus takes care of hisown!'

"Some staves were thrown overboard, and, sure enough, they floatedtoward the ice; but there was no evidence of an opening in the mightyring, and I remarked to Captain Burrows that the current evidently wentunder the ice. 

"'It looks like it did, son; it looks like it did; but if it goes under, we will go over. '

"After we had taken a few hours of sleep, the long-boat landed ourlittle party of five men and seven dogs. We had food and drink for a twoweeks' trip, were well armed, and carried some of our instruments. Itappeared to be five or six miles to the top of the mountain, but itproved more than thirty. We were five days in getting there, and did soonly after a dozen adventures that I will tell you at another time. 

"We soon began to find stones and dirt in the ice, and before we hadgone ten miles, found the frozen carcass of an immense mastodon--itsgreat tusks only showing above the level; but its huge, woolly bodyquite plainly visible in the ice. The ice was melting, and there weremany streams running towards the open water. It was warmer as weproceeded. Dirt and rocks became the rule, instead of the exception, andwe were often obliged to go around a great boulder of granite. While wewere resting, on the third day, for a bite to eat, one of the men took adish, scooped up some sand from the bottom of the icy stream, and'panned' it out. There was gold in it: gold enough to pay to work theground. About noon of the fifth day, we reached the summit of themountain, and from there looked down the other side--upon a sight thelike of which no white men had ever seen before. 

"From the very summits of this icy-ring mountain the northern side was asheer precipice of more than three thousand feet, and was composed ofrocks, and rocks only, the foot of the mighty crags being washed by anopen ocean; and this was lighted up by a peculiar crimson glow. Greatwhite whales sported in the waters; huge sea-birds hung in circles highin the air; yet below us, and with our glasses, we could see, on therocks at the foot of the crags, seals and some other animals that werestrange to us. But follow the line of beetling crags and mountain peakswhere you would, the northern side presented a solid blank wall of awfulrocks, in many places the summit overhanging and the shore well under inthe mighty shadow. Nothing that any of us had ever seen in nature beforewas so impressive, so awful. We started on our return, after a couple ofhours of the awe-inspiring sight beyond the great ring, and for full twohours not a man spoke. 

"'Father Burrows, ' said I, 'what do you think that is back there?'

"'No man knows, my son, and it will devolve on you and me to name it;but we won't unless we get to it and can take back proofs. '

"'Do you think we could get down the other side?'

"'No, I don't think so, and we seem to have struck it in the lowest spotin sight. I'd give ten years of my life if the 'Duncan McDonald' wasover there in that duck pond. '

"'Captain, ' said Eli Jeffries, the second mate, 'do you know what I'vebeen thinkin'? I believe that 'ere water we seen is an open passage fromthe Behring side of the frozen ocean over agin' some of them 'ereRoosian straits. If we could get round to the end of it, we'd sail rightthrough the great Northwest Passage. '

"'You don't think there is land over there somewhere?'

"'Nope. '

"'Didn't take notice that the face of your "passage" was granite orquartz rocks, hey? Didn't notice all them animals and birds, hey?--'

"'Look out!' yelled the man ahead with the dog-sledge. 

"A strange, whirring noise was heard in the foggy light, that soundedover our heads. We all dropped to the ground, and the noise increased, until a big flock of huge birds passed over us in rapid flight north. There must have been thousands of them. Captain Burrows brought hisshot-gun to his shoulder and fired. There were some wild screams in theair, and a bird came down to the ice with a loud thud. It looked verylarge a hundred feet away, but sight is very deceiving in this whitecountry in the semi-darkness. We found it a species of duck, ratherlarge and with gorgeous plumage. 

"'Goin' north, to Eli's "passage" to lay her eggs on the ice, ' said thecaptain, half sarcastically. 

"We reached the ship in safety, and the captain and I spent long hoursin trying to form some plan for getting beyond the great ice-ring. 

"'If it's warm up there, and everything that we've seen says it is, allthis cold water that's going north gets warm and goes out some place;and rest you, son, wherever it goes out, there's a hole in the ice. '

"Here we were interrupted by the mate, who said that there were queerthings going on overhead, and some of the sailors were ready to mutinyunless the return trip was commenced. Captain Burrows went on deck atonce, and you may be sure I followed at his heels. 

"'What's wrong here?' demanded the captain, in his roaring tone, stepping into the midst of the crew. 

"'A judgment against this pryin' into God's secrets, sir, ' said anEnglish sailor, in an awe-struck voice. 'Look at the signs, sir, 'pointing overhead. 

"Captain Burrows and I both looked over our heads, and there saw animpressive sight, indeed. A vast colored map of an unknown world hung inthe clouds over us--a mirage from the aurora. It looked very near, andwas so distinct that we could distinguish polar bears on the ice-crags. One man insisted that the mainmast almost touched one snowy peak, andmost of them actually believed that it was an inverted part of someworld, slowly coming down to crush us. Captain Burrows looked forseveral minutes before he spoke. Then he said: 'My men, this is thegrandest proof of all that Providence is helping us. This thing that yousee is only a picture; it's a mirage, the reflection of a portion of theearth on the sky. Just look, and you will see that it's in the shape ofa crescent, and we are almost in the center of it; and, I tell you, it'sa picture of the country just in front of us. See this peak? See thatlow place where we went up? There is the great wall we saw, the open seabeyond it, and, bless me, if it don't look like something green over inthe middle of that ocean! See, here is the "Duncan McDonald, " as plainas A, B, C, right overhead. Now, there's nothing to be afraid of inthat; if it's a warning, it's a good one--and if any one wants to gohome to his mother's, and is old enough, _he can walk_!'

[Illustration: "A white city ... Was visible for an instant. "]

"The captain looked around, but the sailors were as cool as he was--theywere reassured by his honest explanation. Then he took me by the arm, and, pointing to the painting in the sky, said: 'Old man Providenceagain, son, sure as you are born; do you see that lane through the greatring? There's an open, fairly straight passage to the inner ocean, except that it's closed by about three miles of ice on our side; see itthere, on the port side?'

"Yes, I could see it, but I asked Captain Burrows how he could accountfor the open passages beyond and the wall of ice in front; it was coldwater going in. 

"'It's strange, ' he answered, shading his eye with his hand, and lookinglong at the picture of the clear passage, like a great canal between thebeetling cliffs. All at once, he grasped my arm and said in excitement, pointing towards the outer end of the passage: 'Look!'

"As I looked at the mirage again, the great mass of ice in frontcommenced to slowly turn over, outwardly. 

"'It's an iceberg, sir, only an iceberg!' said the captain, excitedly, 'and she is just holding that passage because the current keeps her upagainst the hole; now, she will wear out some day, and then--in goes the"Duncan McDonald"!'

"'But there are others to take its place, ' and I pointed to three otherbergs, apparently some twenty miles away, plainly shown in the sky;'they are the reinforcements to hold the passage. '

"'Looks that way, son, but by the great American buzzard, we'll get inthere somehow, if we have to blow that berg up. '

"As we looked, the picture commenced to disappear, not fade, but to gooff to one side, just as a picture leaves the screen of a magic lantern. Over the inner ocean there appeared dark clouds; but this part wasvisible last, and the clouds seemed to break at the last moment, and awhite city, set in green fields and forests, was visible for an instant, a great golden dome in the center remaining in view after the rest ofthe city was invisible. 

"'A rainbow of promise, son, ' said the captain. 

"I looked around. The others had grown tired of looking, and were gone. Captain Burrows and myself were the only ones that saw the city. 

"We got under way for an hour, and then stood by near the berg untileight bells the next morning; but you must remember it was half dark allthe time up there then. While Captain Burrows and myself were atbreakfast, he cudgeled his brains over ways and means for moving thatice, or preventing other bergs from taking its place. When we went ondeck, our berg was some distance from the mouth of the passage, andsteadily floating away. Captain Burrows steamed the ship cautiously uptoward the passage; there was a steady current coming out. 

"'I reckon, ' said Eli Jeffries, 'they must have a six-months' ebb andflow up in that ocean. '

"'If that's the case, said Captain Burrows, 'the sooner we get in, thebetter;' and he ordered the 'Duncan McDonald' into the breach in theworld of ice. 

"Gentlemen, suffice it to say that we found that passage perfectlyclear, and wider as we proceeded. This we did slowly, keeping the leadgoing constantly. The first mate reported the needle of the compassworking curiously, dipping down hard, and sparking--something he hadnever seen. Captain Burrows only said: 'Let her spark!'

"As we approached the inner ocean, as we called it, the passage wasnarrow; it became very dark and the waters roared ahead. I feared a fallor rapid, but the 'Duncan McDonald' could not turn back. The noise wasonly the surf on the great crags within. As the ship passed out into theopen sea beyond, the needle of the compass turned clear around andpointed back. 'Do you know, son, ' said Captain Burrows, 'that I believethe so-called magnetic pole is a great ring around the true Pole, andthat we just passed it there? The whole inside of this mountain looksto me like rusted iron instead of stone, anyhow. '"

Here our story-teller rested and dozed for a few minutes; then rousingup, he said: "I'll tell you the rest to-morrow; yes, to-morrow; I'm tirednow. To-morrow I'll tell you about a wonderful country; wonderfulcities; wonderful people! I'll show you solar pictures such as you neversaw, of scenes, places, and people you never dreamed of. I will show youimplements that will prove that there's a country where gold is ascommon as tin at home--where they make knives and forks and stew-pans ofit! I'll show you writing more ancient and more interesting than themost treasured relics in our Sanscrit libraries. I'll tell you of thetwo years I spent in another world. I'll tell you of the precious cargothat went to the bottom of the frozen ocean with the staunch littleship, 'Duncan McDonald;' of the bravest, noblest commander, and thesweetest angel of a woman that ever breathed and lived and loved. I'lltell you of my escape and the hell I've been through. To-morrow--"

He dozed off for a few moments again. 

"But I've got enough in this pack to turn the world inside out withwonder--ah, what a sensation it will be, what an educational feature! Itwill send out a hundred harum-scarum expeditions to find Polaria--butthere are few commanders like Captain Burrows; he could do it, the restof 'em will die in the ice. But when I get to San Fran----. Say, captain, how long will it take to get there, and how long before youstart?"

Enoch and I exchanged glances, and Enoch answered: "We wa'n't goin' to"Frisco. "

"Around the Horn, then?" inquired the stranger, sitting up. "But youwill land me in 'Frisco, won't you? I can't wait, I must--"

"We're goin' _in_, " said Enoch; "goin' north, for a three-years'cruise. "

"North!" shouted the stranger, wildly. "Three years in that hell of ice. Three years! My God! North! North!"

He was dancing around the deck like a maniac, trying to put hispack-loop over his head. Enoch went toward him, to tell him how hecould go on the "Enchantress, " but he looked wildly at him, ran forwardand sprang out on the bowsprit, and from there to the jib. Enoch saw hewas out of his mind, and ordered two sailors to bring him in. As theysprang on to the bow, he stood up and screamed:

"No! No! No! Three years! Three lives! Three hells! I never--"

One of the men reached for him here, but he kicked at the sailorviciously, and turning sidewise, sprang into the water below. 

A boat, already in the water, was manned instantly; but the worn-outbody of another North Pole explorer had gone to the sands of the bottomwhere so many others have gone before; evidently his heavy pack had heldhim down, there to guard the story it could tell--in death as he had inlife. 

 THE END

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DANGER SIGNALS

Remarkable, Exciting And Unique Examples Of The Bravery, Daring And Stoicism In The Midst Of Danger OfTRAIN DISPATCHERS AND RAILROAD ENGINEERS

By

JOHN A. HILLandJASPER EWING BRADY

ABSORBING STORIES OF MEN WITH NERVES OF STEEL, INDOMITABLE COURAGE AND WONDERFUL ENDURANCE

Fully Illustrated

CHICAGOJAMIESON-HIGGINS CO. 1902

[Illustration: Facsimile Of A Completed Order As Entered In TheDespatcher's Order-Book]

DANGER SIGNALS. 

PART II. 

CHAPTER I

LEARNING THE BUSINESS--MY FIRST OFFICE

Seated in sumptuously furnished palace cars, annihilating space at therate of sixty miles an hour, but few passengers ever give a thought tothe telegraph operators of the road stuck away in towers or in dingylittle depots, in swamps, on the tops of mountains, or on the baldprairies and sandy deserts of the west; and yet, these selfsametelegraph operators are a very important adjunct to the successfuloperation of the road, and a single error on the part of one of themmight result in the loss of many lives and thousands of dollars. 

The whole length of the railroad from starting point to terminus isliterally under the eyes of the train despatcher. By means of reportssent in by hundreds of different operators, he knows the exact locationof all trains at all times, the number of "loads" and "empties" in eachtrain, the number of cars on each siding, the number of passing tracksand their capacity, the capabilities of the different engines, thegradients of the road, the condition of the roadbed, and, above all, heknows the personal characteristics of every conductor and engineer onthe road. In fact if there is one man of more importance than another ona railroad it is the train despatcher. During his trick of eight hourshe is the autocrat of the road, and his will in the running of trains isabsolute. Therefore despatchers are chosen with very special regard fortheir fitness for the position. They must be expert telegraphers, quickat figures, and above all they must be as cool as ice, have nerves ofsteel, and must be capable of grasping a trying situation the minute anemergency arises. An old despatcher once said to me: "Sooner or later adespatcher, if he sticks to the business, will have his smash-up, andthen down goes a reputation which possibly he has been years in buildingup, and his name is inscribed on the roll of 'has-beens. '"

Before the despatcher comes the operator, and the old Biblical saying, "Many are called but few are chosen, " is well illustrated by the smallnumber of good despatchers that are found; it is easy enough to findexcellent operators, but a first-class despatcher is a rarity amongthem. 

I learned telegraphy some fifteen or sixteen years ago at a school awayout in western Kansas. After I had been there three or four months, Iwas the star of the class, and imagined that the spirit of ProfessorMorse had been reincarnated in me. No wire was too swift for me to work, no office too great for me to manage; in fact visions of asuperintendency of telegraph flitted before my eyes. Such institutionsas this school are very correctly named "ham factories. "

During my stay at the school I formed the acquaintance of the nightoperator at the depot and it was my wont to spend most of my nightsthere picking up odds and ends of information. For my own benefit I usedto copy everything that came along; but the young man in charge neverleft me entirely alone. Night operators at all small stations have totake care of their own lamps and fires, sweep out, handle baggage, and, in short, be porter as well as operator, and for the privilege of beingallowed to stay about I used to do this work for the night man at theoffice in question. His name was Harry Burgess and he was as good a manas ever sat in front of a key. Some few weeks after this he wastransferred to a day office up the road and by his help I was madenight operator in his stead. Need I say how proud I felt when I receiveda message from the Chief Despatcher telling me to report for duty thatnight? I think I was the proudest man, or boy rather, on this earth. Just think! Night operator, porter and baggageman, working from seveno'clock in the evening until seven o'clock in the morning, and receivingthe magnificent sum of forty dollars per month! It was enough to make mybosom swell with pride and it's a wonder I didn't burst. 

Heretofore, I had had Burgess to fall back upon when I was copyingmessages or orders, but now I was alone and the responsibility was allmine. I managed to get through the first night very well, because all Ihad to do was to take a few "red" commercial messages, "O. S. " thetrains and load ten big sample trunks on No. 2. The trains were all ontime and consequently there were no orders. I was proud of my successand went off duty at seven o'clock in the morning with a feeling that myservices were well nigh indispensable to the road, and if anything wereto happen to me, receivers would surely have to be appointed. 

The second night everything went smoothly until towards eleven o'clock, when the despatcher began to call "MN, " and gave the signal "9. " Nowthe signal "9" means "Train Orders, " and takes precedence overeverything else on the wire. The situation was anything but pleasant forme, because I had never yet, on my own responsibility, taken a trainorder, and I stood in a wholesome fear of the results that might accruefrom any error of mine. So I didn't answer the despatcher at once as Ishould have done because I hoped he would get tired of calling me andwould tackle "OG, " and give him the order. But he didn't. He just kepton calling me, increasing his speed all the time. In sheer desperation, I went out on the platform for five minutes and stamped around to keepwarm, hoping all the time he would stop when he found I did not answer. But when I returned instead of calling me on one wire, he had hisoperator calling me on the commercial line while he was pounding away onthe railroad wire. At the rate those two sounders were going theysounded to me like the crack of doom and I was becoming powerfully warm. I finally mustered up courage and answered him. 

The first thing the despatcher said was:

"Where in h--l have you been?"

I didn't think that was a very nice thing for him to say, and he firedit at me so fast I could hardly read it, so I simply replied, "Outfixing my batteries. "

"Well, " he said, "your batteries will need fixing when I get throughwith you. Now copy 3. "

"Copy 3, " means to take three copies of the order that is to follow, soI grabbed my manifold order-book and stylus and prepared to copy. Thereis a rule printed in large bold type in all railroad time-cards whichsays, "Despatchers, in sending train orders to operators, willaccommodate their speed to the abilities of the operators. In all cases_they will send plainly and distinctly_. " If the despatcher had sentaccording to my ability just then he would have sent that order by trainmail. But instead, from the very beginning, he fired it at me so fast, that before I had started to take it he was away down in the body of it. I had written down only the order number and date, when I broke andsaid, "G. A. To. " That made him madder than ever and he went at me againwith increased violence the sounder seeming like the roll of a drum. Ithink I broke him about ten times and finally he said, "For heaven'ssake go wake up the day man. You're nothing but a ham. " Strangely enoughI could take all of his nasty remarks without any trouble while theorder almost completely stumped me. However, I finally succeeded inputting it all down, repeated it back to him, and received his "O. K. "

When the train arrived the conductor and engineer came in the office andI gave them the order. The conductor glanced at it for a moment and thensaid with a broad grin, "Say, kid, which foot did you use in copyingthis?" My copy wasn't very clear, but finally he deciphered it, and theyboth signed their names, the despatcher gave me the "complete, " and theyleft. As soon as the train, which was No. 22, a livestock express, haddeparted, I made my O. S. Report, and then heaved a big sigh of relief. 

Scarcely had the tail-lights disappeared across the bridge and aroundthe bend, when the despatcher called again and said, "For God's sakestop that train. "

I said, "I can't. She's gone. "

"Well, " he snapped back, "there's a good chance for a fine smash-up thisnight. "

That scared me almost out of my wits, and I looked at my copy of theorder. But it read all right, and yet I felt mighty creepy. About thirtyminutes afterwards, I heard a heavy step on the platform and in a secondthe hind brakeman came tramping in, and cheerfully saluted me with, "Well, I reckon you've raised h--l to-night. 21 and 22 are up againsteach other hard about a mile and a half east of here. They met on acurve and engines, box-cars, livestock and freight are piled up in fineshape. "

"Any one killed?" I asked with a blanched face and sinking heart. 

"Naw, no one is exactly killed, but one engineer and a fireman arepretty badly scalded, and 'Shorty' Jones, our head man, has a broken legcaused by jumping. You'd better tell the despatcher. "

Visions of the penitentiary for criminal neglect danced before mydisordered brain; all my knowledge of telegraphy fled; I was weak in theknees, sick at heart, and as near a complete wreck as a man could be. But something had to be done, so I finally told the despatcher that Nos. 21 and 22 were in the ditch, and he snapped back, "D--n it, I've beenexpecting it, and have ordered the wrecking outfit out from Watsego. Youturn your red-light and hold everything that comes along. In themeantime go wake up the day man. I want an operator there, and not aham. "

When the day man came in, half dressed, he said, "Well, what the devilis the matter?"

Speech had entirely left me by this time, so I simply pointed to theorder, and the brakeman told him the rest. Never in all my life have Ispent such a night as that. The day man regaled me with charming littleincidents, about men he knew, who, for having been criminally negligent, had been shot by infuriated engineers or had been sent up for ten years. He seemed to take a fiendish delight in telling me these things and mydiscomfiture was great. I would have run away if I hadn't been too weak. About seven o'clock in the morning, after a night of misery, hepatronizingly told me, that it wasn't my fault at all; the despatcherhad given a "lap order, " and that the blame was on him. Well! thereaction was as bad, almost, as the first feeling of horror. I went homeand after a light breakfast, retired to bed, but not to sleep, for everytime I would close my eyes, visions of wrecks, penitentiaries, dead menand ruined homes came crowding upon my disordered brain. 

About ten o'clock they sent for me to come to the office. I went overand Webster the agent said the superintendent wanted to see me. I hadnever seen the superintendent and he seemed to me to be about as far offas the President of the United States, but I screwed up my courage andwent in. I saw a kindly-looking gentleman seated before Webster's desk, but I was too much frightened to speak and just stood there like a bumpon a log. Presently, Mr. Brink, the superintendent, turned to Websterand said, "I wonder why that night man doesn't come?"

I tremblingly replied, "I am the night man, sir. " He looked at me for amoment and smilingly said, "Why, bless my soul, my lad! I thought youwere a messenger boy. " He then asked me for my story of the wreck. WhenI had given it he seemed satisfied, and gave me lots of good advice; butin the end he said I was too young to have the position, and I wasdischarged. But he kindly added, that in a few years he would be glad tohave me come back on the road, after I had acquired more experience. Thenext day I returned to school. 

CHAPTER II

AN ENCOUNTER WITH TRAIN ROBBERS

My first attempt at holding an office had proved such a flat and dismalfailure that I thought I should never have the heart to apply foranother. I worked faithfully in the school for about a month, and thenthe fever to try again took hold of me. I knew it would be of no use toapply to my former superintendent, Mr. Brink, so I wrote to Mr. R. B. Bunnell, Superintendent of Telegraph of the P. Q. & X. Railroad atKansas City, Missouri, saying I was an expert operator and desired aposition on his road. Mr. Bunnell must have been laboring under ahypnotic spell, for by return mail he wrote, enclosing me a pass toAlfreda, Kansas, and directing me to assume charge of the night officeat that point at the magnificent salary of $37. 50 per month. This was aslight decrease from my former salary, but I didn't care. I wanted achance to redeem myself and I felt confident I could be more successfulin my second attempt. So I packed my few belongings, bade good-bye tothe school forever, and away I went. 

When I left "MN, " I said nothing to any one about my destination, and Idid not know a thing about Alfreda, except that it was near the borderline between Kansas and Colorado. The brakeman on the train in talkingto me told me it was a very pleasant place; but when he said so Ifancied I could detect a sarcastic ring in his voice, and I was in nodoubt about it when I arrived and saw what a desolate, dreary placeAlfreda was. The only things in sight were a water-tank, a pump-houseand the telegraph office; and I wish you could have seen that office. Itwas simply the bed of a box-car, taken off the trucks and set down withone end towards the track. A small platform, two windows, a door, andthe signal board perched high on a pole completed the outfit. 

I arrived at six-thirty in the morning and there wasn't a living soul insight. An hour later, a big broad shouldered Irishman who proved to bethe pumper, came ambling along on a railroad velocipede. He looked at mefor a minute, and after I had made myself known he grinned and said, "Well, I hopes as how ye will loike the place. Burke, the man who washere afore ye, got scared off by thramps, and I reckon he's not stoppedrunnin' yit. " Fine introduction wasn't it?

I found there was no day operator and the only house around was thesection house, two miles up the track. The operator and pumper boardedthere with the section boss; but the railroad company was magnanimousenough to furnish a velocipede for their use in going to and from thestation. How I felt the first night, stuck away out there in thatbox-car, two miles from the nearest house and twelve miles from thenearest town, I must leave to the imagination. My heart sank and I hadmany misgivings, in fact, I was scared to death, but I set my teeth hardand determined to do my best, with the hope that I might be promoted toa better office. I did win that promotion but I wouldn't go through myexperiences again for the whole road. 

One night after I had been working there about a month, I went to myoffice as usual at seven o'clock. It was a black night threatening a bigstorm. The pumper had not gone home as yet and he remarked, that it was"goin' to be a woild night, " but he hoped "the whistlin' av the windwould be after kaping me company, " and with that he jumped on thevelocipede, and off he went. 

I didn't much relish the idea of the storm, for I knew the reputation ofKansas as a cyclone state, and my box-car office was not well adapted tostand a hurricane. However, I went inside, and after lighting my lamps, sat down and wrote letters and read, when I was not taking train orders. This office was kept up solely because it was a convenient place todeliver orders to freight trains at night when they stopped for water. 

About twelve-thirty in the morning my door opened suddenly, and a manstepped quickly in. I was startled because this was almost the only manexcept the pumper and the train crews that had been there since I came. Once in a while a stray tramp had gone through, but this man was not atramp. He wore a long overcoat, buttoned to his chin, with the collarturned up. A slouch hat pulled well down over his eyes so far concealedhis face that his features were scarcely visible. He came over to mydesk and gruffly asked, "What time is there a passenger train eastto-night?"

I answered that one went through at half past one, the Overland Flyer, but it did not stop at Alfreda. Quick as a flash he pulled a revolverand poking it in my face, said, "Young man, you turn your red-light andstop that train or I'll make a vacancy in this office mighty d----dquick. "

[Illustration: "Two of the men tied my hands in front of me. "]

The longer I gazed down the barrel of that revolver the bigger it grew, and it looked to me as if it was loaded with buck-shot to the muzzle. When it had grown to about the size of a gatling gun (and it didn't takelong to do it), I concluded that "discretion was the better part ofvalor, " and reached up and turned my red-light. Meanwhile the dooropened again, and three more men came in. They were masked and theminute I saw them I knew they were going to make an attempt to hold upthe Overland Flyer. Often this train carried large amounts of bullionand currency east, and I supposed they had heard that there was ashipment to go through that night. 

I was standing with my back to the table, and just then I heard thedespatcher say that the Flyer was thirty minutes late from the west. Iput my hands quietly behind me and let the right rest on the key. I thencarefully opened the key and had just begun to speak to the despatcherwhen one of the men suspected me and said to the leader, "Bill, watchthat little cuss. He's monkeying with the instrument and may give themwarning. "

I stopped, closed the key, and was trying to look unconcerned, when"Bill, " said that "to stop all chances of further trouble, " they wouldbind and gag me. Thereupon two of the men tied my hands in front of me, bound my legs securely, and thrust a villainously dirty gag in my mouth. When this was done, "Bill" said, "Throw him across those blamedinstruments so they will keep quiet. " They flung me upon the table, face downwards, so that the relay was just under my stomach, and ofcourse my weight against the armature of the relay stopped the clickingof the sounder. As luck would have it, my left hand was in such aposition that it just touched the key, and I found I could move the handslightly. So I opened the key and pretended to be struggling quite alittle. The leader came over and giving me a good stiff punch in theribs, said with an oath, "You keep quiet or we'll find a way to makeyou. " I became passive again, and then when the men were engaged inearnest conversation, I began to telegraph softly to the despatcher. Therelay being shut off by my weight, there was no noise from the sounder, and I sent so slowly that the key was noiseless. Of course I did notknow on whom I was breaking in, but I kept on. I told the exact state ofaffairs, and asked him to either tell the Flyer not to heed my red-lightand go through, or, better still, to send an armed posse from Kingsbury, twelve miles up the road. I repeated the message twice, so that he wouldbe sure to hear it, and then trusted to luck. 

The cords and gags were beginning to hurt, and my anxiety was verygreat. The minutes dragged slowly by, and I thought that hour wouldnever end; but it did end at last, and all of a sudden I heard the longcalliope whistle of the engine on the Flyer as she came down the grade. This was followed by two short blasts, that showed she had seen myred-light and was going to stop. "My God!" I thought. "Has she beenwarned?" So soon as the train whistled the men went out leaving mehelpless on the table. I heard the whistle of the air brakes and knewthe train must be slowing up. My anxiety was intense. Presently I heardher stop at the tank, and then, in about a second, I listened to theliveliest fusillade that I had ever heard in my life. It was sweet musicto my ears I can tell you, for it indicated to me, what proved to be afact, that a posse were on board and that the robbers were foiled. Oneof them was shot, and two were captured, but "Bill, " the leader, escaped. They had their horses hitched to the telegraph poles, and as"Bill" went running by the office I heard him say, "I'll fix that d--doperator, anyhow. " Then, BANG! crash, went the glass in the window, anda bullet buried itself in the table, not two inches from my head. I wasnot exactly killed, but I was frightened so badly, and the strain hadbeen so great, that when the trainmen came in to release me, I at oncelost consciousness. When I came to, I was surrounded by a sympatheticcrowd of passengers and trainmen, and a doctor, who happened to be onthe train, was pouring something down my throat that soon made me feelbetter. 

As soon as I had recovered myself sufficiently, I telegraphed thedespatcher what had happened, and the chief, who in the meantime hadbeen sent for, told me to close up my office, and come east on theflyer, to report for duty in the morning in his office as copy operator. 

That is how I won my promotion. 

CHAPTER III

IN A WRECK

The change from Alfreda to the chief despatcher's office in Nicholsonwas, indeed, a pleasant one. The despatchers, especially the first trickman, seemed somewhat dubious as to my ability to do the work, but I wasrapidly improving in telegraphy, and, in spite of my extreme youth I wasallowed to remain. But the life of a railroad man is very uncertain, andone day we were much surprised to hear that the road had gone into thehands of receivers. There were charges of mismanagement made against anumber of the higher officials of the road, and one of the first thingsthe receivers did was to have a general "house-cleaning. " The generalmanager, the general superintendent, and a number of the divisionsuperintendents resigned to save dismissal, and my friend the chiefdespatcher went with them. He was succeeded by Ted Donahue, the man whohad been working the first trick. Ted didn't like me worth a cent, and, rather than give him an opportunity to dismiss me, I quit. 

I was at home idle for a few weeks, and then hearing that there might bean opening for operators on the C. Q. & R. , a new road building up inNebraska, I once more started out. It was an all night ride to thedivision headquarters, and thinking I might as well be luxurious foronce, I took a sleeper. My berth was in the front end of the last car onthe train. I retired about half past ten and soon dropped off into asound sleep. I had been asleep for perhaps two hours, when I wasawakened by the car giving a violent lurch, and then suddenly stopping. I was stunned and dazed for a moment, but I soon heard the cracking andbreaking of timbers, and the hissing of steam painfully near to mysection. I tried to move and rise up, but found that the confines of mynarrow quarters would not permit it. I then realized that we werewrecked and that I was in a bad predicament. I felt that I had no bonesbroken, and my only fear was that the wreck would take fire. My fearswere not groundless for I soon smelled smoke. I cried out as loudly as Icould, but my berth had evidently become a "sound proof booth. " Then Ifelt that my time had come, and had about given up all hope, and wastrying to say a prayer, when I heard the train-crew and passengersworking above me. Again I cried out and this time was heard, and soonwas taken out. God! what a night it was--raining a perfect deluge andthe wind blowing a hurricane. 

I learned that our train had stopped on account of a hot driving-box onthe engine; the hind brakeman had been sent back to put out a flag, but, imagining there was nothing coming, he had neglected to do his fullduty, and before he knew it, a fast freight came tearing around thebend, and a tail-end collision was the result. Seeing the awful effectsof his gross neglect, the brakeman took out across the country and wasnever heard of again. I fancy if he could have been found that night bythe passengers and train-crew his lot would have been anything butpleasant. Two people in the sleeper were killed outright, and three wereinjured, while the engineer and fireman of the freight were badly hurtby jumping. I didn't get a scratch. 

As I stood watching the wrecked cars burn, I heard the conductor say, "he wished to God he had an operator with him. " I told him I was anoperator and offered my services. He said there was a pocket instrumentin the baggage car, and asked me if I would cut in on the wire and tellthe despatcher of the wreck. I assented and went forward with him to thebaggage car, where he gave me a pair of pliers, a pocket instrument andabout eight feet of office wire. I asked for a pair of climbers and somemore office wire, but neither was to be had. Here, therefore, was apretty knotty problem. The telegraph poles were thirty feet high; howwas I to make a connection with only eight feet of wire and no climbers?I thought for a while, and then I put the instrument in my pocket, andundertook to "shin up" the pole as I used to do when I was a schoolboy. After many efforts, in which I succeeded in tearing nearly all theclothes off of me, I finally reached the lowest cross-arm, and seatedmyself on it with my legs wrapped around the pole. There was only onewire on this arm, so I had, comparatively speaking, plenty of room. Oneach of the other two cross arms there were four wires, and there wasalso one strung along the tops of the poles. This made ten wires in all, and I had not the least idea which one was the despatcher's wire. Thepole being wet from the rain, made the wires mighty hot to handle. I hadthe fireman hand me up a piece of old iron wire he happened to have onthe engine, and with this I made a flying cut in the third wire of thesecond cross arm. I attached the little pocket instrument, and foundthat upon adjusting it, I was on a commercial wire. There I was, straddling a cross arm between heaven and earth, with the instrumentheld on my knee, and totally ignorant of any of the calls or the wire Iwas on. I yelled down to the conductor and asked him if he knew any ofthe calls. No; of course he didn't; and he was so excited he didn't havesense enough to look on his time-card, where the calls are alwaysprinted. Finally, after carefully adjusting the instrument, I opened mykey, broke in on somebody, and said "Wreck. " The answer came, "Sine. " Isaid, "I haven't any sine. No. 2 on the C. K. & Q. Has been wrecked outhere, and I want the despatcher's office. Can you tell me if he is onthis wire?"

Now there is a vast deal of difference between sending with a Bunnellkey on a polished table, and sending with a pocket instrument held onyour knee, especially when you are perched on a thirty foot pole, withthe rain pouring down in torrents, the wind blowing almost a gale, andexpecting every minute to be blown off and have your precious neckbroken. Consequently my sending was pretty "rocky, " and some one cameback at me with, "Oh! get out you big ham. " But I hung to it andfinally made them understand who I was and what I wanted. The mainoffice in Ouray cut me in on the despatcher's wire and I told him of thewreck. He said he had suspected that No. 2. Was in trouble, but he hadno idea that it was as bad as I had reported. He said he would order outthe wrecking outfit and would send doctors with it. Would I please stayclose and do the telegraphing for them, he would see that I was properlyrewarded. Then I told him about where I was, but promised to hold on aslong as I could, but for him to be sure and send out some more wire anda pair of climbers on the wrecker. After waiting about an hour thewrecker arrived, and with it the doctors; so our anxiety was relieved, the wounded taken care of, and a decent wrecking office put in. 

The division superintendent came out with them, and for my services heoffered me the day office at X----, which I accepted. 

CHAPTER IV

A WOMAN OPERATOR WHO SAVED A TRAIN

X---- was a pretty good sort of an office to have, barring a beastlyclimate wherein all four seasons would sometimes be ably and fullyrepresented in one twenty-four hours. But eighty big round Americandollars a month was not to be sneezed at--that was a heap of money to ayoung chap--and I hung on. In those days civilization had not advancedas far westward as it is to-day, and there was not much local businesson the road, due to the sparsely settled country. The first office eastof X---- was Dunraven, some twenty miles away. Between the two places wereseveral blind sidings used as passing tracks. Dunraven was a crackinggood little village and the day operator there was Miss Mary Marsh;there was no night office. Now I was just at the age where all a youngman's susceptibility comes to the surface, and I was a pretty fairsample. I weighed one hundred and fifty pounds and every ounce of me wasas susceptible as a barometer on a stormy day. Consequently it was notlong until I knew Mary and liked her immensely. All my spare time wasoccupied in talking to her over the wire, except when the cusseddespatcher would chase me off with, "Oh! get out you big spoon, you makeevery one tired. " Then Mary would give me the merry, "Ha, ha, ha. "

One time I took a day off and ran down to Dunraven, and my impressionswere fully confirmed. Mary was a little bit of a woman, with black hair, red lips, white teeth, and two eyes that looked like coals of fire, sobright were they. She was small, but when she took hold of the key, shewas jerked lightning, and I have never seen but one woman since who washer equal in that line. 

Our road was one of the direct connections of the "Overland Route, " westto San Francisco, and twice a day we had a train, that in those days wascalled a flyer. Now it would be in a class with the first classfreights. The west bound train passed my station at eight in themorning, and the east bound at seven-thirty in the evening. After that Igave "DS" good night, and was free until seven the next morning. Theeast bound flyer passed Dunraven at eight-fifteen in the evening andthen. Mary was through for the night. The town was a mile away from thedepot and the poor girl had to trudge all that distance alone. But shewas as plucky as they make them and was never molested. A mile west ofDunraven was Peach Creek, spanned by a wooden pile and stringer bridge. Ordinarily, you could step across Peach Creek, but sometimes, after aheavy rain it would be a raging torrent of dirty muddy water, and itseemed as if the underpinning must surely be washed out by the flood. 

One day after I had been at X---- a couple of months, we had a stem-winderof a storm. The rain came down in torrents unceasingly for twelve hours, and the country around X---- was almost a morass. The roadbed was good, however, and when the section men came in at six that night theyreported the track firm and safe. But, my stars! how the rain wasfalling at seven-thirty as the flyer went smashing by. I made my "OS"report and then thought I'd sit around and wait until it had passedDunraven and have a little chat with Mary, before going home for thenight. At seven-forty-five I called her but no answer. Then I waited. Eight o'clock, eight-fifteen, eight-twenty, and still nothing fromDunraven. The despatcher then started to call "DU, " but no answer. Finally, he said to me, "You call 'DU. ' Maybe the wire is heavy and shecan't adjust for me. " I called steadily for five minutes, but still noreply. I was beginning to get scared. All sorts of ideas came into myhead--robbers, tramps, fire and murder. 

"DS" said, "I'm afraid something has happened to the flyer. Turn yourred-light and when No. 26 comes along, I'll give them an order to cutloose with the engine and go through and find the flyer. "

Five minutes later the wire opened and closed. Then the current becameweak, but adjusting down, I heard, "DS, DS, WK. " Ah! that meant a wreck. "DS" answered and I heard the following message:--

 "W. D. C. "PEACH CREEK, 4 | 13, 18--

 "DS. 

 "Peach Creek bridge washed out to-night, but I heard of it and arrived here in time to flag the flyer. Send an operator on the wrecking outfit to relieve me. 

 (signed) MARY MARSH, Operator. "

Two hours afterwards the wrecker came by X---- and, obedient to ordersfrom the despatcher, I boarded it and went down to work the office. Wereached there in about forty minutes and found that the torrent hadwashed out the underpinning of the bridge, and nothing was left but afew ties, the rails and the stringers. A half witted boy, who lived inDunraven, had been fishing that day like "Simple Simon, " and cametramping up to the office, telling Miss Marsh, in an idiotic way, thatPeach Creek bridge had washed out. Just then she heard me "OS" the flyerand her office was the next one to mine. As the flyer did not stop atDunraven, the baggageman and helper went home at six o'clock and she wasabsolutely alone save for this half witted boy. The section house was amile and a half away to the east. A mile away, to the south were thetwinkling lights of the village, while but one short mile to the westwas Peach Creek, with the bridge gone out, and the flyer thunderingalong towards it with its precious load of human freight. How could itbe warned. The boy hadn't sense enough to pound sand. She must do it. So, quick as a flash she picked up the red-light standing near, andstarted down the track. The rain was coming down in a perfect deluge, and the wind was sweeping across the Nebraska prairies like a hurricane. Lightning was flashing, casting a lurid glare over the soaked earth, andthe thunder rolled peal after peal, resembling the artillery of greatguns in a big battle. Truly, it was like the setting for a grand drama. Undaunted by it all, this brave little woman, bare headed, hair flyingin the wind, and soaked to the skin, battled with the elements as shefought her way down the track. A mile, ordinarily, is a short distance, but now, to her, it seemed almost interminable; and all the time theflyer was coming nearer and nearer to the creek with the broken bridge. My God! would she make it! Presently, above the howling of the wind sheheard the mad waters as they went boiling and tumbling down thechannel. 

[Illustration: "After many efforts I finally reached the lowestcross-arm. "]

At last she was there, standing on the brink. But the train was not yetsaved. Just across the creek the road made an abrupt curve around asmall hill, and if she could not reach that curve her labors would be tono avail, and a frightful wreck would follow. All the bridge was gonesave the rails, stringers and a few shaky ties. Only forty feetintervened between her and the opposite bank, and get across she must. There was only one way, so grasping the lantern between her teeth, shestarted across on her hands and knees. The stringers swayed back andforth in the wind, and her frail body, it seemed, would surely be caughtup and blown into the mad maëlstrom of waters below. No! No! she couldnot fail now. Away up the road, borne to her anxious ears by the howlingwind, she heard two long and two short blasts of the flyer's whistle asshe signalled for a crossing. God! would she ever get there. Strainingevery nerve, at last success was hers, and tottering, she struggled upthe other side. Flying up the track, looking for all the world like someeyrie witch, she reached the curve, swinging her red light like mad. BobBurns, who was pulling the flyer that night, saw the signal, andimmediately applied the emergency brakes. Then he looked again and thered-light was gone. But caution is a magic watchword with all railroadmen, and he stopped. Climbing down out of the cab of the engine, he tookhis torch, and started out to investigate. He didn't have far to go, when he came upon the limp, inanimate form of Mary Marsh, theextinguished red-light tightly clasped in her cold little hand. 

"My God! Mike, " he yelled to his fireman, "it's a woman. Why, hang me, if it isn't the little lady from Dunraven. Wonder what she is doing outhere. " He wasn't long in ignorance, because a brakeman sent out aheadsaw that the bridge had gone. 

Rough, but kindly hands, bore her tenderly into the sleeper, and underthe ministrations of her own sex, she soon came around. So soon as shehad seen the flyer stopping she realized that she had succeeded andwomanlike--she fainted. Her clothes were torn to tatters, and taken allin all this little heroine was a most woebegone specimen of humanity. 

A wrecking office was cut in by the baggageman, who happened to be anold lineman, and she sent the message to "DS, " telling him of the wreck. I relieved her and she stayed in the sleeper all night, and the next dayshe returned to her work at Dunraven, but little worse for theexperience. She had positively refused to accept a thing from thethankful passengers, saying she did but her duty. 

Two months afterwards she married the chief despatcher, and theprofession lost the best woman operator in the business. I wasdreadfully cut by the ending of affairs, but she had said, "Red headedoperators were not in her class, " and I reckon she was about right. 

Surely, she was a direct descendant from the Spartan mothers. 

CHAPTER V

A NIGHT OFFICE IN TEXAS--A STUTTERING DESPATCHER

It was not long after Mary threw me over that I became tired of X---- andgave up my job and started south. I said it was on account of illhealth, but the last thing that cussed first trick despatcher said to mewas, "Never mind, you old spoon, you'll get over this attack in a veryshort while. "

I landed in St. Louis one bright morning and went up to the office ofthe chief despatcher of the Q. M. & S. , and applied for an office on hisdivision. He had none to give me but wired the chief despatcher at BigRock, and in answer thereto I was sent the next morning to Healyville. And what a place I found! The town was down in the swamps of southeastMissouri, four miles north of the Arkansas line, and consisted of thedepot and twenty or twenty-five houses, five of which were saloons. There was a branch road running from here to Honiton, quite a settlementon the Mississippi river, and that was the only possible excuse for anofficer at this point. The atmosphere was so full of malaria, that youcould almost cut it with an axe. I stayed there just three days, andthen, fortunately, the chief despatcher ordered me to come to hisoffice. He wanted me to take the office at Boling Cross, near the Texasline, but I had the traveling fever and wanted to go further south, andhe sent me down on the I. & G. N. , and the chief there sent me toHerron, Texas. There wasn't much sickness in the air around Herron, butthere were just a million fleas to every square inch of sand in theplace. Herron was one of the few towns in a very extensive cattle belt, and a few days after I had arrived I noticed the town had filled up with"cow punchers. " They had just had their semi-annual round up, and werein town spending their money and having a whooping big time. Youprobably know what that means to a cow-boy. I was a tenderfoot of theworst kind, and every one at the boarding-house and depot seemed to takeparticular delight in telling me of the shooting scrapes and rackets ofthese cow-boys, and how they delighted in making it warm for atenderfoot. Bob Wolfe, the day man at the depot, told me how at timesthey had come up and raised particular Cain at the station, especiallywhen there was a new operator on hand. I didn't half believe all theirstories, but I will confess that I had a few misgivings the first nightwhen I went to work. One night passed safely enough, but the second wasa hummer from the word go. The office was somewhat larger than thetelegraph offices usually are in small towns. The table was in therecess of a big bay window, giving me a clear view of the I. & G. N. Tracks, while along the front ran the usual long wide platform. The P. &T. C. Road crossed at right angles at one end of the platform, and oneoperator did the work for the two roads. There were two lamps over mydesk--one on each side of the bay window--and one was out in thewaiting-room. I also kept a lantern lighted to carry when I went out totrains. 

All through the early part of the night, I heard sounds of revelry andcarousing, accompanied by an occasional pistol shot, up in the town, butabout half past eleven these sounds ceased, and I was congratulatingmyself that my night, would after all, be uneventful. About twelveo'clock, however, there arose just outside the office the greatestcommotion I had ever heard in my life. I was eating my midnight lunch, and had a piece of pie in my hand, when I heard the tramp of many feeton the platform. It sounded like a regiment of infantry, and in aminute there came the report of a shot, and with a crash out went one ofmy lights, a shower of glass falling on the table. Before I couldcollect myself there came another shot and smash out went the otherlight. I dropped my pie and spasmodically grasped the table. The onlylights left were the one in the waiting-room and my lantern, which madeit in the office little better than total darkness. All the time thetramp, tramp on the platform was coming closer and closer, and my heartwas gradually forcing its way up in my mouth. In a moment thewaiting-room door was thrown open, and with a wild whoop and a bighurrah, the crowd came in. The door between the office and thewaiting-room was closed, but that made no difference to my visitors;they smashed it open and swarmed into the office. One of them picked upthe lantern, and swaggering over to where I sat all trembling with fear, and expecting that _my_ lights would go out next, raised it to my face. They all crowded around me and one of them gave me a good punch in theribs. Then the one with the lantern said, "Well, fellows, the littlecuss is game. He didn't get under the table like the last one did. Kid, for a tenderfoot, you're a hummer. "

Get under the table! I couldn't. I would have given half my interest inthe hereafter to have been able to crawl under the table or to have runaway. But fright held its sway, and locomotion was impossible. 

For about five minutes the despatcher had been calling me for orders, and in a trembling voice I asked them to let me answer and take theorder. "Cert, " said one of them, who appeared to be the leader, "go onand take the order, and then take a drink with us. "

By the dim light of only that lantern, with my order pad on a tablecovered with broken glass, and smattered with pie, I finally copied theorder, but it was about the worst attempt I had ever made; and theconductor remarked when he signed it, that it would take a Philadelphialawyer to read it. The cow-punchers, however, from that time on werevery good friends of mine, and many a pleasant Sunday did I spend ontheir ranches. They afterwards told me that Bob Wolfe had put them up totheir midnight visit in order to frighten me. They certainly succeeded. My service at Herron was not very profitable, the road being in thehands of receivers, and for four months none of us received a cent ofwages. The road was called the "International & Great Northern, " but wefacetiously dubbed it the "Independent & Got Nothing. "

Some months after this I was transferred down to the southern division, and made night operator at Mankato. This was really about the bestposition I had yet struck: good hours, plenty of work and a fine officeto do it in, and eighty dollars a month. The agent and day man were bothfine fellows, and there was no chore work around the station--a baggagesmasher did that. The despatchers up in "DS" office were pleasant towork with and as competent a lot of men as ever touched a key. I hadnever met any of them when I first took the office, though of course Isoon knew their names, and the following incident will disclose how andunder what unusual circumstances I formed the acquaintance of one ofthem, Fred De Armand, the second trick man. 

About four weeks after I took the Mankato office, engine 333, pulling athrough livestock freight north, broke a parallel rod, and besidescutting the engineer into mince-meat, caused a great wreck. This tookplace about two miles and a half north of Mankato. The hind man cameback and reported it, and being off duty, I caught up a pocketinstrument and some wire, and jumping on a velocipede, was soon at thewreck. I cut in an office in short order, and "DS" soon knew exactlyhow matters stood. One passenger train south was tied up just beyond thewreck, and in about an hour and a half the wrecker appeared in charge ofthe trainmaster. I observed a young man twenty-eight or thirty years ofage standing around looking on, and once when I was near him I noticedthat he stammered very badly. 

I carefully avoided saying anything to that young man, because, I, too, at times, had a rather bad impediment in my speech. It asserted itselfespecially when I heard any one else stutter, or when the weather wasgoing to change; the men who knew me well said they could alwaysforetell a storm by my inability to talk. From my own experience, however, I knew that when a stammerer heard another man stammer, heimagined that he was being made fun of, and all the fight in him came atonce to the surface; and as this young man was about twice my size, Idid my best to keep away from him. But in a few moments he came over towhere I was and said to me, "A-a-a-sk 'DS' t-t-t-t-o s-s-s-end outm-m-m-y r-r-ain c-c-c-c-oat on th-th-th-irteen. " Every other word wasfollowed by a whistle. 

My great help in stammering was to kick with my right foot. I knew whatwas coming, and tried my best to avert the trouble. I drew in a longbreath and said: "Who sh-sh-sh-all I s-s-s-ay y-y-y-ou are?" and myright foot was doing great execution. True to its barometricalfunctions, my throat was predicting a storm. It came. 

He looked at me for a second, grew red in the face, then catching me bythe collar, gave me a yank, that made me see forty stars, and said, "B-b-b-last you! wh-wh-at d-d-o y-y-ou m-mean b-b-y m-mocking me? I'llsm-sm-ash y-y-our b-b-b-lamed r-r-ed head. '"

Speech left me entirely then, and I am afraid I would have been mostbeautifully thumped, had not Sanders, the trainmaster, come over andstopped him. He called him "De Armand, " and I then knew he was thesecond trick despatcher. After many efforts De Armand told Sanders how Ihad mocked him. Sanders didn't know me and the war clouds began togather again; but Johnson, the conductor of the wrecker, came over andsaid, "Hold on there, De Armand, that kid ain't mocking you; he stammersso bad at times that he kicks a hole in the floor. Why, I have seen himstart to say something to my engineer pulling out of Mankato, and hewould finish it just as the caboose went by, and we had some forty carsin the train at that. "

At this a smile broke over De Armand's face, and he grasped my hand andsaid, "Excuse m-m-m-e k-k-id; but y-y-you k-k-know how it isy-y-yourself. " You may well believe that I did know. 

One night, shortly after this, I was repeating an order to De Armand, and in the middle of it I broke myself very badly. He opened his key, and said, "Kick, you devil, kick!" And I got the merry ha-ha from up anddown the line. But in giving me a message a little while after he flewthe track, and I instantly opened up and said, "Whistle, you tarrier, whistle!" Maybe he didn't get it back. 

CHAPTER VI

BLUE FIELD, ARIZONA, AND AN INDIAN SCRIMMAGE

The desire to travel was strong within me, and in the following June Ileft Mankato, went out to Arizona and secured a position on the A. & P. , at Blue Field, a small town almost in the centre of the desert. Alfreda, Kansas, was dreary and desolate enough, but there, I was at least incommunication with civilization, because I had one wire running toKansas City, while Blue Field was the crowning glory of utterdesolation. The Bible says that the good Lord made heaven and earth insix days, and rested on the seventh. It needed but a single glance atBlue Field to thoroughly convince me that the Lord quit work at the endof the sixth day right there, and had never taken it up since. There wasnothing but some scattering adobe shacks, with the usual complement ofsaloons, and as far almost as the eye could see in everydirection, --sand--hot, glaring, burning sand. To the far northwards, could be dimly observed the outlines of the Mogollon range ofmountains. The population consisted chiefly of about four hundreddare-devil spirits who had started to wander westwards in search of theEl Dorado and had finally settled there, too tired, too disgusted to goany farther, and lacking money enough to return to their homes. Itwasn't the most congenial crowd in the world. There was only one goodthing in the place, and that was a deep well of pure sparkling water. The sun during the day was so scorching that the rails seemed to sizzleas they stretched out like two slender, interminable bands of silverover the hot sands, and at night no relief was apparent, and the officeso stifling hot that my existence was well nigh unbearable. But the paywas ninety dollars per month and I hung on until I could save fundsenough to get back to God's own country. To sleep in a house, in the daytime, was almost killing, so I used to make up a sort of bunk on a truckand sleep in the shade of the freight shed. At seven-forty-three in theevening, the Trans-Continental flyer went smashing by at a fifty-fivemile an hour clip and the dust it raised was enough to strangle a man. 

The Arizona climate is a well known specific for pulmonary troubles, andthousands of people come down there in all stages of consumption fromthe first premonitory cough to the living emaciated skeleton. 

The first station west of me was Clear Creek (so called on account of agood sized stream of water that came down from the Mogollons), and a fewdays after I arrived at Blue Field, I heard a message going over thewires saying that Fred Baird was coming down there to take charge. I hadknown him up in Kansas, and his looks and a hacking cough indicated onlytoo truly, that the dreaded consumption had fastened itself on him;therefore when I heard of his assignment to Clear Creek, I knew it washis health that brought him down to that awful country. He had a wife(and a sweet little woman she was), and two beautiful children, aged twoand four. A few evenings after this I had the pleasure of talking tothem for several minutes as they went through on a slow passenger train, and I must say that my heart ached when I thought of the town to whichthat family was going. What a place to bring a woman? But then womenhave a faculty of hanging on to their liege lords under allcircumstances and conditions. God bless 'em. Baird, himself, lookedwretched, being a mere shadow of his former self, but like allconsumptives he imagined he was going to get well. 

Just about this time, two Indian gentlemen, named Geronimo and Victoria, were raising particular mischief all through that section of thecountry, and the feeling that any moment they might come down on you andraise your scalp after puncturing you full of holes was anything butpleasant. It was decidedly creepy and many a time I wished myself backin the good old state of Texas. I had come for excitement and adventureand it was not long until I had both articles doled out to me in largechunks. Those Indians used to break out from their reservations, swoopdown on some settlement, kill everything in sight and then loot and burnto their heart's content. There was no warning--just a few shots, then ashrill war-whoop, and a perfect horde of yelling and shooting red devilswould be upon you. Precautions were taken and some of the largersettlements were able to stand them off until some of the small armycould come and scatter them. Blue Field had pickets posted every night, chosen from among the four hundred toughs that lived there, and waspretty well protected. 

They gave us a wide berth for a while, but one night, I was sittingdozing in my chair about eleven-thirty, when I was awakened by thesharp crack of a rifle, followed in quick succession by others, until itwas a regular fusillade. Then I heard the short shrill Apache war-whoop, and mentally I thought my time had come. I tried to breathe a prayer, but the high and unusual position of my heart effectually prevented anyarticulation. The window had been closed on account of a high windblowing, or I fancy I should have gone out that way. However, I grabbedup a rifle, and then opening a trap door, dropped down into a littlecubbyhole under the floor, where we used to keep our batteries. What Ibrought the rifle along for I can't say, unless it was to blow the topof my own head off. The place was like a bake-oven and all the air Ireceived came through a small crack in the floor, and it was not longuntil I was soaked with perspiration. 

[Illustration: "One of them picked up the lantern, and swaggering overto where I sat all trembling.... "]

Overhead I could hear the crack of the rifles and the whoop of theIndians as the battle raged, back and forth. During a temporary lull Iheard the despatcher calling me for dear life, but he could call for allI cared; I had other business just then--I was truly "25. " All at once Iheard a bigger commotion than ever, there was a sound as if caused bythe scurrying of many feet, and then all was quiet. I sat therewondering what was coming next, and how much longer I had to live, whenI smelled smoke, and in a second I knew the depot was on fire. I triedto raise the trap-door, but it had a snap lock and had been dropped sohard in my mad efforts to get away, that it was securely locked. GoodGod! was I to be burned like a rat in a trap? All was quiet save thecrackling of the flames as they licked up the depot. Something must bedone and quickly at that, or there would be one operator who wouldreceive his congé in a manner that was anything but pleasant. Feverishly, I groped around, and all at once my hand came in contactwith the Winchester rifle. I grasped it by the barrel, and using it as abattering ram I started to smash that door. The smoke by this time wasstifling, suffocating, and already my senses were leavingme, --everything was swimming around before my eyes, but it was a case oflife and death, and I hammered away with all my might. Finally, Crash!Ah! I had succeeded, the lock broke and in a moment I had pulled myselfup in the office. 

The side towards the door was all ablaze and escape that way wasimpossible, so I picked up a chair and slammed it through the windowover the table, and climbed out taking a loose set of instruments withme. The wires were still working, and above the crackle of the flames Iheard "DS" still calling me. I reached in through the window and simplysaid, "Indians--depot on fire--have saved a set of instruments--will call youlater when I can fix a wire, " and signed my name, "Bates. "

My lungs were filled with smoke and felt like they had a million sharpneedles sticking in them, but thanks to my lucky stars, I was nototherwise hurt. Everything appeared so quiet and still that I was dazed, but presently I heard a low mumbling of voices out to the westwards. Imade my way thither and found the population (all that was left of it), assembled. When I staggered up to a group of the men, they turned on melike tigers, not knowing what kind of an animal I was. I recognized oneof them who was commonly known as "Full-House Charley, " and weakly said, "Don't shoot, Charley, it's Bates the night operator at the depot. "

"Well! where the devil have you been all the time? When the depot wasburning some of us went over there, but you'd gone some place. Wecouldn't save anything so we let 'er burn. Your side partner, the dayman, was killed and scalped. "

It appeared that just as the fight was the hottest, three troops ofthe --th U. S. Colored Cavalry, appeared on the scene, having been onthe trail of this same band all day. They made short work of the red menwho melted away to the fastnesses of the Mogollons, first setting fireto the depot, the troops in close pursuit. If there ever were faithfulhard working fighters in that country, it was these same duskybrunettes. 

I told the gang where I had been, and in a few minutes several of themwent over to the station to help me rig up a wire. I knew thedespatcher's wire, and taking a pole's length out of another line, Isoon made a connection to the instrument I had saved. It was no go--thewire was dead open. Then I rigged up a ground by running a wire to apipe that ran down the well, and in testing I found the wire was openwest. I called up "DS, " who was east of-me, and told him what a nice hotold time we had been having out there. 

"Yes, " he said, "I knew there was trouble. Just after you told me aboutthe Indians and fire, Clear Creek said their place was attacked byanother band and things were getting pretty hot with them. Then the wirewent open, caused as I supposed by your fire, but now it seems as ifBaird is probably up against it as well. A train load of troops willcome through in a short while to try and get beyond the Indians and cutthem off. If you are able, I wish you would flag them and go over toClear Creek and report from there. Disconnect and take your instrumentand leave the line cut through. A line man will be sent out from here inthe morning. Everything is tied up on the road, and you can tell the C. & E. There's nothing ahead of them, but to run carefully, keeping asharp lookout for torn up track and burned trestles. "

My experiences had been so exciting and the smoke in my lungs sopainful, that I was ready to drop from fatigue; but then I thought ofpoor Fred Baird and his family, and I said I'd go. The troop train camein presently and I boarded her. It did my heart good to ride on thatengine with "Daddy" Blake at the throttle, and think that four hundredbig husky American regulars were trailing along behind, waiting forsomething to turn up and just aching for a crack at the red men. 

It was now about three o'clock, and just as the first rays of early dawnillumined the horizon, we came in sight of Clear Creek. There was a dullred glow against the sky, that told only too well what we should find. The place had not been as well protected as Blue Field, and theslaughter was something fearful. The depot was nothing but a smolderingmass of ruins, and but a short distance away we came upon the bodies ofBaird, his wife and two children, shot to pieces, stripped, horriblymutilated and scalped. It was sickening, and shortly after, when thetroop train pulled out for Chiquito, the sense of loneliness wasoppressing. A few people had escaped by hiding in obscure places andwhen they came out they went to work and buried the dead. I finallysucceeded in getting a wire through and then, despite the heat, I slept. 

The next day the troops corralled the Indians, gave them a good lickingand sent them back to their old reservations. And yet in face of justsuch incidents as these, there are people who say that poor Lo can becivilized. 

A construction gang came out and started to re-build, and the companyoffered me a good day office if I would remain, but Nay! Nay! I had hadall I wanted of Arizona, and I went back to Texas, thankful that I had awhole skin and a full shock of red hair. 

CHAPTER VII

TAKING A WHIRL AT COMMERCIAL WORK--MY FIRST ATTEMPT--THE GALVESTON FIRE

The memory of my exciting experience in Arizona lasted me a good longtime, and I finally determined to leave the railroad service and try myhand at commercial work. The two classes are the same, and yet they areentirely different. 

It is a most interesting sight, to the uninitiated, to go into theoperating room of a big commercial office and see the swarms of men andwomen bending over glass partitioned tables; nimble footed check boysrunning hither and thither like so many flies, carrying to each wire theproper messages, while the volume of sound that greets your ears ispositively deafening. Every once in a while some operator will raise hishead and yell "Pink, " "C. N. D. " or "Wire. " "Pink" means a message thatis to be rushed; "C. N. D. " is a market quotation that is to be hurriedover to the Bucket Shops or Stock Exchange, while "Wire, " means amessage that pertains to some wire that is in trouble and such messagesmust have precedence over all others. The check boys are trained toknow the destination of each and every wire and work under the directionof the traffic chief. 

Far over on one side of a room is the switch board. To the untutoredmind it looks like numberless long parallel strips of brass tacked onthe side of the wall, and each strip perforated by a number of smallholes, while stuck around, in what seems endless profusion, are manygutta-percha-topped brass pegs. Yet through all this seeming mass ofconfusion, everything is in apple pie order, and each one of thosestrips represents a wire and every plug a connection to some set ofinstruments. The wire chief and his assistants are in full charge ofthis work, and it must needs be a man of great ability to successfullyfill such a place in a large office. 

The chief operator has entire supervision over the whole office, and hisduties are hard, constant, and arduous. Like competent traindespatchers, men able to be first-class chief operators are few and farbetween. Not only must he be an expert telegrapher, but he mustthoroughly understand line, battery and switch board work, and hisexecutive ability must be of the highest order. 

I had always supposed if a man were a first-class railroad operator hecould do equally good work on a commercial wire; in fact the operatorin a small town is always employed by the railroad company and does thelittle amount of commercial work in addition to his other duties. 

After leaving Blue Field I loafed a while, but that's tiresome work atbest, so I journeyed down to Galveston, Texas, one bright fall morning, and after trying my luck at the railroad offices, I wandered into thecommercial office on the Strand and asked George Clarke, the chiefoperator, for a job. 

"What kind of a man are you?" he said. 

"First-class in every respect, sir, " I replied. 

"Sit down there on the polar side of that Houston quad and if you areany account, I'll give you a job at seventy dollars per month. "

Now a "Quad" is an instrument whereby four messages are going over the_same_ wire at the _same_ time. The mechanism of the machine isdifferent in every respect from the old relay, key and sounder, used onthe railroad wires. In a vague way I had heard of "quads, " and imaginedI could work them as well as an "O. S. " wire, but when he said for me tosit down on the "Polar side, " I was, for a minute, stumped. However, there were already three chaps sitting at that table, so the fourthplace must be mine. I sat down and presently I heard the sounder say, "Who?" I answered "BY, " and then "HO, " said, "Hr. City, " I grabbed a penand made ready to copy, but by the time he had finished the address Iwas just putting down the number and check. "Break" I said, "G. A. From, " B-r-r-r-r- how that sounder did jump. This interesting operationwas repeated several times, but finally I succeeded in getting themessage down, and then without giving me time to draw my breath, hesaid, "C. N. D. " and started ahead with a jargon of figures and wordsthat I had never heard of before. His sending was plain enough, in factit was like a circus bill, but I wasn't on to the combination, and itwas all Greek to me. Perspiration started from every pore, and in myagony I said, "Break, G. A. Ahr. , " Holy Smoke! how he did fly off atthat, and how those other three chaps did grin at my discomfiture. 

"Call your chief operator over here, " and with that he refused to workwith me any more. Clarke came over and that blasted chump at "HO" said, "For heaven's sake give us an operator to do the receiving on the polar'side of this quad. We are piled up with business and can't be delayed byteaching the ropes to a railroad ham. He's been ten minutes taking onemessage, and I haven't been able to pound into his head what a 'C. N. D, ' is yet. "

Clarke quietly gave him "O. K. " and then turned to me with, "I guess you are not used to this kind of work. Better go back torailroading, and learn something about commercial work before tackling ajob like this again. Come back in six months and I'll give you anothertrial. " I sneaked out of the office, followed by the broad smiles ofevery man in the place, and thus ended the first lesson. 

I took Clarke's advice and went back to work on a narrow-gauge roadrunning northwards out of Houston, through the most God-forsaken countryon the footstool. Sluggish bayous, foul rank growth of vegetation, alligators as long as a rail, that would come out and stop trains bybeing on the track, and air so malarious in quality that it was only aquestion of time until one had the fever. I stuck it out for two monthsand then succumbed to the inevitable and went to the hospital where Ilay for three weeks. After I had fully recovered they put me to work inthe Houston General Office, and some eight months after reaching there Ireceived a message from my old friend Clarke, saying, "if I had improvedany in my commercial work he would give me a job at seventy dollars permonth. " I hadn't improved much, but as this world is two-thirds bluff, Imade mine, and said I'd come, trusting to luck to be able to hold on. 

I reached there one pleasant afternoon and the next morning went towork. I must have had my rabbit's foot with me, because I was assignedto a "Way Wire. " I think if he had told me to tackle a "Quad, " again, Ishould have fainted. A "Way Wire, " is one that runs along a railroad, having offices cut in in all the small towns. There wasn't a town on thewhole string that had more than ten or fifteen messages a day, but theaggregate of all the offices made up a very good day's work. Then againI didn't have to handle any of those confounded "C. N. D. " messages. Clarke watched me closely and at the end of the first day he said mywork showed a marked improvement. You may rest assured I watched my P'sand Q's, and it wasn't long before I had the hang of the system andcould take my trick on a "Quad" with the best of them. Rheostats, wheatstone bridges, polarized relays, pole changers, and ground switchesbecame as familiar to me as the old relay key and sounder had been. 

Some of the rarest gems of the profession worked in "G" office at thistime--George Clarke, "Cy" Clamphitt, "Jack" Graham, Will Church, John McNeill, Paul Finnegan alias the "Count, " and a score or more ofmen, as good as ever touched a key or balanced a quad. A day's work wasfrom eight A. M. , until five P. M. , and for all over time we were paidextra at the rate of forty cents per hour. This extra work was called"Scooping. "

One day in December, Clarke asked me if I wanted to "scoop" that night. I acquiesced and after eating a hasty supper I went back to the officeand prepared for a long siege. I was put to sending press reports, whichis just about as hard work as a man can do. I sent "30" (the end) at twoo'clock in the morning, and went home worn to a frazzle. I was boardingon Avenue M. With ten other operators, in a house kept by a Mrs. Swanson, and roomed with her little son Jimmie, who was a hopelesscripple. I undressed, and after shoving little Jim over to his own sideof the bed, tumbled in and was soon sleeping like a log. It seemed as ifI had just closed my eyes when I felt some one pulling my hair. Iknocked the hand away and prepared to take another snooze, when therewas that awful pull on my red head again. I opened my eyes prepared tofight, when I felt an extra hard pull, and heard the wee sma' voice ofmy diminutive room mate say, "Get up, the house is on fire. " "Rats, " I said--Again, --the awfulpull, --and, --"Mr. Bates, for God's sake get up; the house is on fire;the whole town is burning up. "

I sprang out of bed and the crackling of the timbers, the glow of theflames, and the stifling smoke, soon assured me it was time to move, andquickly at that. I grabbed up a few clothes in one arm, and graspingbrave little Jimmie Swanson in the other, I started for the steps. Onour side, the whole house was in flames, and the smoke rushing up thestair-way was something awful. I wrapped Jimmie's head in his nightshirt, and throwing a coat over mine, I started down the stairs. Halfway down my foot slipped, and we both pitched head first to the bottom. Poor little Jim, his right arm was broken by the fall, and when he triedto get up, he found that his one sound leg was badly strained. He said, "Never mind me, Mr. Bates, save yourself. I'll crawl out. "

Leave him to roast alive? Never! I grabbed him again and after adesperate effort succeeded in getting him out. All our supply ofclothing had been lost in our mad efforts to escape, and as a bitternorther was blowing at the time, our position was anything but pleasant. I found a few clothes dropped by some one else and we made ourselves aswarm as possible. Then I grabbed Jimmie up again and fled before thefiery blast. The awful catastrophe had started in a fisherman's shackover on the bay, twenty-seven squares from where we lived, and beingborne by a high wind, had swept everything in its path. The houses weremostly of timber and were easy prey to the relentless flames. AlthoughGalveston is entirely surrounded by water, the pipe-lines for fightingfire at this time extended only to Avenue H, ten blocks from the Strand. Beyond that, the fire department depended on the cisterns of privatehouses for the water to subdue the flames. 

With lightning-like rapidity the flames had spread and almost beforethey knew it the town seemed doomed. Arches of flame, myriads of fallingsparks, hundreds of fleeing half-clad men, women and children, thehissing of the engines in their puny attempts to fight the monster, andever and anon the dull roar of the falling walls, made a scene, as grandand weird as it was desolate and awful. In less than two hours timefifty-two squares had been laid waste, leaving a trail of smolderingblack ashes. That the whole city did not go is due to a providentialswitch of the wind that blew the flames back on their own tracks. 

Of the fifteen operators in the day force, twelve had been burned out, and the next morning, at eight o'clock, when all had reported for duty, they were as sorry a looking lot of men as ever assembled. 

"Some in rags, some in jags, and one in velvet gown. " "Count" Finneganhad on a frilled shirt, a pair of trousers three sizes too small forhim, and his manly form was wrapped in a flowing robe of black velvet, picked up by him in his mad flight. 

It was many a day before the effects of this direful calamity wereentirely obliterated. 

CHAPTER VIII

SENDING A MESSAGE PERFORCE--RECOGNIZING AN OLD FRIEND BY HIS STUFF

Some time after this I was in Fort Worth copying night reports at eightydollars per month. The night force consisted of two other men besidesmyself. The "split trick" man worked until ten o'clock, the other chapstayed around until twelve, or until he was clear, while I hung on until"30" on report which came anywhere from one-thirty until four A. M. After midnight I had to handle all the business that came along. 

When I had received "30" I would cut out the instruments and go home. 

One morning, about two-thirty I had said "G. N. " to Galveston, cut outthe instruments, put out the lights in the operating room, and startedto go home through the receiving room and I was about to put out thelast light there, when the outer door opened and in staggered a halfdrunken ranchman who said, "Hold on there, young fellow, I want to send a message to St. Louis. "

"I'm sorry, but it's too late to send it now. All the instruments arecut out and we wont have St. Louis until eight o'clock in the morning. Come around then and some of the day force will send it for you. "

"But, " he said in a maudlin voice, "I've got nineteen cars of cattle outhere that are going up there to-morrow and I want to notify my agents. "

I persisted in my refusal and was beginning to get hot under the collar, but my bucolic friend also had a temper and showed it. 

"D--n it, " he said, "you send this message or there is going to betrouble. "

"Not much, I won't send your confounded old message. Get out of thisoffice: I'm going home. "

Just then I heard an ominous click and in a second I was gazing down thebarrel of a . 45, and he said, "Now will you send it? You'd better or I'll send you to a home that willbe a permanent one. "

A . 45, especially when it is loaded, cocked and pointed at your head, with a half drunken galoot's finger on the trigger, is a powerfulincentive to quick action. 

"Give me your blamed old message, and I'll send it for you. "

Now there wasn't a through wire to any place at the time, but I hadthought of a scheme to stave him off. I took his telegram, went over andmonkeyed around the switch board for a while, and then sat down to alocal instrument and went through the form of sending a message. Mywhole salvation lay in the hope that he was not an operator and wouldfail to discover my ruse. I glanced at him furtively out of the cornerof my eye, and there he stood, pistol in hand, grinning like a monkeyand swaying to and fro like a reed in the wind. I didn't know what thatgrin portended for me, but after I had gone through the form of sendingthe telegram, I hung it up on the hook, and turned around with, "There, I hope you are satisfied now. Your blamed old message has beensent. "

"Satisfied! Why certainly I'm satisfied. I just wanted to show you thatthe Western Union Company wasn't the whole push. Come on over to theWhite Elephant with me and we'll have a drink together, just to showthere's no hard feelings between us, " and with that he put away hispistol and we went out. On the way over to the Elephant he said, "Say, kid, did you think I'd shoot if you hadn't sent the message?"

"Well, " I replied, "I wasn't taking any chances on the matter. "

Then he laughed loud enough to be heard a block away and said, "Why, that pistol hasn't been loaded for six months, I was just running abluff on you, and you bit like a fish. "

Good joke, wasn't it? We had our drink, _and his message was sent by oneof the day force, at eight-twelve A. M. _

The Morse telegraphic alphabet is exactly the same the world over, andyet each operator has a peculiarity to his sending, or "stuff, " as it iscalled, that makes it easy to recognize an old friend, even though hisname be changed. 

In the early part of my career, when I was working days at X----, inNebraska, at Sweeping Water there was a chap called Ned Kingsburyholding down the night job, and as wild a youngster as ever hit theroad. One night when I was sitting up a little late I heard thedespatcher give Ned an order for a train that ordinarily would not stopthere. Ned repeated it back all right enough, and then gave the signal, "6, " which meant that he had turned his red-light to the track and wouldhold it there until the order was delivered and understood. So far, sogood. But the reckless little devil had forgotten to turn his red-boardand proceeded to write to some of his numerous girls, and the firstthing he knew that freight train went smashing by at a thirty-five mileclip, and Mr. Ned knew he was up against it. 

In some states a railroader guilty of criminal negligence is sent upfor a term of from one to ten years. The smash up that resulted fromNed's carelessness was a catastrophe of the fatal kind; one engineer waskilled, and a fireman and brakeman or two laid up for months. He fullyrealized the magnitude of his offence and promptly skipped away from thewrath that was sure to follow, and nothing more was heard of him in thatsection of the country. 

This all happened a number of years before I went to work in Fort Worth, and one morning I was doing a little "scooping, " by working days, andsat down to send on the "DA" quad. I worked hard for about two hours onthe polar side, and was sending to some cracker jack, who signed "KY. "Shortly after that I changed over to the receiving side and "KY" did thesending to me. I had been taking about ten messages and the convictionwas growing on me momentarily that the sending was very familiar andthat I must have known the sender. Where had I heard that peculiar jerkysending before? It was as plain as print, but there was anindividuality about it that belonged only to one man. All at once thatnight in Nebraska flashed on my mind and I knew my sender was none otherthan Ned Kingsbury. I broke him and said, "Hello, Ned Kingsbury, where did you come from?"

"You've got the wrong man this time, sonny, my name is Pillsbury, " hereplied. 

"Oh! come off. I'd know that combination of yours if I heard it inHalifax. Didn't you work at Sweeping Water, Nebraska, some time ago, anddidn't you have some kind of a queer smash up there?"

Then he 'fessed up and said he had recognized my stuff as soon as heheard it, but hadn't said anything in hopes I wouldn't twig him. 

"Don't give me away, old chap. I'm flying the flag now and have lost allmy former brashness. "

I never did. 

CHAPTER IX

BILL BRADLEY, GAMBLER AND GENTLEMAN

Telegraphers are, as a rule, a very nomadic class, wandering hither andthither like a chip buffeted about on the ocean. Their pathway is notalways one of roses, and many times their feet are torn by the jaggedrocks of adversity. I was no different from any of the rest, neitherbetter nor worse, and many a night I have slept with only the deep bluesky for a covering, and it may be added--sotto voce--it is not a verywarm blanket on a cold night. 'Tis said, an operator of the first classcan always procure work, but there are times when even the best of themare on their uppers. For instance, when winter's chill blasts sweepacross the hills and dales of the north, like swarms of swallows, operators flit southwards to warmer climes, and for this reason thesupply is often greater than the demand. 

I was a "flitter" of the first water, and after I had been in Fort Worthfor a very short while I became possessed of a desire to see somethingof the far famed border towns along the Rio Grande frontier. So I wentsouth to a town called Hallville, and found it a typical tough frontiertown. I landed there all right enough and then proceeded to gentlystrand. Work was not to be had, money I had none, and my predicament canbe imagined. Many of you have doubtless been on the frontier and knowwhat these places are. There was the usual number of gambling dens, dance halls and saloons, and of course they had their variety theatre. Ever go into one of the latter places? The first thing that greets youreye is a big black and white sign "Buy a drink and see the show. "Inside, at one end, is the long wooden bar, presided over by some thugof the highest order, with a big diamond stuck in the centre of a broadexpanse of white shirt front. At the other end is the so-called stage, while scattered about indiscriminately are the tables and chairs. Theair is filled--yea, reeking--with the fumes of bad whiskey, stale beer, and the odor of foul smelling cheap tobacco smoke, and through all thishaze the would-be "show, " goes on, and the applause is manifested bywhistles, cat calls, the pounding of feet on the floor and glasses onthe tables. Occasionally some artist (?) will appear who does not seemto strike the popular fancy and will be greeted by a beer glass orempty bottle being fired at his or her head. 

Now, at the time of which I speak, my prospects were very slim, and asnature had endowed me with a fair singing voice, I had just about madeup my mind to go to the Palace Variety Theatre and ask for a position asa vocalist. I could, at least, sing as well as some of the theatricalbygones that graced the place. The price of admission in one of theseplaces is simply the price of a drink. I felt in my pocket and foundthat I had one solitary lonely dime, and swinging aside the green baizedoor, I entered. 

"Gimme a beer, " I said laying down my dime. A small glass, four-fifthsfroth and one-fifth beer, was skated at me by the bartender from theother end of the counter, and my dime was raked into the till. 

Then I stood around like a bump on a log, trying to screw my courage upto ask the blear eyed, red-nosed Apollo for a job. Some hack voiced oldchromo was trying to warble "Do they miss me at home, " and mentally Ithought "if he had ever sung like that when he was at home they wereprobably glad he had left. " The scene was sickening and disgusting tome, but empty stomachs stand not on ceremony, so I turned around andwas just about to accost the proprietor, when Biff! I felt a stingingwhack between my shoulders. Quickly I faced about, all the risibility ofmy red headed nature coming to the surface, and there I saw a bighandsome chap standing in front of me. Six feet tall, broad-shouldered, straight, lithe limbs, denoting herculean strength, a massive headpoised on a well shaped neck, two cold blue eyes, and a face covered bya bushy brown beard; dressed in well fitting clothes, trousers tucked inthe tops of shiny black boots, long Prince Albert coat and a broadsombrero set rakishly on one side of his head. Such was the man who hitme in the back. 

"Hello, youngster, what's your name?"

Rubbing my lame shoulder, I said, "Well it might be Jones and it mightbe Smith, but it ain't, and I don't know what affair it is of yours, anyway. "

"Oh! come now, boy, don't get huffy. You've got an honest face andappear to be in trouble. What is it? Out with it. You're evidently atenderfoot and this hell-hole of vice isn't a place for a boy of youryears. What's your name? Come over here at this table and sit down andtell me. "

Something in his bluff hearty manner gave me hope and after sittingdown, I said. 

"My name is Martin Bates. I'm a telegraph operator by profession andblew into this town this morning on my uppers. I can't get work and Ihaven't a red cent to my name. It is necessary for me to live, and as Ican sing a little bit, I came in here to see if I could get a jobwarbling. I won't beg or steal, and there is no one here I can borrowfrom. There's my story. Not a very pleasant one is it?"

"There may have been worse. How long since you've had anything to eat. "

"Nine o'clock this morning, " I grimly replied. 

"Good Lord, that's twelve hours ago. Come on with me out of here andI'll fix you up. "

Meekly I followed my new found friend. I was sick at heart, weary andworn out in body and I didn't care a rap whether school kept or not;anything would be better than my present situation. He took me aboutthree blocks up the main street and we went into a suite of beautifullyfurnished rooms. He rang a bell, a darkey came in, and it wasn't longbefore I had a lunch in front of me fit for the gods, and I may add itdidn't take me many minutes to get outside of it. My friend watched menarrowly while I was eating, and when I had finished he said, "Now youngster, you're all tired out. You go to bed in the next room andget a good night's sleep. In the morning we'll see what we can do foryou, but one thing is certain, you're not going into that vile hole of aPalace Theatre again. Somewhere in this world you have a father andmother who are praying for you this night. Don't make a slip in yourpathway in life and break their hearts. Everything is safe and quiethere and no one will disturb you until I come in in the morning. "

There was a peculiar earnestness in his voice as he spoke that was veryconvincing, and as he rose to go out, I meekly said, "What's your name, mister?"

"Bill Bradley, " he answered with a queer smile. "Now don't you ask anymore questions to-night, " and with that he was gone. 

I went to bed almost sick from my exposure and lack of food, and just asthe old sand man of childhood's happy days began to sprinkle his grainsin my eyes, I heard, way off in the distance, a peculiar click and adrawling voice calling off some numbers. "Four. " "Sixteen. ""Thirty-three. " "Seventy-eight. " "Ten. " "Twenty-six, " and then, a greatshout arose and some one called out "KENO. " Ah! I was near a gamblinghouse, but I was too tired to care, nature asserted herself, and Igently crossed the river into the land of Nod. 

The next morning I was really sick with a high fever, and when Bill camein I was well nigh loony. 

"Hello, " he said, "this won't do. Tom, I say, you Tom, go and tellDoctor Bailey I want him here quick. D--n quick. Do you hear?" and blackTom answered, "Yas, suh. "

To be brief, I was three weeks on my back, and bluff old Bill Bradleynursed me like a loving mother would a sick child. Day and night he hungover me, never a thing did I need but what he procured for me, and oneday after the fever had left me and I was sitting up by an open window, I said, "Mr. Bradley, what do you do for a living?"

"Boy, " he replied with a flushed face, "I am sorry you asked thatquestion, but sooner or later you would have heard it and I'd a greatdeal rather tell you about it myself. I'm a gambler and these threerooms adjoin my place which is called the "Three Nines, " and then hetold me the story of his life. He was a son of a fine Connecticutfamily, a graduate of Harvard, and in his day had been a very able younglawyer with brilliant prospects, but one night, he went out with a crowdof roystering chaps, the lie was passed, and--it was the old story, --hecame to Texas for a refuge. The great civil war was just over, thecountry in a chaotic state, and there he had remained ever since. Thrownwith wild, uncouth men, and being reckless in the extreme, he opened agambling house. 

"Why did you take this great interest in me?" I asked. 

"Look here, young chap, you are altogether too inquisitive. I've got anold father and mother way up in Ball Brooke, Connecticut, whose heartshave been broken by my actions, and when I saw you in that hellish denof vice you looked so out of place that I determined to save you. It wasimpulse, my boy, and then again, it may have been the remembrance of theone, at whose knee I used to lisp, 'Now I lay me down to sleep. '"

My recovery was very rapid from that time on, and when I was able towork I secured a position in the commercial office in Hallville. Oneevening after being paid I strolled into the "Three Nines;" Bill wasdealing faro, and I thought I might in a measure, show my gratitudetowards him by risking a coin. There was a big crowd standing aroundthe table, but I edged my way in and placed a dollar on the queen towin. Luck was with me and I won. Once, twice, thrice, did the cards comemy way, and my stack of whites and reds was growing. This didn't seem tome much like gratitude to win a man's money, and I wished I hadn'tstarted. Presently Bill looked up, and spying me, pointed to my stack ofchips, and said, "Whose stack is that?" "Mine, " I replied, and with onefell swoop he dashed the chips into the rack, and taking a ten-dollarbill from the drawer, he turned to his side partner and said, "Jim, takethe deal, " and then he got up, took me by the arm, saying, "You comewith me. "

Feeling like a sneak I followed him, and when we had reached hissitting-room, he sat down and said, "Kid, how much were you in on that deal?"

"Just one dollar, " I replied. 

Then he looked at me, his eyes shone like coals of fire, and he said, "Look here boy, here's ten dollars. If you are ever hard up and wantmoney come to me, and I'll give it to you willingly, but don't you everlet me see or hear of you staking a cent on a card again. I'm running agambling house, and as gambling houses go, it's an honest one, but I'mnot out plucking lambs like you. Your intentions were probably good butdon't you ever do it again. If you really want to show your gratitudefor what I have done for you, promise me honestly that you will nevergamble. "

I felt very much humiliated, but took his words of advice, promised, andhave never flipped a coin on a card since that night. 

Bill was a married man, and in addition to his suite of rooms spoken of, he had a very nice residence on Capitol Hill. His suite was a sideissue, to be used when the games were running high. I had never met Mrs. Bradley, but during my illness I had evidence every day of her goodnessin the shape of many delicacies that found their way to my bedside. Ihad asked Bill time and again to take me out to meet his wife, but healways put me off on one pretext or another. 

When I started to work, I had secured a room at the house of a Mrs. Slade. She had three daughters and one Sunday afternoon we were all outwalking together, when one of them pointed to a very fine residence andsaid, "That's the residence of Bill Bradley, the big gambler. "

Just then Bill and his wife came driving by behind a spanking team ofbays. Quick as a flash my hat came off, and I bowed low. Bill saw itand very cavalierly returned my salute. The elder Miss Slade turned onme like a tigress, and said, "Mr. Bates, do you know who that man is? Do you know what he is?"

"Yes, I know him very well, " I replied. 

"Then what do you mean by insulting us by speaking to such a man? I didnot know that you associated with men of his ilk. "

In a plain unvarnished way I told them of Bill Bradley's kindness to me, but it was no go, and as I would not renounce my liking for the man whohad been my benefactor, my room in their house became preferable to mysociety and I left. 

The next evening I saw Bill in his rooms, and he said, "Martin, yesterday, when Mrs. Bradley and I drove by you and the Sladegirls, you spoke to me and lifted your hat to Mrs. Bradley. I could donaught but return the salute. Now my boy, there's no use of my mincingwords with you; I befriended you, probably saved you from ruin, butyoung as you are, you know full well that our paths do not lie parallelwith each other. I am a gambler, and although Mrs. Bradley is as good awoman as ever lived, (and I'd kill the first man that said she wasn't)we are not recognized by society; no, not even by the riff raff thatlive in Hallville. You have your way to carve in the world, don't ruinit right at the outset by letting people know you are friendly withgamblers. No matter how good your motives may be, this scoffing worldwill always misconstrue them and censure you. "

This made me hot and I told him so. No matter if he was a gambler, hewas more of a gentleman than nine-tenths of the men of society, yes, men, who would come and gamble half the night away in his place, andthen go forth the next day and pose as models of propriety. 

The upshot of the whole business was that I left Hallville soon afterthis and went to San Antonio to take day report, and one day I picked upa paper, and read an account of how Bill Bradley had been assassinatedby a cowardly cur who had a grudge against him. He was stabbed in theback, and thus ended the career of Bill Bradley, gambler and gentleman. 

CHAPTER X

THE DEATH OF JIM CARTWRIGHT--CHASED OFF A WIRE BY A WOMAN

I didn't stay at San Antonio very long after this but startednorthwards. You see it was getting to be warm weather. The first place Istruck was a night job in a smashing good town up near the south line ofthe pan handle. I quit working at midnight, and to get to my boardinghouse had to walk a mile through a portion of the town called "Hell'shalf-acre. "

The most prominent place of any description in the city was a saloon andgambling house known as the "Blue Goose, " owned by John Waring and LukeRavel. Both men were as nervy as they make 'em and several nicks in thebutts of their revolvers testified mutely as to their prowess. Theirplace was like all other dens, and consisted of the usual bar and lunchcounter in one room, while in the adjoining one was the hall of gaming. Faro, roulette, hazard, monte, and the great national game, poker, heldhigh carnival there nightly. Next to the "Goose" was a long narrow roomused as a shooting gallery. The place was only a few doors around thecorner from my office, and many a night on my way home I would stop atthe lunch counter and have a sandwich and a cup of coffee. I rememberedmy promise to bluff old Bill Bradley, and was never tempted to go in thegambling hall. I generally used to rise about noon each day and go uptown and loaf until four o'clock, when it was time to go to work. Ipicked up a speaking acquaintance with Luke Ravel, and sometimes wewould go into the shooting gallery together and have a friendly boutwith the Flobert rifles. 

At this time there was one of those tough characters in the town namedJim Cartwright. In days gone by he had been a deputy United StatesMarshal, and one time took advantage of his official position to provokea quarrel with an enemy and killed him in cold blood. Public indignationran high and Jim had to skip to Mexico. He stayed away two years andgetting in trouble over there, came back to his old stamping grounds inhopes the people had forgotten his former scrape. They hadn't exactlyforgotten it, but Jim was a pretty tough character and no one seemed tocare to tackle him. 

One night Luke Ravel and Jim had some words over a game of cards, andbad blood was engendered between them. The next day my side partnerFrank Noel, and I went into the shooting gallery to try our luck, andwere standing there enjoying ourselves, when Luke came in and took ahand. He was dressed in the height of fashion, and while we three werestanding there, Jim Cartwright, three sheets in the wind, appeared inthe doorway pistol in hand. He looked at Luke and said, with an oath, "Look here, Luke Ravel, your time has come. I'm going to kill you. "

My hair arose, my heart seemed to stop beating, but there was no wayout, so Noel and I edged our way over as far as possible, and held ourbreath. Luke never turned a hair, nor changed color. He was as cool asan iceberg, and squarely facing Cartwright said, "You wouldn't shoot an unarmed man would you, Jim?"

"Ain't you got no gun?"

"No, " replied Luke, "I'm unarmed. See, " and with that he threw up thetails of his long coat. 

Jim hesitated a minute, and then shoving his gun into his pocket hesaid, "No, by heavens, I won't kill an unarmed man. I'll give you a chancefor your life, but I warn you to fix yourself, because the next time Isee you I'm going to let daylight through your carcass, " and withanother oath he turned to walk away. Hardly had he taken two steps, whenthere was a blinding flash followed by a loud report, and Jim Cartwrightlay dead, shot through the heart, while Luke Ravel stood over him; asmoking . 38 pocket pistol in his hand. Where he pulled his gun from noone ever knew; it was all over in a flash. It seems a cowardly thing toshoot a man in the back, but it was a case of 'dog eat dog. '

Luke was arrested next day, and Noel and I gave our testimony before thecoroner's jury, and he was bound over for trial before the next term ofthe circuit court to sit six months hence. There is an old and verytrite saying in Texas that, "a dead witness is better than a live one. "This was gently whispered into our ears, and accordingly one night abouta month after this, Noel and I "folded our tents, and like the Arabs, silently stole away. "

Luke was acquitted on the plea of self defence. 

Spring time having come, and with it the good hot weather, I continuedto move northwards and finally brought up in a good office in Nebraska, where I was to copy the night report from Chicago. We had two wiresrunning to Chicago, one a quad for the regular business, and the other asingle string for "C. N. D. " and report work. My stay in this officewas, short, sharp, brilliant and decisive. 

The first night I sat down to work at six-thirty, and in a few minuteswas receiving the worst pounding I had ever experienced, from someoperator in "CH" office who signed "JL. " There was no kick coming on thesending, it was as plain as a large sized poster, but it was soall-fired fast, that it made me hustle for all I was worth to get itdown. There is no sense in a fellow sending so fast, because nothing ismade by it and it tires every one completely out. Ordinarily, a thirtyword a minute clip is a good stiff speed for report, but this night, thirty-five or forty was nearer the mark. In every operator there is acertain amount of professional pride inherent that makes him refrainfrom breaking on report unless it is absolutely necessary. The senderalways keeps a record of the breaks of each receiver on the line, and ifthey become too frequent the offender is gently fired. On the night inquestion I didn't break, but there were several times when foreigndispatches were coming that I faked names in great shape. It was an uglynight out, and about nine o'clock our quad flew the track, and in aminute "JL" said to me, "Here's ten blacks (day messages) just handed me to send to you, " andwithout waiting for me to get my manifold clip out of the way hestarted. I didn't get a chance to put the time or date down, and wasswearing, fighting mad. After sending five of the ten messages, "JL"stopped a second and said, "How do I come?"

"You come like the devil. For heaven's sake let up a bit, " I replied. 

"Who do you think you are talking to?" came back at me. 

Seemingly, patience had ceased to be a virtue with me, so I replied, "Some d----d ambitious chump of a fool who's stuck on making a recordfor himself. "

"That settles you. Call your chief operator over here. "

Joe Saunders was the chief, and when he came over he said, "What's the trouble here, kid, this wire gone down?"

"No, " I answered, "the wire hasn't gone down, but that cuss up in 'CH'who signs 'JL' has been pounding the eternal life out of me and I'vejust given him a piece of my mind. "

"Say anything brash?" asked Joe. 

"No, not very. Just told him he was a d--d fool with a few lightembellishments. "

Joe laughed very heartily and said, "I guess you are the fool in thiscase, because 'JL' is a woman, Miss Jennie Love, by name, and theswiftest lady operator in the business. If she makes this complaintofficial, you'll get it in the neck. "

I didn't wait for any official complaint, but put on my coat and walkedout much chagrined, because I had always boasted that no woman couldever run me off a wire. I had the pleasure of meeting Miss Loveafterwards and apologized for my conduct. She forgave me, but like MaryMarsh, she married another man. 

CHAPTER XI

WITNESSING A MARRIAGE BY WIRE--BEATING A POOL ROOM--SPARRING AT LONGRANGE

After my disastrous encounter with Miss Love, I went south and broughtup in St. Louis, where old "Top, " the chief operator, gave me a placeworking a New York quad. This was about the worst "roast" I had everstruck, and it was work from the word go from 5 P. M. Until 1 A. M. Workon any wire from a big city leading to New York is always hot, and thisparticular wire was the worst of the bunch. While working in this officeI had several little incidents come under my observation that may be ofinterest. 

The coy little god of love manifests itself in many ways, and thesuccessful culmination of two hearts' happiness is as often queer as itis humorous. 

Miss Jane Grey was an operator on the G. C. & F. Railway at Wichita, Kansas, and Mr. Paul Dimmock worked for the Western Union in Louisville, Kentucky. Through the agency of a matrimonial journal, Jane and Paulbecame acquainted; letters and pictures were exchanged, and--it was theold, old story--they became engaged. They wanted to be wedded and themore sensational and notorious they could make it the better it wouldsuit them both. Jane only earned forty dollars per month, while Paul'smonthly stipend was the magnificent sum of sixty, with whatever extratime he could "scoop. " Neither one of them wanted to quit work justthen, they felt they could not afford it, but that marriage must comeoff, or they would both die of broken hearts. Paul wrote, --Janewrote, --plans and compromises were made and refused; the situation wasbecoming desperate, and finally Jane's brilliant mind suggested amarriage by wire. Great head--fine scheme. _It takes a woman tocircumvent unforeseen obstacles every time. _ Chief operators wereconsulted in Kansas City and St. Louis and they agreed to have the wirecut through on the evening appointed. There were to be two witnesses ineach office, and I was one of the honored two in St. Louis. The dayfinally arrived, and promptly at seven-thirty in the evening Louisvillewas cut through to Wichita, and after all the contracting parties andthe witnesses had assembled, the ceremony began. There was a minister ateach end, and as the various queries and responses were received by thewitnesses, they would read them to the contracting party present, andfinally Paul said, "With this ring, I thee wed, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow:in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen. "

The ring was placed on the bride's finger, _by proxy_, the benedictionpronounced by the Wichita minister, and the deed was done. In due timethe certificate was received and signed by all the witnesses, and thematter made of record in both places. 

How long did they live apart? Oh! not very long. I think it was the nextnight that I saw a message going through directed to Paul saying, "Willleave for Louisville to-night, " and signed "Jane. "

I wonder if old S. F. B. Morse ever had any idea when he was perfectingthe telegraph, that it would some day be used to assist in joiningtogether, "Two souls with but a single thought, Two hearts that beat as one. "

Operators are as a rule as honest as the sun, yet, "where you findwheat, there also you find chaff, " and once in a while a man will befound whose proper place is the penitentiary. One of the easiest waysfor an operator, so inclined to make money, is to cut wires, steal thereports of races, market quotations, or C. N. D. Reports, and beat themto their destinations. Wires are watched very closely so that it is hardfor an outsider to do any monkeying. Many men understand telegraphy whodo not work at the business, and it is for this reason that all theinstruments in the bucket shops and stock exchanges are turned so lowthat no one outside of the operating room can hear a sound. When it isrealized that transactions are made, and fortunes won or lost in afractional part of a minute, it will be seen how very careful the greattelegraph companies must be. The big horse races every year offer greattemptations. 

While I was working in St. Louis, a case came under my observation thatwill readily illustrate the perversity of human nature. In a largeoffice not so very far away, there was working a friend of mine, who didnothing but copy race reports and C. N. D. 's all day. On the day thegreat Kentucky Derby was to be run, the wire was cut through from thetrack in Louisville to a big pool room in this city. 

Now the chief operator in this place was a scaly sort of a cuss--infact, it was said that he had done time in the past for someskullduggery--and when the horses went to the post, he stood by theswitchboard and deliberately cut the pool room wire, so the reportdidn't go through. He copied the report himself, knew what horse hadwon, and then sent a message to a henchman of his, who was an operatorand had an instrument secreted in his room near the pool room. This chapwent quickly into the pool room and made wagers right and left. A rankoutsider, a twenty to one shot, won the race, and after the confederatehad signified that he was ready, the chief sent the report through as ifit had come from the track. The whole transaction didn't take over twominutes and the "bookies" were hit for about $30, 000, which Mr. Chiefand his side pardner divided between them. 

A little while later the suspicions of the bookmakers became aroused, complaints were made, an investigation followed, and one fine day whenmatters were becoming pretty warm, the recalcitrant chief disappeared. His confederate confessed to the whole scheme and the jig was up. Thechief was afterwards apprehended and sent up for seven years, but heheld on to his boodle. 

For the first month of my stay in St. Louis, my life was as uneventfulas a May day, but at the end of that time a man came on the New York endof our quad that was enough to make a man drink. The men workingtogether on a wire like this should always be harmonious, because thebusiness is so heavy there is no time for any war of words. However, operators are like all other men, and scraps are not uncommon. Generallythey take place at long range, and no one is hurt thereby. Some men havean unhappy faculty of incurring the hatred of every person over a wire, while personally they may be princes of good fellows. The man referredto above, signed "SY, " and he had about as much judgment as a two yearold kid. It didn't make any difference to him whether the weather wasclear or muggy, no matter whether the wire was weak or strong, he'dpound along like a cyclone. Remonstrance availed nothing, and one nightwhen he was cutting up some of his monkeyshines, I became very warmunder the collar and told him in language more expressive than elegant, just what I thought of him, threatening to have our wire chief have himfired off the wire. He answered:

"Oh! you go to blazes, you big ham. You're too fresh anyway. "

The epithet "ham" is about as mean a one as can be applied to anoperator, and I came back at him with:

"Look here, you infernal idiot, I'll meet you some time and when I doI'm going to smash your face. Stop your monkeying and take thesemessages. "

"Hold your horses, sonny, what's the difference between you and ajackass?" he said. 

"Just nine hundred miles, " I replied. 

Further words were useless and in a few minutes he was relieved, butjust about the time he got up he said:

"Say, 'BY, ' don't forget you've got a contract to smash my face some ofthese days. I'll be expecting you. Ta Ta. "

That was the last of him on that wire and the incident passed from mymind. I pulled up and left St. Louis shortly after that and went to workfor the old Baltimore and Ohio Commercial Company, at the corner ofBroadway and Canal streets, in New York. I drew a prize in the shape ofthe common side of the first Boston quad. Sitting right alongside of mewas a great, big, handsome Irish chap named Dick Stanley. He was as finea fellow as ever lived, and that night took me over to his house onLong Island to board. We were sitting in his room about nine-thirty, having a farewell smoke before retiring and our conversation turned to"shop talk. " We talked of the old timers we had both known, toldreminiscences, spun yarns, and all at once Dick said:

"Say, Bates, did you ever work in 'A' office in St. Louis?"

"Oh! yes, " I replied, "I put in three months there under 'Old Top. ' Infact, I came from there to New York. "

"That so?" he answered. "I used to work on the polar side of the No. 2quad, from this end, over in the Western Union office on Broadway andDey street. What did you sign there?"

"BY, " I answered. I thought he looked queer, but we continued our talk, and finally I told him of my wordy war with a man in New York, whosigned "SY, " and remarked that I was going over to 195 Broadway, andsize him up some day. He knocked the ashes out of his pipe, got up fromhis chair, and, stretching his six feet two of anatomy to its fulllength said:

"Well, old chap, I'm fagged. I'm going to bed. You'd better get a goodsleep and be thoroughly rested in the morning, because you'll need allyour strength. I'm the man that signed 'SY' in the New York office, andI'm ready to take that licking. "

[Illustration: "He looked at me ... Then catching me by the collar.... "]

Did I lick him? Not much, I couldn't have licked one side of him, and wewere the best of chums during my stay in the city. 

CHAPTER XII

HOW A SMART OPERATOR WAS SQUELCHED--THE GALVESTON FLOOD

A little while after this "Stub" Hanigan, another operator, invited Dickand me to go down to a chop house with him for lunch, and we accepted. Isay chop house when in reality it was one of those numerous littlehotels that abound all over New York where one can get a good meal forvery little money. Hanigan was a rattling good operator, but he was veryyoung and had a tendency to be too fresh on occasion. 

He ordered us a fine lunch and while we were sitting there discussingthe good things, a big awkward looking chap came into the dining-room. He was accompanied by a sweet, pretty looking little woman. She was aregular beauty, and it needed but a glance to see that they were brideand groom, and from the country. They had all the ear marks so apparentin every bride and groom. They hesitated on the threshold a moment, andthe groom said very audibly:

"Dearest, this is the finest dining-room in the world, " and "Dearest"beamed on her liege lord in a manner that was very trustful and sweet. Hanigan, idiot that he was, laughed outright. Dick and I both gave him asavage kick under the table, but it didn't have any effect. 

The head waiter brought the couple over and sat them down at our table, and, say--that woman was as pretty as any that ever came down the pike. Towards the end of the meal, Hanigan took his knife and fork and beganto telegraph to Stanley and me, making all sorts of fun about thecountry pair. Now that is a pretty dangerous business, because there isno telling who may be an operator. Dick growled at him savagely underhis breath and told him to shut up. Nay! Nay! Mr. Hanigan wouldn't shutup worth a cent. Finally he made some scurrilous remark, and thenanother knife and fork came into play. Mr. Bridegroom was doing thetalking now, and this is what he said to Hanigan:

"I happen to be an operator myself, and have heard and understood everyword you said. As long as you confined yourself to innocent remarksabout country brides and grooms, I haven't minded it a bit. In fact, Ihave rather enjoyed it. But now you've gone too far, and in about fiveseconds I'm going to have the pleasure of smashing your face. "

Then, before we had time to do a thing, biff; and Hanigan got itsquarely on the jaw. We hustled him out of there as soon as we could, but Mr. Bridegroom had all his Irish up and followed him out. Eventuallywe succeeded in calming him down; "Stub" made a most abject apology, andI don't believe he ever used his knife and fork for any such a purposeagain. 

The gawky chap was Mr. Dave Harrison, one of the finest operators in theprofession. 

Just about this time fall weather was coming on, and there was asuggestion of an approaching winter in the chill morning air, andreceiving a letter from my old friend Clarke in Galveston, telling methere was a good job waiting for me if I could come at once, I pulled upstakes in New York, and sailed away on the Mallory Line ship "Comal, "for my old stamping ground. I reached there the next week and was put towork on the New York Duplex, which, by the way, was the longest stringin the United States. Mrs. Swanson had re-opened her boarding house onAvenue M, everything looked lovely and I anticipated a very pleasantwinter. Up to September 18th, everything was as quiet and calm as a Mayday. The weather had been beautiful, the surf bathing and concerts infront of the Beach Hotel fine, and nothing was left to wish for. 

I quit working on Thursday, September 18th, at five P. M. , and went outto the beach and had a plunge. The sky was clear, but there was a goodstiff breeze blowing, and it was increasing all the time. The tide wasflowing in, and the dashing of the waves and roar of the surf made apicture long to be remembered. After my swim I went home, and whensupper was finished three of us again went out to the beach. The windhad increased to a perfect gale, and already the water was over the cartracks. The Pagoda and Surf bath houses were surrounded, while numeroussmall shacks along the shore had been washed away. Inch by inch, foot byfoot, the water advanced until it began to look serious, but no onedreamed of the flood that was to follow. 

We went home at eight-thirty, and at ten I dropped into the realms ofthe sand man, lulled to sleep by the roar of the distant surf, and thewhistling and moaning of the high wind. 

Jimmie Swanson was again my roommate and about five o'clock he woke meup and said:

"Mr. Bates, if this wind keeps up the whole island will be under waterin a very few hours more. "

"Nonsense, Jimmie, " I replied, "there is no danger of that, " and Iturned over to have another snooze, when I heard a peculiar _swash_, _swash_, _swash_, against the side of the house. 

"Jimmie, what's the swash we hear?" I asked. 

He got out of bed, limped over to the window, opened the blinds, lookeda minute and then yelled:

"Good Lord! the whole town is under water, and we are floating. "

It needed but a glance to convince me that he spoke part truth. There wewere surrounded on all sides by water, but the house was still on itsfoundation. 

 "Water, water, everywhere Nor any drop to drink. "

On account of the sandy nature of the soil on Galveston Island, most ofthe houses were built up on piles, and the water was gently slopping allover the first floor of our habitation. The streets were flowing waisthigh, and filled with floating debris of all kinds;--beer kegs, boards, doors, and tables _ad lib_. The wind soon began to quiet down, and whenour first fright was over we had a high old time swimming and splashingaround in the water. It's a great city that will bring salt waterbathing right up to the doors of its houses. 

After a very skimpy breakfast, four of us made a raft, and paddled andpushed it down to the office. Nary a wire was there in working order. You see, Galveston is on a very flat island scarcely one mile wide, andthe only approach at this time was a low railroad bridge, three mileslong. Our wires were strung along the side of that, and at five o'clockin the morning, every wire was under water, and the force on duty eitherswam home or slept on the floor. 

That day was about the easiest I ever spent in a telegraph office. Therewas a Mexican cable from Galveston to Vera Cruz, but the flood hadwashed away their terminals, and for that day, Galveston was entirelyisolated from the world. 

Houston, fifty-five miles north, was the first big town adjacent, and asall our wires ran through there, it was apparent they were having a hottime doing the relaying all day. They had only a small force, andevidently the business was delayed. The storm had finally blown itselfout, and at four o'clock Clarke called for volunteers to go to Houstonto help out until our wires came in shape again. The G. H. & H. Railroadpeople said they thought the water was low enough to permit an engineto cross the bridge, and in response to Clarke's call eight of usvolunteered to attempt the trip. After reaching the mainland we would beall right, but there was that confounded three mile bridge to cross. Weboarded engine 341, with Dad Duffy at the throttle, and at four-fifteenhe pulled out. Water was still over the track and we proceeded at asnail-like pace. Just at the edge of the bridge we stopped; Dad lookedover the situation and said:

"The water is within two inches of the fire-box now, and it's doubtfulif we can get across, but here goes and God save us all. "

The sensation when we first struck that bridge and realized that we wereliterally on a water support, was anything but pleasant, and I reckonmost of us uttered the first prayer in many a day. Slowly we creptalong, and just as we were in the middle of the structure the drawsagged a little, and _kersplash!_ out went the fire. A great cloud ofsteam arose and floated away on the evening air, and then, there stoodthat iron monster as helpless as a babe. Dad looked around at us eightbirds perched up on the tender and said:

"Well I reckon you fellers won't pound any brass in Houston to-night. "

Pleasant fix to be in, wasn't it? A mile and a half from land, perchedup on a dead engine, surrounded on all sides by water, and no chance toget away. There was no absolute danger, because the underpinning wasfirm enough, but all the same, every man jack of us wished he hadn'tcome. Night, black and dreary, settled over the waters, and still nohelp. Finally, at eight o'clock, the water had receded so that the topsof the rails could be seen, and two of us volunteered to go back on footto the yard office for help. That was just three miles away, but nothingventure, nothing have, so we dropped off the hind end of the tender andstarted on our tramp back over the water-covered ties. We had onelantern, and after we had gone about a half of a mile, my companion whowas ahead, slipped and nearly fell. I caught him but good-bye to thelantern, and the rest of the trip was made in utter darkness. To bebrief, after struggling for two hours and a half, we reached the yardoffice, and an engine was sent out to help us. At twelve o'clock thewhole gang were back in the city, wet, weary and worn out. 

The next day the water had entirely subsided and work was resumed. Welearned then of the horror of the flood. Sabine Pass had beencompletely submerged, and some hundred and fifty or two hundred peopledrowned. Indianola had been wiped out of existence, and the whole coastlined with the wreckage of ships. That there were no casualties inGalveston, was providential, and due, doubtless, to the fact that thewhole country for fifty miles back of it is as flat as a pan-cake, andthe water had room to spread. 

I worked there until spring and then a longing for my first love, therailroad, came over me and I gave up my place and bade good-bye to thecommercial business forever. I had had my fling at it and wassatisfied. 

CHAPTER XIII

SENDING MY FIRST ORDER

I had now been knocking about the country for quite a few years, andworking in all kinds of offices and places, and had acquired a greatdeal of experience and valuable information, so I reached the conclusionthat it was about time for me to settle down and get something thatwould last me for a while. Commercial work I did not care for, nor did Iwant to go back on the road as a night operator on a small salary. Ithought I had the making of a good despatcher in me, and determined totry for that place. I knew it had to be attained by starting first atthe bottom, so I went up on the K. M. & O. And secured a position asnight operator at Vining. The K. M. & O. Was a main trunk line runningout of Chaminade, and was the best road for business that I had as yetstruck. Vining was midway on the division, and was such a good old townthat I would have been content to have stayed there for some time, butone day an engine pulling a through livestock express broke a drivingrod while running like lightning, and the result was a smash up of thefirst water--engine in the ditch, cars piled all over her, livestockmashed up, engineer killed, fireman badly hurt, and the road blocked fortwenty-four hours. The wreck occurred on a curve going down a rathersteep grade, so that it was impossible to build a temporary track aroundit. A wrecking train was sent out from El Monte, and as I happened to beoff duty, I was picked up and taken along, to cut in the wreckingoffice. The division superintendent came out to hurry up things and heappeared so pleased at my work that, in a few weeks, he offered me aplace as copy operator in the despatcher's office at El Monte. Thisappeared to be a great chance to satisfy my ambition to become adespatcher, so I gladly accepted, and in a few days was safely ensconcedin my new position. The despatchers only work eight hours a day, whilethe copy operators work twelve, so they work with two despatchers everyday. I had the day end of the job and worked from eight A. M. Until eightP. M. , with an hour off for dinner, so that I really was only on duty foreleven hours. The pay was good for me, seventy dollars per month, and Iwas thoroughly satisfied. Really all that is necessary to be a firstclass copy operator is to be an expert telegrapher. It is simply a workof sending and receiving messages all day. However I wanted to learn, soI kept my ears and eyes opened, and studied the time card, train sheet, and order book very assiduously. 

The first trick despatcher was honest old Patrick J. Borroughs, a man oftwenty-five years' experience in the business and as good a man as eversent an order or took an O. S. Report. He was kindness and gentlenesspersonified, and assisted me in every way possible, and all my futuresuccess was due to his help and teaching. The memory of the time Iworked under him is the brightest spot in all the years I served in thebusiness. After I had been there for about five months, he would allowme, under his supervision, to make simple meeting points for two trains, and one day he allowed me to give a right-of-track order to a throughfreight train over a delayed passenger. Then he would let me sit aroundin his chair, while he swallowed his lunch, and copy the O. S. Reports. I was beginning to think that my education as a despatcher was complete, and was thinking of asking for the next vacancy, when a little incidentoccurred that entirely disabused my mind. The following occurrence willshow how little I knew about the business. 

We had received notice one morning of a special train to be run over ourdivision that afternoon, carrying a Congressional Railroad Committee, and of course that meant a special schedule, and you all know howanxious the roads are to please railroad committees, especially whenthey are on investigating tours (?) with reference to the extension ofthe Inter-State Commerce Act, as this one was. We were told to "whoopher through. " The track on our division was the best on the whole road, and it was only 102 miles long; we had plenty of sidings and passingtracks, and besides old "Jimmie" Hayes, with engine 444 was in, so theycould be assured of a run that was a hummer. Mr. Hebron, the divisionsuperintendent, came in the office and told Borroughs to tear thingsloose, in fact, as he said, "Make 'em all car sick. "

After he had gone out Pat tossed the notification over to me, and said, "Bates, here's a chance for you to show what kind of stuff you are madeof. Make out a schedule for this special, giving her a clean sweep fromend to end, with the exception of No. 21. "

Proud! That wasn't the proper name for it. I was fully determined that_this_ special should have a run for her money if she ran on myschedule. No Congressional Committee was going back to Washington withthe idea that the K. M. & O. Wasn't the swiftest road in the bunch, if Icould help it, and I had a big idea that I could. Pat told me he woulddo the copying while I made the schedule, but as he said it I fancied Isaw a merry twinkle in his honest blue eyes. I wasn't daunted though, and started to work. 

 "Order No. 34. "To C&E, all trains:

 "K. M. & O. RAILROAD (Eastern Division). "DESPATCHER'S OFFICE, 'DS, ' October 15, 18--

 "Special east engine 444, will run from El Monte to Marsan having right of track over all trains except No. 21, on the following schedule:--

 "Leave El Monte, 2:30 P. M. "

Thus far I proceeded without any trouble, and then I stuck. Here waswhere the figuring came in, along with the knowledge of the road, gradesand so forth, but I was sadly lacking in that respect. I studied andfigured and used up lots of gray matter, and even chewed up a pencil ortwo. I finally finished the schedule and submitted it to Pat. He read itcarefully, knitted his brows for a moment, and then said, slowly:

"For a beginner that schedule is about the best I ever saw. It's ahummer without a doubt. But to prevent the lives of the CongressionalCommittee from being placed in jeopardy, I think I shall have to makeanother. " Then he laughed heartily, and continued, "All joking aside, Bates, my boy, you did pretty well, but you have onlyallowed seven minutes between Sumatra and Borneo, while the time cardshows the distance to be fourteen miles. Jim Hayes and engine 444 arecapable of great bursts of speed, but, by Jingo, they can't fly. Thenagain you have forgotten our through passenger train, No. 21, which isan hour late from the south to-day; what are you going to do with her?Pass them on one track, I suppose. But don't be discouraged, my boy, brace up and try it again. That's a much better schedule than the firstone I ever made. "

He made another schedule and I resumed my copying. It wasn't long, however, before my confidence returned and I wanted a trick. I got it, but in such a manner that even now, fifteen years afterwards, I shudderto think of it. 

CHAPTER XIV

RUNNING TRAINS BY TELEGRAPH--HOW IT IS DONE

The despatcher's office of a big railroad line is one of the mostinteresting places a man can get into, especially if he is interested inthe workings of our great railway systems. It is located at the divisionheadquarters, or any other point, such as will make the despatching oftrains and attendant orders of easy accomplishment. In riding over aroad, many people are prone to give the credit of a good swift run tothe engineer and train crew. Pick up a paper any day that the Presidentor some big functionary is out on a trip, and you will probably readhow, at the end of the run, he stopped beside the panting engine, andreaching up to shake the hand of the faithful, grimy engineer, wouldsay:

"Thank you so much for giving us such a good run. I don't know when Ihave ridden so fast before, " or words to that effect. He never thinksthat the engineer and crew are but the mechanical agents, they are butsmall cogs in a huge machine. They do their part and do it well, but thebrains of the machine are up in the little office and are allincorporated in the despatcher on duty. Flying over the countryregardless of time or space, one is apt to forget where the real creditbelongs. The swift run could not be made, and the train kept runningwithout a stop, if it were not for the fact that the despatcher putstrains on the sidetrack so that the special need not be delayed, and hedoes it in such a manner that the regular business of the road shall notbe interfered with. 

The interior of the despatcher's office is not, as a rule, verysumptuous. There is the big counter at one side of the room, on whichare the train registers, car record books, message blanks, and forms forthe various reports. Against the wall on one of the other sides is a bigblack board known as the "call board. " On it is recorded the probablearrival and departure of trains, and the names of their crews, also thetime certain crews are to be called. As soon as the train men havecompleted the work of turning their train over to the yard crew at theend of their run, they are registered in the despatcher's office, andare liable thereafter for duty in their turn. The rule "first in, first, out, " is supposed to be strictly adhered to in the running oftrains. About the middle of the room, or in the recess of the baywindow, is the despatcher's table. On it in front of the man on duty, isthe train sheet, containing information, exact and absolute in itsnature, of each train on the division. On this sheet there is also aspace set apart for the expected arrival of trains on his district fromthe other end, and one for delays. Loads, empties, everything, is therethat is necessary for him to know to properly run the trains on time andwith safety. At any minute the despatcher on duty can tell you theprecise location of any train, what she is doing, how her engine isworking, how much work she has to do along the road, and all about herengineer and conductor. Generally, there are two sets of instruments onthe table, one for use of what is known as the despatcher's wire, overwhich his sway is absolute, and the other for a wire that is used formessages, reports, and the like, and in case of emergency, by thedespatcher. Mounted on a roll in front of him is the current officialtime card of the division. From the information contained thereon, thedespatcher makes all his calculations for time orders, meeting points, work trains, etc. Across the table from the despatcher sits the "copyoperator, " whose duty it is to copy everything that comes along, thusrelieving the despatcher of anything that would tend to disturb him inhis work. The copy operator is generally the man next for promotion to adespatcher's trick, and his relations with his chief must be entirelyharmonious. 

The working force in a well regulated despatcher's office consists ofthe chief despatcher, three trick despatchers, and two copy operators, with the various call boys and messengers. The chief despatcher is nextto the division superintendent, and has full charge of the office. Hehas the supervision of the yard and train reports, and the ordering outof the trains and crews. He has charge of all the operators on thedivision, their hiring and dismissal, and has general supervision of thetelegraph service. In fact, he is a little tin god on wheels. His officehours? He hasn't any. Most of the chiefs are in their offices from earlymorn until late at night, and there is no harder worked man in the worldthan the chief despatcher. 

Each day is divided into three periods of eight hours each, known as"tricks, " and a despatcher assigned to each. The first trick is fromeight A. M. Until four P. M. ; the second from four P. M. Until twelvemidnight; and the third from twelve midnight until eight A. M. 

At eight o'clock in the morning, the first trick despatcher comes onduty, and his first work is to verify the train sheet and order book. The man going off duty checks off all orders issued by him that havebeen carried out, and his successor signs his initials to all orders yetto be obeyed. This signifies that he has read them over very carefullyand thoroughly understands their purport. As soon as he has receiptedfor them he becomes as responsible as if he had first issued them. Heglances carefully over his train sheet, assures himself that everythingis correct and then assumes his duties for the day. Anything that is notclear to him must be thoroughly explained before his predecessor leaves, and he must signify that he understands everything. The value of thatold time card rule, so familiar to all railroaders, "In case of doubtalways take the safe side, " is exemplified many times every day in therunning of trains by telegraph, and the attendant orders. After adespatcher has assumed charge of the trick he is the master of thesituation; he is responsible for everything, and his attentiveness, ability and judgment are the powers that keep the trains moving and ontime. 

When all trains are running on time, and there are no extras or specialsout, the despatcher's duty is easy, and consists largely in taking andrecording "O. S. Reports, " and "Consists. " The "O. S. Report" is thereport sent in by the various operators as the trains arrive and departfrom the several stations. A "consist" is a message sent by theconductor of a train to the division superintendent, giving the exactcomposition and destination of every car in his train. When trains arelate, however, or many extras are running or the track washed out, thedespatcher's work becomes very arduous. Orders of all kinds have to bemade, engines and crews kept working together and trains moving. 

Down the centre of the train sheet, which varies in size according tothe length of the division, are printed the names of all the telegraphstations on the division and the distances between them. On either sideof this main column are ruled smaller columns, each one of whichrepresents a train. The number of each train is at the head of theappropriate column, and under it are the number of the engine, the namesof the conductor and engineer, and the number of loads and empties inthe train. All trains on the division are arranged in three classes, andeach class has certain rights. Trains of the first class are alwayspassengers; the through freight, and the combination freight andpassenger trains compose the second class. All other trains, such aslocal freights, work trains and construction trains belong to the thirdclass. It is an invariable rule on all railroads that trains running oneway have _exclusive rights_ over trains of their own and of inferiorclasses running in the opposite direction. 

What is called the "double order system, " is used almost exclusively onall single track roads, and if the rules and regulations governing itwere strictly adhered to and carried out, accidents for which humanagency is responsible, would be impossible. It consists simply in givingan order to all the trains concerned _at the same time_. That is to say, if the despatcher desires to make a meeting point for two trains, hewill send the same order simultaneously to both of them. If a train isleaving his end of the division and he desires to make a meeting pointwith a train coming in, before giving his order to his conductor andengineer, he would telegraph it to a station at which the incoming trainwas soon to arrive, and from whence the operator would repeat it backword for word, and would give a signal signifying that his red board wasturned. By this means both trains would receive the same order, andthere would be no doubt about the point at which they were to meet. 

To illustrate this method, let us suppose a case of two sections of No. 13 running east and one section of No. 14 running west. Both trains areof the second class, and as the east bound trains have the right of way, No. 14 _must_ keep out of the way of the two 13's. A certain point, callit Smithville, is, according to the time card, the meeting point forthese two trains. But No. 14 finds out she has a lot of work to do atJonesboro; or a hot driving box or a draw head pulling out delays her, and thus she cannot possibly reach Smithville for No. 13. She is atJason, and unless she can get orders to run farther on No. 13's time, she will have to tie up there and be further delayed an hour. Theconductor tells the operator at Jason to ask "DS" if he can help themout any. "DS" glances over his train sheet, and finds that he cannot letthem run to Smithville, because No. 13 is nearly on time; but there is asiding at Burkes, between Jason and Smithville, and he concludes to let14 go there. So he tells the operator at Jason to "copy 3, " and then hecalls Smithville and tells him to "copy 5. " Both the engineer andconductor get a copy of all orders pertaining to their trains, and theoperators retain one for their records and for reference in case ofaccident. Both operators turn their red boards _the first thing_, and solong as the signal remains red, no train can pass the station, withoutfirst receiving an order or a clearance card. In the case supposed theorder would be as follows:

 "DS Despatcher's Office, 12, 8, '98

 "Orders No. 31. 

 To C. & E. 1st and 2nd 13, SM. To C. & E. No. 14, JN. 

 First and second sections No. 13, and No. 14 will meet at Burkes. 

 12. (Answer how you understand). 

 "H. G. C. "

The despatcher's operator, sitting opposite to him, copies every word ofthis order as the despatcher sends it, and when the operators atSmithville and Jason repeat it back, he underlines each word, great carebeing taken to correct any mistakes made by the operators. After anoperator has repeated an order back he signs his name, and thedespatcher then says:

"Order No. 31, O. K. , " giving the time and signing the divisionsuperintendent's initials thereto. The order is next handed to theconductor and engineer of each train when they come to the office; bothread it carefully, and then signify that they understand it fully bysigning their names. The operator then says to the despatcher, "Order31, sig. Jones and Smith, " and the despatcher gives the "complete" andthe exact time. Then a copy is given to the conductor and one to theengineer and they leave. On the majority of roads the conductor mustread the order aloud to the engineer before leaving the office. 

Thus No. 14 having received her orders, pulls out, and when she reachesBurkes, she goes on the side track and waits there for both 13's, because 13, being an east bound train of the same class, has theright-of-track over her. The same _modus operandi_ is gone through withfor No. 13, and when the trains have departed the operators pull intheir red boards. When the meeting has been made and both trains aresafely by Burkes, the despatcher draws a blue pencil or makes a checkmark on his order book copy and signs his initials, which signifies thatthe provisions of the order have been carried out. Should its detailsnot have been completed when the despatcher is relieved, his successorsigns his initials thereto showing that he has received it. This is themethod of sending train orders, exact and simple, on single trackrailroads. On double track lines the work is greatly simplified becausetrains running in each direction have separate tracks. Does it not seemsimple? And how impossible are mistakes when its rules are adhered to. It really seems as if any one gifted with a reasonable amount of commonsense, and having a knowledge of the rudiments of mathematics, could dothe work, but underneath all the simplicity explained, there runs a deepcurrent of complications that only long time and a cool head can master. I have worked in offices and been figuring on orders for a train soon tostart out from my end of the division, when all of a sudden some trainout on the road that has been running all night, will bob up with a hotbox, or a broken draw head, and then all the calculations for the newtrain will be knocked into a cocked hat. 

The simple meeting order has been given above. The following exampleswill illustrate some of the other many forms of orders, and areself-explanatory. 

TIME ORDER

No. 14 has a right to use ten minutes of the time of No. 13 betweenJason and Jonesboro. 

SLOW ORDER

All trains will run carefully over track from one-half mile east ofSalt Water to Big River Bridge, track soft. 

EXTRA ORDER

Engine 341 will run extra from DeLeon to Valdosta. 

ANNULMENT ORDER

No. 15 of January 6th is annulled between Santiago and Rio. 

WORK ORDER

Engine 228 will work between Posey and Patterson, keeping out of the wayof all regular trains. Clear track for extra west, engine 327 at 10:30A. M. 

When an operator has once turned his red board to the track for anorder, under no circumstances must he pull it in until he has deliveredthe order for the train for which it is intended. In the meantime shouldanother train come in for which he has no orders, he will give it aclearance card as follows:

 To C. & E. , No. 27 There are no orders for you, signal is set for No. 18. H. G. CLARKE, Operator. 

At stated times during the day, the despatchers on duty on each divisionsend full reports of all their trains to the divisions adjoining themon either side. This train report is very complete, giving thecomposition of each and every train on the road, and the destination ofevery car. A form of the message will readily illustrate this:

 SAN ANGELO, 5 | 16, 18--. W. H. C. DS

 No 17 will arrive at DS, at 10:20 A. M. , with the following:

 1 HH goods Chgo. 2 Livestock Kansas City. 3 Mdse " 1 Emgt. Outfit St. Louis. 6 Coal Houston. 6 Wheat Chgo. 7 Empty sys. Flats Flat Rock. -- Total 26

 H. G. B. 

All work is done over the initials of the division superintendent and inhis name. These reports keep the despatchers fully informed as to whatmay be expected, and arrangements can be made to keep the trains movingwithout delay. Of course the report illustrated above is for but onetrain, necessarily it must be much longer when many trains are running. 

At some regular time during the day all the agents on the division sendin a car report. This is copied by the despatcher's operator and showshow many and what kind of cars are on the side tracks; the number ofloads ready to go out; the number and kind of cars wanted during theensuing twenty-four hours; and if the station is a water station, howmany feet of water are in the tank; or if a coaling station, how manycars of coal there are on hand; and lastly, what is the character of theweather. On some roads weather reports are sent in every hour. 

In view of all this, I think it is not too much to say, that the eyes ofthe despatcher see everything on the road. There are a thousand and onesmall details, in addition to the momentous matters of which he hascharge, and the man who can keep his division clear, with all trainsmoving smoothly and on time, must indeed possess both excellent methodand application, and must have the ability and nerve to master numerousunexpected situations the moment they arise. He is not an artisan or amechanic, _he is a genius_. 

CHAPTER XV

AN OLD DESPATCHER'S MISTAKE--MY FIRST TRICK

I had become thoroughly proficient and more frequently than everBorroughs would let me "spell" for him for a while each day. Be it saidto his credit, however, he was always within hearing, when I was doingany of his work. He was carefulness personified, and the followingincident only serves to show what unaccountable errors will be made byeven the best of men. 

One cold morning in January, I started to the office as usual. The airwas so still, crisp and biting that the air-pumps of the engines hadthat peculiar sharp, snappy sound heard only in a panting engine in coldweather. They seemed almost imbued with life. As I went into the officeat eight o'clock to go to work, the night man remarked that I must befeeling pretty brash; my spirits seemed so high. And in fact, that wasno joke; I was feeling fine as silk and showed it all over. But as Isaid good morning to Borroughs, I noticed that he seemed rather glum, and I asked: "What's the matter, Dad? Feeling bad this morning?"

He snapped back in a manner entirely foreign to him, "No, but I don'tfeel much like chaffing this day. I feel as if something was going tohappen, and I don't like the feeling. "

I answered, "Oh! bosh, Dad. You'll feel all right in a few minutes; Ireckon you've got a good old attack of dyspepsia; brace up. "

Just then the wires started up, and he gruffly told me to sit down andgo to work and our conversation ceased. That was the first time he hadever used anything but a gentle tone to me, and I felt hurt. The firsttrick is always the busiest, and under the stress of work the incidentsoon passed from my mind. Pat remarked once, that the generalsuperintendent was going to leave Chaminade in a special at 10:30 A. M. , on a tour of inspection over the road. That was about all the talking hedid that morning. His work was as good as ever, and in fact, he madesome of the prettiest meets that morning I had ever seen. 

[Illustration: "... Half lying on the table, face downward, dead byhis own hand"]

About 10:35, I asked Borroughs to allow me to go over to the hotel toget a cigar. I would be gone only a few minutes. He assented, and Islipped on my overcoat and went out. I wasn't gone over ten minutes, andas I stepped into the doorway to come upstairs on my return, I heardwhat sounded like a shot in the office. I flew upstairs two steps at atime, and never to my dying day will I forget the sight that met mygaze. Borroughs, whom I had left but a few moments before full of lifeand energy, was half lying on the table, face downwards, dead by his ownhand. The blood was oozing from a jagged wound in his temple, and on thefloor was the smoking pistol he had used. Fred Bennett, the chiefdespatcher, as pale as a ghost, was bending over him, while the two callboys were standing near paralyzed with fright. It was an intenselydramatic setting for a powerful stage picture, and my heart stood stillfor a minute as I contemplated the awful scene. Mr. Hebron, the divisionsuperintendent, came in from the outer office, and was transfixed withhorror and amazement when he saw the terrible picture. 

Bennett turned to me and said, "Bates, come here and help me lift poorBorroughs out of this chair. "

Gently and carefully we laid him down on the floor and sent one of thebadly frightened boys for a surgeon. Medical skill was powerless, however, and the spirit of honest Pat Borroughs had crossed the darkriver to its final reckoning. 

Work in the office was at a standstill on account of the tragicoccurrence, but all of a sudden I heard Monte Carlo calling "DS" andusing the signal "WK, " which means "wreck. " Bennett told me to sit downand take the trick until the second trick man could be called. I wentover and sat down in the chair, still warm from the body of my latefriend, and wiping his blood off the train sheet with my handkerchief, Ianswered. 

It would be impossible to describe the state of my feelings as I firsttouched the key; I had completely lost track of trains, orders andeverything else. However, I gradually pulled myself together, and gotthe hang of the road again, and then I learned how the wreck hadoccurred. About a minute after I went out, Borroughs had given aright-of-track order to an express freight from Monte Carlo toJohnsonville, and had told them to hurry up. Johnsonville is on theoutskirts of Chaminade, and Borroughs had completely forgotten that thegeneral superintendent's special had left there just five minutes beforewith a clean sweep order. That he had known of it was evident from thefact that it was recorded on the train sheet. Two minutes after thefreight had left Monte Carlo, poor Pat realized he had at last made hismistake. He said not a word to any person, but quietly ordered out thewrecking outfit, and then reaching in the drawer he took out a revolverand--snuffed out his candle. He fell forward on the train sheet, as ifto cover up with his lifeless body, the terrible blunder he had justmade. Many other despatchers had made serious errors, and in a measureoutlived them; but here was a man who had grown gray in the service ofrailroads, with never a bad mark against him. Day and night, in seasonand out, he had given the best of his brain and life to the service, andfinally by one slip of the memory he had, as he thought, ruined himself;and, too proud to bear the disgrace, he killed himself. He wasabsolutely alone in the world and left none to mourn his loss save alarge number of operators he had helped over the rough places of theprofession. 

The wreck was an awful one. The superintendent's son was riding on theengine, and he and the engineer and the fireman were mashed and crushedalmost beyond recognition. The superintendent, his wife and daughter, and a friend, were badly bruised, but none of them seriously injured. The second trick man was not to be found immediately, so I worked untilfour o'clock, and the impression of that awful day will never leave me. Pat's personality was constantly before me in the shape of the bloodstain on the train sheet. It was a long time before I recovered myequanimity. 

The next afternoon we buried poor Pat under the snow, and the earthclosed over him forever; and thus passed from life a man whose characterwas the purest, whose nature was the gentlest: honest and upright, Ihave never seen his equal in the profession or out. I often think if Ihad not gone over to the hotel that morning, the accident might havebeen averted, because, perhaps, I would have noticed the mistake in timeto have prevented the collision. But, on the other hand, it is probableI would not have noticed it, because operators, not having theresponsibility of the despatchers, rarely concentrate their mindsintensely on what they are taking. A man will sit and copy by the hourwith the greatest accuracy, and at the same time be utterly oblivious ofthe purport of what he has been taking. There can be no explanation asto why Pat forgot the special. It is one of those things that happen;that's all. 

The rule of seniority was followed in the office, and in the naturalsequence of events the night man got my job, I was promoted to the thirdtrick--from twelve midnight until eight A. M. --and a new copy operatorwas brought in from Vining. 

If any trick is easier than another it is the third, but none of themare by any means sinecures. When I was a copy operator I used to imagineit was an easy thing to sit over on the other side of the table and giveorders, "jack up" operators, conductors and engineers, and incidentallyhaul some men over the coals every time I had to call them a fewminutes; but when I reached the summit of an operator's ambition, andwas assigned to a trick I found things very different. Copying with noresponsibility was dead easy; but despatching trains I found about thestiffest job I had ever undertaken. I had to be on the alert with everyfaculty and every minute during the eight hours I was on duty. While thefirst and second trick men, have perhaps more train order work attachedto them, the third is about on a par with them as far as actual labor isconcerned, because, in addition to the regular train order work, a newtrain sheet has to be opened every night at twelve o'clock, whichnecessitates keeping two sheets until all the trains on the old one havecompleted their runs. There is also a consolidated train report to bemade at this time, which is a re-capitulation of the movements of alltrains for the preceding twenty-four hours, giving delays, causesthereof, accidents, cars hauled, etc. This is submitted to the divisionsuperintendent in the morning, and after he has perused and digested itscontents he sends a condensed copy to the general superintendent. Many aman loses his job by a report against him on that train sheet. 

To show the strain on a man's mind when he is despatching trains, let metell a little incident that happened to me just in the beginning of mycareer as a despatcher. Every morning about five o'clock, the thirdtrick man begins to figure on his work train orders for the day and whenhe has completed them he sends them out to the different crews. Worktrain orders, it may not be amiss to explain, are orders given to thedifferent construction crews, such as the bridge gang, the grading gang, the track gang, etc. , to work between certain points at certain times. They must be very full and explicit in detail as to all trains that areto run during the continuance of the order. For regular trains runningon time, no notification need be given, because the time card ruleswould apply; but for all extras, specials, and delayed trains, warningsmust be given, so that the work trains can get out of the way for them, otherwise the results might be very serious, and business be greatlydelayed. Work orders are the bane of a new despatcher's existence, andthe manner in which he handles them is a sure indication as to whetherhe will be successful or not. Many a man gets to a trick only to falldown on these work orders. 

I stumbled along fairly well the first night as a despatcher, and had nomishaps to speak of, although I delayed a through passenger some tenminutes, by hanging it up on a siding for a fast freight train, and Iput a through freight on a siding for a train of an inferior class. Forthese little errors of judgment I was "cussed out" by all the conductorsand engineers on the division when they came in; and the divisionsuperintendent, on looking over the train sheet the next morning, remarked, that delaying a passenger train would never do--in such a toneof voice that I could plainly see my finish should I ever so offendagain. 

The second night passed all right enough, and by 5:30 A. M. , I hadcompleted my work orders and sent them out. From that time on untileight o'clock when the first trick man relieved me I was kept busy. Heread over my outstanding orders, verified the sheet, and signed thetransfer on the order book, and after a few moments' chat I went home. I went to bed about nine o'clock, and was on the point of dropping offto sleep, when all at once I remembered that an extra fast freight wasdue to leave at 9:45 A. M. , and that there was a train working in a cutfour miles out. I wondered if I had notified her to get out of the wayof the extra. That extra would go down through that cut like a streak ofgreased lightning, because Horace Daniels, on engine 341, was going topull her, and Horace was known as a runner from away back. I reviewed inmy mind, as carefully as I could all the orders I had given to the worktrain, and was rather sure I had notified them, but still I was notabsolutely certain, and began to feel very uncomfortable. Poor Borroughshad just had his smash up, and I didn't want "poor Bates, " to have hisright away. Maybe it was the spirit of this same old man Borroughs, whowas sleeping so peacefully under the ground that made me feel and actcarefully. I looked at my watch and found it was 9:20. The extra wouldleave in twenty-five minutes and I lived nearly a mile from the office. The strain was beginning to be too much, so I slipped on my clothes andwithout putting on a collar or a cravat, I caught up my hat and ran withall my might for the depot. As I approached I saw Daniels giving 341the last touch of oil before he pulled out. Thank God, they hadn't gone. I shouted to him, "Don't pull out for a minute, Daniels; I think thereis a mistake in your orders. "

Daniels was a gruff sort of a fellow, and he snapped back at me, "What'sthe matter with you? I hain't got no orders yet. Come here until I oilthose wheels in your head. "

I went up in the office and Daniels followed me. Bennett, the chief, wasstanding by the counter as I went in, and after a glance at me he said, "What's up, kid? Seen a ghost? You look almost pale enough to be oneyourself. "

I said, "No, I haven't seen any ghosts, but I am afraid I forgot tonotify that gang working just east of here about this extra. "

The conductor and engineer were both there and they smiled very audiblyat my discomfiture; in fact, it was so audible you could hear it for ablock. Bennett went over to the table, glanced at the order book andtrain sheet for a minute and then said, "Oh, bosh! of course younotified them. Here it is as big as life, 'Look out for extra east, engine 341, leaving El Monte at 9:45 A. M. ' What do you want to get sucha case of the rattles and scare us all that way for?"

I was about to depart for home to resume my sleep, and wascongratulating myself on my escape, when Bennett called me over to oneside of the room, and in a low, but very firm voice, metaphorically ranup and down my spinal column with a rake. He asked me if I didn't knowthere were other despatchers in that office besides myself; men who knewmore in a minute about the business than I did in a month; and didn't Isuppose that the order book would be verified, and the train sheetconsulted before sending out the extra? He hoped I would never show sucha case of the rattles again. That was all. Good morning. All the same Iwas glad I went back to the office that morning, because I had satisfiedmyself that I had not committed an unpardonable error at the outset ofmy career. 

_In case of doubt always take the safe side. _

CHAPTER XVI

A GENERAL STRIKE--A LOCOMOTIVE ENGINEER FOR A DAY

During the ensuing spring, one of those spasmodic waves of strikespassed over the country. Some northern road that wasn't earning enoughmoney to pay the interest on its bonds, cut down the salaries of some ofits employees, and they went out. Then the "sympathy" idea was worked tothe full limit, and gradually other roads were tied up. We had hopes itwould escape us, but one fine day we awoke to find our road tied up goodand hard. The conductors and brakemen went first, and a few days laterthey were followed by the engineers and firemen. That completed thebusiness and we were up against it tighter than a brick. Our men hadn'tthe shadow of a grievance against the company, and were not in fullsympathy with the strike, but their obligation to their unions was toostrong for them to resist. 

It placed us in a pretty bad fix because just at this time we had a yardfull of freight, a good deal of it perishable, and it was imperativethat it should be moved at once or the company would be out a good manydollars. The roundhouse men and a few hostlers were still working, so itwas an easy thing to get a yard engine out. Bennett, myself, Burns, thesecond trick man, and Mr. Hebron, the division superintendent, went downin the yard to do the switching. There were twenty-three cars of Texaslivestock and California fruit waiting for a train out, and the droverswere becoming impatient, because they wanted to get up to Chicago totake advantage of a big bulge in the market. 

I soon found that standing up in the bay window of an office, watchingthe switchmen do the yard work and doing it yourself, were two entirelydifferent propositions. When I first went in between two cars to make acoupling, I thought my time had come for sure. I fixed the link and pinin one car, and then ran down to the next and fixed the pin there. Theengine was backing slowly, but when I turned around, it looked as if ithad the speed of an overland "flyer. " I watched carefully, raised andguided the link in the opposite draw head, and then dropped the pin. Those two cars came together like the crack of doom, and I shut my eyesand jumped back, imagining that I had been crushed to death, in fact, Icould feel that my right hand was mashed to a pulp. But it was a falsealarm; it wasn't. I had made the coupling without a scratch to myself, and it wasn't long before I became bolder, and jumped on and off of thefoot-boards and brake-beams like any other lunatic. That all four of uswere not killed is nothing short of miracle. 

By a dint of hard work we succeeded in getting a train made up forChaminade, and all that was now needed was an engine and crew. There wasa large and very interested crowd of men standing around watching us, and many a merry ha-ha we received from them for our crude efforts. Engine 341 was hooked on, and we were all ready for the start. Burns wasgoing to play conductor, Bennett was to be the hind man, while I was toride ahead. But where were the engineer and fireman? Mr. Hebron hadcounted on a non-union engineer to pull the train, and a wiper to do thefiring, but just as we expected them to appear, we found that some ofthe strikers had succeeded in talking them over to their side. To makematters worse the roundhouse men and the hostlers caught the fever, andout they went. Mr. Hebron was in a great pickle, but he didn't want toacknowledge that he was beaten so he stood around hanging on in hopessomething would turn up to relieve the strain. 

Now, it had occurred to me that I could run that engine. When I wasyoung and fresh in the railroad business, I had spent much of my sparetime riding around on switch engines, and once in a while I had taken arun out over the road with an engineer who had a friendly interest inme. One man, old Tom Robinson, who pulled a fast freight, had beenparticularly kind to me, and on one occasion I had taken a few days' layoff, and gone out and back one whole trip with him. Being of aninquisitive turn of mind, I asked him a great many questions aboutgauges, valves, oil cups, eccentrics, injectors, etc. , and whenever hewould go down under his engine, I always paid the closest attention towhat he did. I used to ride on the right hand side of the cab with him, and occasionally he would allow me to feel the throttle for a fewminutes. Thus, when I was a little older, I could run an engine quitewell. I knew the oil cups, could work the injector, knew enough to openand close the cylinder cocks, could toot the whistle and ring the belllike an old timer, and had a pretty fair idea, generally speaking, ofthe machine. Having all these things in mind, I approached Mr. Hebron, as he stood cogitating upon his ill-luck, and said, "Mr. Hebron, I'llrun this train into Chaminade if you will only get some one to keep theengine hot. "

"You, " said Hebron, "you are a despatcher; what the devil do you knowabout running a locomotive?"

I told him I might not know much, but if he would say the word I wouldget those twenty-three cars into Chaminade, or know the reason why. Helooked at me for a minute, asked me a few questions about what I knew ofan engine and then said, "By George! I'll risk it. Get on that engine, my boy; take this onewiper left for a fireman, and pull out. But first go over to the officefor your orders. You won't need many, because everything is tied upbetween here and Johnsonville, and you will have a clear track. Now fly, and let me see what kind of stuff you are made of. "

Strangely enough, after he had consented I was not half so eager toundertake it; but I had said I would and now I must stick to my word, oracknowledge that I was a big bluffer. I went up to the office and FredBennett gave me the orders. But as he did so he said: "Bates, that's afoolhardy thing for you to do, and I reckon the old man must be crazy toallow you to try it, but rather than give in to that mob out there I'llsee you through with it. Now don't you forget for one minute, that youhave twenty-three cars and a caboose trailing along behind you; that Iam on the hind end, and that I have a wife and family to support, with amighty small insurance on my life. "

He went out, and Bennett told the cattle men to get aboard as we wereabout to start. All this had been done unbeknown to any of the strikers;but when they saw me coming down that yard with a piece of yellow tissuepaper in my hand they knew something was up, for every man of them knewthat was a train order. But where was the engineer?

I went down and climbed up in the cab of old 341, and removing my coat, put on a jumper I had brought from the office. Engine 341, as I havesaid, was run by Horace Daniels, one of the best men that ever pulled athrottle, and his pride in her was like that of a mother in a child. Shewas a big ten-wheeled Baldwin, and I have heard Daniels talk to her asif she was a human being; in fact, he said she was the only sweethearthe ever had. He was standing in the crowd and when he saw me put on thejumper he came over and said:

"See here, Mr. Hebron, who is going to pull this train out?"

Mr. Hebron who was standing by the step, said, "Bates is. "

Daniels grew red with rage, and said:

"Bates? Why good heavens, Mr. Hebron, Bates can't run an engine; he'snothing but an old brass pounder, and, judging from some of the meets hehas made for me on this division, he must be a very poor one at that. This here old girl don't know no one but me nohow; for God's sake don'tlet her disgrace herself by going out with that sandy-haired chump atthe throttle. "

Mr. Hebron smiled and said, "Well then, you pull her out, Daniels. "

Daniels shook his head and replied, "You know I can't do that, Mr. Hebron. It's true I'm not in sympathy with this strike one jot, but theboys are out, and I've got to stand by them. But when this strike isover I want old 341 back. Why, Mr. Hebron, I'd rather see a scab run herthan that old lightning jerker. "

But Mr. Hebron was firm and Daniels walked slowly and sadly away. Bythis time we had a good head of steam on, and Bennett gave me the signalto pull out. I shoved the reverse lever from the centre clear overforward, and grasping the throttle, tremblingly gave it a pull. 

Longfellow says, in "The Building of the Ship:" "She starts, she moves, she seems to feel a thrill of life along her keel. " I can fancy exactlyhow that ship felt, because just as the first hiss of steam greeted myears and I felt that engine move, I felt a peculiar thrill run along mykeel, and my heart was in my mouth. She did not start quite fast enoughfor me, so I gave the throttle another jerk, and whew! how those bigdrivers did fly around! I shut her off quickly, gave her a little sand, and started again. This time she took the rail beautifully, walking awaylike a thoroughbred. 

There is a little divide just outside of the El Monte yard, and then fora stretch of about five miles, it is down grade. After this the roadwinds around the river banks, with level tracks to Johnsonville, wherethe double track commences. All I had to do was to get the train to thedouble track, and from there a belt line engine was to take it in. Thusmy run was only thirty-five miles. 

Our start was very auspicious, and when we were going along at a prettygood gait, I pulled the reverse lever back to within one point of thecentre, and opened her up a little more. She stood up to her work justas if she had an old hand at the throttle instead of a novice. I wish Iwere able to describe my sensations as the engine swayed to and fro inher flight. The fireman was rather an intelligent chap, and had notrouble in keeping her hot, and twenty-three cars wasn't much of a trainfor old 341. We went up the grade a-flying. When we got over the divide, I let her get a good start before I shut her off for the down grade. Andhow she did go! I thought at times she would jump the track but she heldon all right. At the foot of this grade is a very abrupt curve and whenshe struck it, I thought she bounded ten feet in the air. My hat wasgone, my hair was flying in the wind, and all the first fright was lostin the feeling of exhilaration over the fact that _I_ was the one whowas controlling that great iron monster as she tore along the track. I--I was doing it all by myself. It was like the elixir of life to aninvalid. My fireman came ever to me at one time and said in my ear thatI'd better call for brakes or the first thing we knew we would land inthe river. Brakes! Not on your life. I didn't want any brakes, becauseif she ever stopped I wasn't sure that I could get her started again. Wemade the run of thirty-five miles in less than an hour, and when wereached Johnsonville I received a message from Mr. Hebron, congratulating me on my success. But Bennett--well, the rating he gaveme was worth going miles to hear. He said that never in his life had hetaken such a ride, nor would he ever volunteer to ride behind a crazyengineer again. But I didn't care; I had pulled the train in as I said Iwould, and the engine was in good shape, barring a hot driving box. Imay add, however, that I don't care to make any such trip again myself. 

We went back on a mail train that night, that was run by a non-unionengineer, and in a day or two the strike was declared off, the menreturned to work, and peace once more reigned supreme. Daniels got his"old girl" in as good shape as ever, and once when he was up in myoffice he told me he had hoped that old 341 would get on the rampagethat day I took her out and "kick the stuffin'" out of that train andevery one on it. Poor old Daniels, he stuck to his "old girl" to thelast, but one day he struck a washout, and as a result received a "rightof track order, " on the road that leads to the paradise of allrailroaders. 

CHAPTER XVII

CHIEF DESPATCHER--AN INSPECTION TOUR--BIG RIVER WRECK

I had always supposed that the higher up you ascended in any business, the easier would be your position and the happier your lot. What afallacy, especially in the railroad service, where yourresponsibilities, work, care, and worries increase in direct proportionas you rise! The operator's responsibility is limited to the correctreception, transmission, delivery and repetition of his orders andmessages; the despatcher's to the correct conception of the orders andtheir transmission at the proper time to the right train; but the chiefdespatcher's responsibilities combine not only these but many more. Adespatcher's work is cut out for him, just as the tailor would cut hiscloth for a journeyman workman, and when his eight hour trick is done, his work for the day is finished and his time is his own. Not so thechief. His work is never done; he works early and late, and even atnight when he goes home utterly tired out from his long day, he isliable to be called up to go out on a wrecking outfit, or to performsome special duty. As soon as anything goes wrong on a division thefirst cry is, "Send for the chief despatcher. " Almost everybody on thedivision is under his jurisdiction except the division superintendent, and sometimes I have seen that mighty dignitary take a back seat for hischief despatcher. 

It was some ten years after I had begun to pound brass, that I awoke onefine morning to find myself offered the position of chief despatcher onthe central division of the C. N. & Q. Railway, with headquarters atSelbyville. I was very well satisfied at El Monte, had been promoted tothe first trick and had many friends whom I did not like to leave, butthen, I was as high as I could get in a good many years, because FredBennett, the chief, was a stayer from away back, and there wouldn't be avacancy there for a long time to come. The district of which I was totake charge was about three hundred miles long, and consisted of threefreight divisions of one hundred miles each. That meant a whole lot ofhard confining work, but who wouldn't accept a promotion; so aftercarefully considering the matter, I gratefully accepted, and was dulyinstalled in my new position. As I did not know anything about the roador the operators thereon, one of my first acts was to take a trip ofinspection over the road. I rode on freight trains or anything that camealong, and dropped off as I wanted to, in order that I might becomethoroughly acquainted with the road and the men. 

One of the time card rules was that no person was to be allowed to enterany of the telegraph offices except those on duty there; even the trainmen were supposed to receive their orders and transact their business atthe window or counter. Generally, however, this rule was not enforcedvery rigidly. When I was a night operator I never paid any attention toit at all. I dropped off No. 6 at eleven-thirty one night atBakersville. A night office was kept there because it was a good orderpoint and had a water tank. I had never met the night man and knewnothing of him, except that he was a fiery-tempered Irishman namedBarry, and a most excellent operator. It had been told me that thedespatchers had, on more than one occasion, complained of his impudence, but his ability was so marked and he was so prompt in answering andtransacting business, that he was allowed to remain. As No. 6 pulled outhe went into the office, closed the door and then shut the window. Hehad apparently not seen me, or if he had he paid no attention to me, soI went into the waiting-room and rapped on the ticket window. He shovedit up, stared at me and gruffly said, "Well! what's wanted?"

I answered pretty sharply, that I desired to come into his office. 

"Well then you can take it out in wanting, because you don't get inhere, see!"

I started to reason with him, when he slammed the window in my face. That made me madder than a March hare, and I told him if he didn't letme in that office mighty quick, I'd smash that window into smithereensand come in anyhow. 

Biff! Up went that window, and Mr. Barry's face looking like a boiledbeet appeared, "Smash that window will you? You just try it and I'llsmash your blamed old red head with this poker. Get out of thatwaiting-room. Tramps are not allowed. "

Just then it occurred to me that he did not know me from the sight ofsole leather; so I said: "Hold on there, young man; I'm Mr. Bates, thenewly appointed chief despatcher of this division, and I'm out on a tourof inspection. Now stop your monkeying and open up. "

"Bates thunder! Bates would never come sneaking out over the road inthis manner. You pack up and get. It will take more than your word tomake me believe you are Bates. "

I saw that remonstrance with him was useless, and, besides I had an ideathat he might carry out his threat to smash my head with the poker, so Iwent over to a mean little hotel and stayed all night, vowing to havevengeance on his head in the morning. When daylight came, I went back tothe station, and Dayton, the day man, knew me at once, having workedwith me on the K. M. & O. Barry had told him of the trouble, and he washaving a great laugh at my expense. Barry, himself, showed up in alittle while, but he didn't seem the least bit disturbed, when he foundout who I really was. He said there was a time card rule, that forbadehim allowing any unauthorized person in his office; he thought I wassome semi-respectable "hobo, " who wanted a place to stay all night; howin the world was he to know? Suppose some one else had come out and saidhe was the chief despatcher, was he going to let them in the officewithout some proof? I saw that this was mighty good reasoning and thathe was right. Did I fire him? Not much. Men on railroads who soimplicitly obey orders are too valuable to lose; and before I left theroad he was working the third trick. 

Things ran along very smoothly for a while and I was having a good time. The winter passed and with the advent of spring came the heavy rains forwhich that part of the country was justly noted. Then the workcommenced. 

One Friday evening after four or five days of the steadiest and hardestkind of rain, I received a message from the section foreman at Truxton, saying that Big River was beginning to come up pretty high, and that theconstant rains were making the track quite soft. I immediately sent himan order to put out a track walker at once, and told the despatcher onduty to make a "slow order" for five miles this side of the Big River;the track on the other, or south side, was all right, being on highground. 

Our fast mail came in just then, and after the engines were changed, theengineer and conductor came into my office for their orders. I told themabout the soft track, and in a spirit of pure fun, remarked to BenRoberts, the engineer, that he had better look out or he would be takinga bath in Big River that night. He facetiously replied: "Well, I don'tmuch mind. I'm generally so dirty when I get that far out that a bathwould do me good. "

They received their orders, and as Roberts went out the door, helaughingly said, "I reckon, Bates, you'd better send the wrecker outright after us to fish me out of Big River to-night. "

I stepped over to the window, saw him climb up on engine 232, abeautiful McQueen, and pull out, and just as he started, he turned andwaved his hand to me as if in token of farewell. 

Truxton, five miles from the river, was not a stop for the mail, but Ihad them flagged there, to give them another special warning aboutapproaching Big River with caution. Just then the track walker came intoTruxton, and reported that he had come from the river on a velocipede, and that while the track was soft it was not unsafe and the bridgeappeared to be all right. Presently, I heard, "OS, OS, XN, No. 21, a7:45, d 7:51" and I knew the mail had gone on. 

The next station south was Burton, three miles beyond the bridge, and Ithought I would wait until I had the "OS" report from there before goinghome for the night. Thirty minutes passed and no sign of her. This didnot worry me much, because I knew Roberts would be extremely careful andrun slow until he passed the bridge. In a minute Truxton opened up andsaid, "Raining like blazes now. " I asked him where the track walkerwas, and he said he had gone out towards the bridge just after the mailhad left. 

Fifty minutes of the most intense anxiety passed, and all of a suddenevery instrument in the office ceased clicking. As soon as a wire opens, all the operators are instructed to try their ground wires, and in thatway the break is soon located. Bentonville, Bakersville, Muncy, Ashton, all in quick succession tried their grounds, and reported "All wiresopen south. " Presently the despatchers' wire closed again, and "DS, DS, XN. " There! that was Truxton calling us now. I answered and he said, "Wires all open south. Heavy rain now falling; violent wind storm hasjust passed over us; lots of lightning; looks like the storm would lastall night. "

I told him to hustle out and get the section foreman, and gave him anorder to take his gang and car and go to the bridge and back at once andmake a full report. 

But where was 21 all this time? Stuck in the mud, I hoped, but all thesame I was beginning to have a great many misgivings. Mr. Antwerp, thedivision superintendent, came in just then, and I reported all the factsof the case to him. He was very much worried, but said he hoped it wouldturn out all right. Getting nothing from Burton, on the south, I toldTruxton to keep on his ground until the section gang or track walkercame back with a report. Twenty minutes later he began to call "DS" withall his might. I answered and this is what the despatcher's copyoperator took:

 Truxton, 5 | 21, 188--. 

 "M. N. B. "DS. 

 "No. 21 went through Big River bridge to-night; track was soft all the way over from Truxton; engine, mail, baggage and one coach on the bridge when it gave way; three Pullmans stayed on the track. Roberts, engineer; Carter, fireman, and Sampson, conductor, all missing. Need doctors. 

 "O'HARA, "Brakeman. "

My God! wasn't it awful! I sent one caller to get out the wrecking crewand another for a doctor. I then instructed Burke to prepare orders forthe wrecker, pulling everything off and giving her a clean sweep; toldTruxton to keep on his ground wire and stay close; and pulling on myrain coat, I bounded down the steps and up to the roundhouse to hurry upthe engine. Engine 122, with Ed Stokes at the throttle, was just backingdown as I came out, so I ran back, signed the orders, and as soon asthe doctors arrived, Mr. Antwerp told me to pull out and take charge, saying he would come out if necessary on a special. 

It was scarcely five minutes from the time I received the first messageuntil we pulled out and started on our wild ride of rescue. Forty milesin forty minutes, with one slow down was our time. The old derrick andwreck outfit swayed to and fro like reeds in the wind, as we went downthe track like a thunderbolt, but fortunately we held to the rails. There was scarcely a word spoken in the caboose, every one being intentupon holding on and thinking of the horrible scene we were soon to view. When we reached Truxton we found the track walker there, and afterhearing his story in brief, we pulled out for the bridge. Our ride fromTruxton over to the wreck was frightful. It was still raining torrents, the wind was coming up again, lightning flashed, thunder rolled and thetrack was so soft in some places that it seemed as if we would toppleover; but we finally reached there--and then what a scene to behold!

The bridge, a long wooden trestle, was completely gone, nothing beingleft but twisted iron and a few broken stringers hanging in the air. Four mail clerks, the express messenger, and the baggage man weredrowned like rats in a trap. Poor Ben Roberts had hung to his post likethe hero, that he was, and was lost. Sampson, the conductor, and Carter, the fireman, were both missing, and in the forward coach, which was notentirely submerged, having fallen on one end of the baggage car, weremany passengers, a number of whom were killed, and the rest all more orless injured. 

The river was not very wide, and I had the headlight taken off of ourengine and placed on the bank; and presently a wrecker came up from thesouth, and her headlight was similarly placed, casting a ghastly weird, white light over the scene of suffering and desolation. I cut in awrecking office, Truxton took off his ground, I put on mine, and Mr. Antwerp was soon in possession of all the facts. A little later I wasstanding up to my knees in mud and water, and I heard a weak voice say:"Mr. Bates, for God's sake let me speak to you a minute. "

I looked around and beheld the most woebegone, bedraggled specimen ofhumanity I had ever seen in my life. "Well, who under the sun are you?"I asked. 

"I'm Carter, the fireman of No. 21. When I felt the bridge going Ijumped. I was half stunned, but managed to keep afloat, being carriedrapidly down the stream. I struck the bank about a mile and a half belowhere, and I've had one almighty big struggle to get back. For the loveof the Virgin give me a drink; I'm half dead;" and with that the poorfellow fell over senseless. 

I called one of the doctors and had him taken to the caboose of thewrecker, and when I had time I went in and heard the rest of his story. The poor chap was badly hurt, having one ankle broken, besides beingbruised up generally. He said when No. 21 left Truxton, Robertsproceeded at a snail-like pace, keeping a sharp lookout for a wash out. He slowed almost to a standstill before going on the bridge, buteverything appearing all safe and sound he started again, remarking toCarter, "Here's where I get the bath that Bates spoke about. "

[Illustration: "See here, who is going to pull this train?"]

The engine was half way over when there came a deafening roar; the trainquivered, and--then Carter jumped. That was all he knew. It was enough, and we sent him back with the rest of the wounded the next morning. Heis pulling a passenger train there to-day. The engine was lost in thequicksands, and was never recovered, and Ben Roberts stayed with her tothe last. He had more than his bath in Big River that night; he had hisfuneral; the river was his grave, and the engine his shroud. 

CHAPTER XVIII

A PROMOTION BY FAVOR AND ITS RESULTS

I had been on the C. N. & Q. For about eight months, when my secondtrick man took sick, and being advised to seek a healthier climate, resigned and went south. Generally speaking the chief despatcher'srecommendation is enough to place a man in his office; and as I hadalways believed in the rule of seniority, I wanted to appoint the thirdtrick man to the second trick, make the day copy operator third trickman, and call in a new copy operator to replace the night man who wouldbe promoted to the day job. In fact, I had started the ball rollingtoward the accomplishment of this end, when Mr. Antwerp, the divisionsuperintendent, defeated all my plans by peremptorily asserting hisprerogative and appointing his nephew, John Krantzer, who had been nightcopy operator to the third trick. I protested with all my might, in factwas once on the point of resigning my position but the old man wouldn'thear of either proposition, and Krantzer secured the place. Now whileKrantzer was an excellent copy operator, he was very young, and lackedthat persistence and reliability so essential in a successfuldespatcher. After I had protested until I was black in the face, I askedMr. Antwerp at least to put the young man on the second trick, so thatin a measure I could have him under my eye. But no, nothing but thethird trick would satisfy him, so on the third trick the rattle-brainedchap went the next night. 

He struggled through the first night without actually killing anybody, but his train sheet the next morning resembled a man with a very badcase of measles; there were delays on everything on the road, with veryfew satisfactory explanations. There was the fast mail twenty-fiveminutes in going six miles. Cause? None was given. But a perusal of theorder book showed that Krantzer had made a meet for her with a freighttrain, and had hung her up on a blind siding for fifteen minutes. Freights that had been out all night were still out, tied up in allkinds of shapes. Meets had been made for two long trains at a pointwhere the passing track was not large enough to accommodate either oneof them, and the result was thirty minutes lost by both of them in "rawhiding" by. Many other discrepancies were noticeable, but thesesufficed to show that Krantzer's abilities as a despatcher were of avery low order. However, I reflected, that it was his first night, and Iremembered my own similar experience not many years ago, so I simplysubmitted the sheet to Mr. Antwerp without comment. He wiped hisglasses, carefully adjusted them on his aristocratic nose, and afterglancing at the sheet for a few moments, said, "Ah! humph! Well! Well!Well! Not a very auspicious start, to be sure; but the boy will pick up. Just jack him up in pretty good shape, Bates; it will do him good. " Ijacked him up all right to the queen's taste but it was like pouringwater on a duck's back. 

The second night was not much of an improvement, and I made a big kickto Mr. Antwerp the following morning, but it did no good. The thirdnight was a hummer. I was kept at the office pretty late, in fact untilafter eleven o'clock, and before going home I wrote Krantzer a notetelling him to be very careful as there were many trains on the road. Our through business at this time was very heavy, and compelled us torun many extras and specials. I was particular to inform him of twoextras north, that would leave Bradford, the lower end of the division, some time after 12:30 A. M. , and directed him to run them as specialfreights having the right of track over all trains except thepassengers. Each train was made up of twenty-five cars of Californiafruit bound for New York, and they were the first of their kind to berun by us. We had a strong competitor for this class of business in theValley Route, a line twenty miles away, and were making a big bid forthe trade. The general manager had sent a message that a special effortwas to be made to put the two trains through a-whooping, and I hadordered engines 228 and 443, two of the best on the road, to pull them. Burke, the second trick man had everything running smoothly at the timeI wrote the note, and I told Krantzer that, as it looked then, all hewould have to do would be to keep them coming. No. 13, a fast freightsouth, had an engine that wasn't steaming very well, and I suggested tohim to put her on the siding at Manitou. It would delay 13 about fifteenminutes but her freight was all dead stuff, so that would not make muchdifference. I did everything but write the order, and that I could notdo, because I couldn't tell just what the conditions would be when theextras reached Bradford, where they would receive the order. 

Krantzer succeeded in getting them started in fair shape; but notcontent to let well enough alone, he thought he would run No. 13 on toBurnsides instead of putting her on the siding at Manitou as I hadsuggested, and gave orders to that effect. After he had given the"complete" he told the operator to tell them to "fly. " If he had giventhis same order for the meeting at Burnsides to the two extras, _at thesame time_, all would have been well, except that the extras would havebeen delayed some fifteen minutes, but this he was unable to do. Burnsides itself is only a day office, so he could not communicate withthem there, and they had already passed Gloriana, the first night officesouth of Burnsides. The operator at Gloriana heard the order to 13 andtold Krantzer it was a risky thing to do; but he told him "to mind hisown business, as he (Krantzer) could run that division without anyhelp. "

No. 13 was pulled by engine 67, with Jim Bush at the throttle, and hewas such a runner that he had earned the sobriquet of "LightningJimmie. " While he had reported early in the evening that his engine wasnot steaming very well, he had succeeded in getting her to working goodby this time. Burnsides is at the foot of a long grade from the north, and about a mile up there is a very abrupt curve as the track windsaround the side of the hill. The two extras were bowling along merrilywhen they struck this grade; and although there is a time card rule thatsays that trains will be kept ten minutes apart, they were righttogether, helping each other over the grade. In fact, it was one trainwith two engines, somewhat of a double header with the second engine inthe middle. They were going on for all they were worth, expecting tomeet No. 13 at Manitou, as originally ordered. 

In the meantime, Bush pulling No. 13, had passed Manitou, and withthirty-eight heavy cars behind him, was working her for all she wasworth on the down grade, so as to get on the siding for the extras atBurnsides. He was carrying out Krantzer's order to "fly, " with avengeance. And just as he turned the curve, he saw, not fifty yardsahead of him, the headlight of the first extra. To stop was out of thequestion. He whistled once for brakes, reversed his engine, pulled herwide open and then jumped! He landed safely enough, and beyond a brokenright arm, and a badly bruised leg, was unhurt. His poor fireman, though, jumped on the other side and was dashed to pieces on the rocks;and the head man and engineer of the first extra were also killed. I hadknown many times of two trains being put in the hole; but this was thefirst time I had ever seen three of them so placed. 

Krantzer had sense enough to order out the wrecker, and send for me. Iknew just as soon as I heard the caller's rap on my door that he haddone something so I lost no time in getting over to the office and theresat Krantzer as cool as if he had not just killed three men by his grosscarelessness and cost the company thousands of dollars. I had the oldman called and when he came and learned what had occurred, hisdiscomfiture was so great that I felt fully repaid for all my annoyanceon his nephew's account. He directed me to go out to the wreck andreport to him upon arrival. I had Forbush, the first trick man, calledand placed him in charge of the office during my absence. Incidentally, I told Krantzer he had better be scarce when I sent the remains of thosecrews in, because I fancied they were in a fit mood to kill him. When Ireturned I found that he had gone. It appeared that Jim Bush went upinto the office, and although he had one arm broken, he was prepared tobeat the life out of that crazy young despatcher. Forbush saw him comingand gave Krantzer a tip, and as Bush came in one door, Krantzer went outthe other. 

The effects of this wreck were far beyond calculation to the companybecause they lost the business they were striving to win, and the waythe general manager went for old man Antwerp was enough to make us allgrin with delight. It is needless to say I was allowed to place my ownmen thereafter. 

CHAPTER XIX

JACKING UP A NEGLIGENT OPERATOR--A CONVICT OPERATOR--DICK, THE PLUCKYCALL BOY

One of the most unpleasant duties I had to perform was that of "jackingup" operators, and punishing them for their short-comings. Generally, ifthe case was not a very bad one, and the man had a good reputation, Iwould try and smooth it over with only a reprimand; but there are times"when patience ceases to be a virtue, " and punishment must be inflicted. The train sheet is always the first indication that some operator is tobe "hauled up on the carpet. " One morning I found the following entry onthe sheet:--

"No. 16 delayed forty-five minutes at Bentonville, account not beingable to raise the operator at Sicklen in that time. Called forexplanation and operator said 'he was over at hotel getting somelunch. '"

That excuse "over at hotel getting some lunch, " is as familiar to arailroad operator as the creed is to a good churchman. A young mannamed Charles Ferral was the night man at Sicklen, and his ability asan operator was only exceeded by his inability to tell the truth when hewas in a tight place. I was too old an operator to be fooled by any sucha yarn as this; and besides, the conductor of No. 17 reported to me thathe had found Ferral stretched out on the table asleep, when he stoppedthere for water. But he was a first-rate man and I didn't want to losehim, so I wrote him a sharp letter and told him that a repetition of hisoffense would cause him to receive his time instantly. He was aspenitent as the prodigal son, and promised never to so offend again; andhe kept his word--for just about ten days. 

One morning he asked my permission to come up to "DS" on No. 2 and goback on No. 3 in the afternoon. I gave it, but warned him to not losetoo much sleep. There are some men in the business that the sound oftheir office call on a telegraph instrument will cause to awaken at onceno matter how soundly they may be sleeping, but Ferral was not one ofthese. The night following his return to his station, I was kept at theoffice until late, and about eleven o'clock No. 22 appeared atBakersville, and wanted to run to Ashton for No. 17. They were bothrunning a little late, and as 17 had a heavy train of coal and systemempties, I told Burke to let them go. But the only station at which wecould then get an order to 17 was Sicklen, Ferral's station. Burke beganto call, but Sicklen made no answer. He called for forty-five minutes ata stretch, 22 all the time waiting at Bakersville. He stopped for fiveminutes and then went at it again. In ten minutes Sicklen answered. Burke started to give the order, but Ferral broke and gave the "OS"report that 17 had just gone by. 

That settled it; No. 22 was hung up another hour all on account ofFerral's failure to attend to his duty. I opened up on him and said, "Where have you been for the last fifteen minutes?" The same old excuse, "Lunch, " came back at me. 

"Well, where were you for ten minutes before that?"

Then that dear old stereotyped expression, "Fixing my batteries, "followed. But I was only too sure that he had been asleep, and No. 17going by had awakened him. So I gently remarked that "I was not bornyesterday, and said that he would probably have ample time to fix hisbatteries after this; that, in fact, I thought it would be a good thingfor him to take a long course in battery work, and I would assist himall I could--I would provide him with the time for the work. "

The next morning I laid the matter before Mr. Antwerp, and he wanted theman discharged forthwith. But during the night my anger had cooledsomewhat and now I felt inclined to give him another chance; so I simplyurged that he be laid off for a while. 

"All right, Bates, but make it a good stiff lay-off--not less thanfifteen days, " said Mr. Antwerp. 

I wrote Ferral accordingly; but I had scarcely finished when a lettercame from him to me, begging off, and promising anything if I would notdischarge him; but, instead would lay him off for _forty-five days_. Itook him at his word and gave him the forty-five days he asked for, instead of the fifteen I had intended to give him. But, about two weekslater he came up to "DS, " and looked so woebegone, and pleaded so hardto be taken back, that I remitted the remainder of his punishment. Hewas greatly chagrined when he learned that he had trebled his ownsentence. He was never remiss again. Go over to the despatcher's officeany night and you will see him, bright and alert, sitting opposite thedespatcher doing the copying. He is in the direct line of promotion, andsome day will be a despatcher himself. I never regretted my leniency. 

In addition to the main line, I had a branch of thirty-eight miles, running from Bentonville up to Sandia. The despatching for this branchwas done from my office, and when we wanted anyone there Bentonvillewould cut us through. This was seldom necessary, however, because therewere only two trains daily, a combination freight and passenger eachway. The last station this side of Sandia was Alexis. The statepenitentiary was located there, and the telegraphing was done by aconvict "trusty"--a man who, having been appointed cashier of a bigfreight office in the western part of the state, couldn't standprosperity, and, in consequence, had been sent up for six years. Hisconduct had been so good that, after he had served four years inside ofthe walls, he was made a "trusty. " His ability as an operator wasextraordinary. He had a smooth easy way of sending that made his sendingas plain as a circus bill. 

The two branch trains on the branch were known as 61 and 62, and one day62, running north in the morning, had jumped the track laying herselfout about ten hours. When she left Sandia as 61 on her return tripsouth, she again went off the track and the result was sixteen hours'more delay. We wouldn't send a wrecker up from the main line, and theyhad to work out their own salvation. When they finally appeared atAlexis they were running on the time of 62. That would never do, and theconductor asked the operator at Alexis to get him orders to run toBentonville regardless of No. 62. Burke, my second trick man, was onduty at the time, and it so chanced that he did not know the Alexis manwas a convict. He was about to give the order asked for when somethingon the main line diverted him for a moment. When he was ready again, Alexis broke him and said, "Wait a minute. "

To tell a despatcher to wait a minute when he is sending a train orderis to court sudden death, and Burke said, "Wait for what?"

"For whatever you blame please, I'm going out to weigh this coal. "

Burke's Irish blood was all up in his head by this time, and he said:"What do you mean by talking that way to me? No. 61 is waiting for this'9'; now you copy and I'll get your time sent you in the morning. "

"Oh! will you? I guess my time is all fixed so you can't touch it. Ionly wish you could; I'd like mighty well to be fired from this job; Iwouldn't even wait for my pay. "

I had been sitting at my desk taking it all in, and was just aboutready to expire with laughter, when Burke called over to me: "Did youhear that young fellow's impudence?"

"Yes, I heard. "

"Well, what are you going to do about it? I've never had an operatortalk to me like that before. I must certainly insist that you dismisshim at once. He and I can't work on the same road. "

"Unfortunately, Burke, " said I, "the State has a claim on his servicesfor two years yet, and I am afraid they won't waive it. "

At this it dawned upon Burke, who and what the man really was; but Icannot say that his humor was improved at once by the discovery. 

One morning shortly after this I was sitting in my office making up anannual train report, and was cussing out anything and everybody, becausethis train report is one of the worst things in the whole business. Itwas figures till you couldn't rest, and I had already been working at itfor three days, and my head was in a perfect whirl. That morning one ofour call boys had turned up missing and that fact also irritated me. Itwould seem that a call boy was a pretty insignificant chap in a bigrailroad, but such is not the case. In a perfect system every employeeis like a cog in a big wheel, and as soon as one cog is broken there isa jar in the otherwise smooth symmetrical movement of the machine. Thecall boy is quite an important personage, because, upon him depends theprompt calling of the various crews in time to take out their trains. Hemust keep a keen watch on the call board for the marking up of trains;he must know who is the first to go out, and he must know the dwellingplace of every engineer, fireman, conductor and brakeman in the city. Ona big division like ours, this, in itself, was not a small job. On someroads men are employed for this work, but I had always been partial tothe boys, and kept four of them, two on days and two on nights. When myday boy left, I promoted a night boy to the second day job, and wascudgeling my brain for a good chap to go on nights. In a little while Iheard a sharp rap on the office door, and in response to my "come in, "uttered in a tone that was anything but pleasant, a sturdy lookinglittle chap about fourteen years old stood before me. He had a shock ofjet black hair, tumbled all over his head, a pair of bright eyes, roundfull face, not over clean, strong limbs and a well knit body. Hisclothes hung on him like gunny sacks, and the crudity of the manyvarious patches indicated that they had not been put on by woman's deftfingers. He didn't wait for me to speak, but blurted out:

"Say, mister, I have just heard tell as how you wants a call boy. Doyou?"

He took my breath away by his bluntness; he looked so honest andsincere, so I simply replied, "Yes, " and waited. 

"Well then, I wants the job. See!"

"What's your name, youngster, and where is your home?"

"My name's Dick Durstine; I hain't got no home, no father, no mother, nonothin', just me, and I wants to learn the tick tick business. It looksdead easy. "

This was really funny, but I liked his impudence, and, while I had nointention of hiring him, I determined to draw him out, so I said:

"Where were you born, when did you come here, and do you know where anyof the crews live?"

"I was born in St. Louis; mother died when I was a kid, and Dad was sucha drunken worthless old cuss and beat me so much, that I brought up in afoundling asylum. I come in here riding on the trucks of your mail trainabout three weeks ago, and the fellers up in the roundhouse have beenlettin' me feed and snooze there. I know where all the crews liveexceptin' some of your kid glove engineers wot pulls the fast trains, but I can soon find them out. Please give me the job, mister; I'm honestand I'll work hard. "

Something in his blunt straightforward way appealed to me and Idetermined to try him. Handled right I imagined he would be a good man;handled wrong, he would probably become a bright and shining light ofthe _genus_ hobo. So I hired him, telling him his salary would be fortydollars per month. 

"Hully gee!" he exclaimed, "forty plunks a month! Well say! I won't do ating wid all dat mun; I'll just buy a road. Thank you mister, I'll workso hard for you that you'll not be sorry you gave me the job. But don'tyou forget that I wants to learn the tick tick business. "

That night at seven o'clock he went to work, and it didn't take long tosee that he was as bright as a new dollar. He knew everything about thedivision, knew all the crews and where they lived. Days went by andstill he held up his end and was a great favorite with all the force. There was a local instrument in the office, and one of the operatorswrote the Morse alphabet for him, and ever after that he kept peggingaway at the key. He practiced writing and it wasn't many weeks beforehe was getting to be something of an operator. I went out to the mainline battery room one evening to give some instructions to the man incharge and there I discovered Master Dick with a battery syringe in onehand and a brush in the other deeply engrossed in monkeying with thejars. 

"Look here, you young rascal, " I said sharply, "what are you doing inhere? First thing you know you will short circuit some of thesebatteries and then there'll be the de'il to pay: Don't you ever let mecatch you out here again, or I'll fire you bodily. "

"I hain't been doing nothin', Mister Bates, I just wanted to see whatmade the old thing go tick tick. Wot's all them glass jars for wid thegreen water and the tin in?"

I explained to him as well as I could the construction of the gravitybattery. He had been forbidden to monkey with any of the instruments orthe switch board in the main office, but his infernal inquisitivenesssoon ran away with his sense, and it wasn't long before he was introuble. He pulled a plug out of the switch board one evening, and Burkethreatened to kill him. Another evening, he went into my office andmonkeyed with an instrument that I kept there connected to thedespatcher's wire, and left it open. There was no report from any of theoffices on either side, and investigation soon revealed the culprit. Thewire was open for ten minutes and Burke was as mad as a March hare, whenhe reported it to me the next morning. I sent for Master Dick andinformed him that another such a report against him would cause hisinstant dismissal. He seemed penitent enough, but two nights afterwardshe short circuited all the main line batteries by his foolishness, andraised Cain in the office for a while. The next morning his time waspresented to him and he was told to get out. He pleaded hard but hisoffenses had been too numerous, and I had to let him go. I must confess, however, that we all missed him greatly, because, in spite of histroublesome nature, he was a prime favorite with all the force. 

Our road ran through some wild unsettled country, and a few yearsprevious, a Mr. Bob Forney and some distinguished gentlemen of the road, had paid us a visit, with the result that the express company lost aboutforty thousand dollars and their messenger his life. The country becametoo warm for them and they fled. 

Our flyer left two nights after this, having on board about a hundredthousand dollars of government money, and I remarked to Bob Stanton, the conductor, that it was a fine chance for a hold up, but he laughedit off and said that civilization was too far advanced for that kind ofwork just now. 

About nine o'clock I was sitting in the despatcher's office smoking acigar before going home for the night, when all at once the despatcher'swire and the railroad line opened. Sicklen reported south of him andthen took off his ground. Pretty soon the sounder began to open andclose in a peculiar shaky manner, and then I heard the following:

"To 'DS, ' gang of robbers goin' to hold up the flyer in Ashley's cutto-night. They will place rails and ties on the track to wreck train ifthey don't heed signal. Warn train to watch out and bring gang out fromSicklen. This is Dick Durstine. "

All was quiet for a minute and then he started again, but soon hestopped short and we heard no more. The line remained open. 

We raised Sicklen on a commercial wire and told him to turn hisred-light and hold everything. I was in somewhat of a quandary; thesending had been miserable, sounding unlike any stuff Dick had eversent, and then the stopping of the whole business made it seem rathersuspicious. Still Ashley's cut was an ideal place for a hold up, and theweather was dark and stormy. Everything was propitious for just such ajob. 

In the meantime, Ashton, the first office south of Sicklen, had reportedon the commercial line that the despatcher's wire was open north of him. That would place it near the cut in all probability. Anyway I didn'tintend to take any chance, so I sent a message to Sicklen telling him tonotify the sheriff of all the facts and ask him to send out a posse onthe flyer, and, also, for him to get the day man to go out and patch thelines up until a line man could get there in the morning. About twentyminutes afterwards the flyer left Sicklen nicely fixed with a strongposse, and an order to approach the cut with caution. It was only threemiles from Sicklen to the cut, and I knew it would be but a matter of ashort while until something was heard. Sure enough, forty minutes laterthe despatcher's wire closed and this message came:

 "To Bates, DS:

 "Attempt to hold up No. 21 in Ashley's cut was frustrated by the sheriff's posse. Outlaws had placed ties on the track in case we did not heed the signal to stop. Two of them killed, three captured and one escaped. Dick Durstine is here, badly shot through the right lung. Will have him sent in from Sicklen on 22 in the morning. 

 "Stanton, Conductor. "

The next morning when 22 pulled in I went down and there, laid out on alitter in the baggage car, was Dick Durstine, my former call boy, weak, pale, and just living. He was conscious, and when I leaned over him hiseyes glistened for a minute, he smiled and feebly said:

"Say, Mister Bates, didn't I do them fellers up in good shape? When Igets well again will you gimme back my job so I can learn some moreabout the tick tick? I'll never monkey any more, honest to God, Iwon't. "

A queer lump came in my throat and there was a suspicion of moisture inmy eyes as I contemplated this brave little hero, and I said:

"God bless your brave little heart, Dick, you can have anything on thisdivision. "

Mr. Antwerp had appeared and was visibly affected. We had Dick removedto the company hospital, and then for some days he lay hovering betweenlife and death, but youth, and a strong constitution finally won out andhe began to mend. 

When he was able to sit up I heard his story. It appeared that when Idismissed him he laid around the place for a day, and then jumping afreight, started south. At Sicklen he had been put off by a heartlessbrakeman and had started to walk to Ashton. It was evening and he becametired. After walking as far as the north end of the cut he laid down andwent to sleep behind a pile of old ties. He was awakened by the sound ofvoices near by, and listening intently, he learned that the men wereoutlaws and intended to hold up the flyer that night. They intended toflag her down as she entered the cut and do the business in the usualsmooth manner. In case she wouldn't stop, they would have a pile of tieson the track that would soon put a quietus on her flight. Poor littleDick was horrified and stealing quietly away some distance he stoppedand cogitated. Time was becoming precious. How was he to send a warning?Oh! if he could only get into a telegraph office! Suddenly an ideastruck him. He went a little farther up the track, and shinning up apole he took his heavy jack-knife, and after a hard effort, succeeded incutting two wires. Another pole was climbed and only one wire cut fromit. With this strand he made a joint so that the two ends of thedespatcher's wire could be brought in easy contact. Then by knocking thetwo ends together he sent the warning. His cutting of the wire had madea peculiar loud twang and one of the outlaws heard it. Becomingsuspicious, he and his partner started up the track to investigate. Theycame upon Dick, kneeling on one knee, engrossed in his work, and withoutone word of warning shot him in the back. They left him for dead, butthank God he did not die, and to-day he is on a road that before manyyears will land him on top of the heap. 

CHAPTER XX

AN EPISODE OF SENTIMENT

The night man down at Bentonville quit rather suddenly one fall morning, and as I had no immediate relief in prospect, I wired the chiefdespatcher of the division south of me to send me a man if he had any tospare. That afternoon I received a message from him saying he had sentMiss Ellen Ross to take the place. I still had a very distinctrecollection of my encounter with Miss Love, and I wasn't overfond ofwomen operators anyway, so Miss Ross's welcome to my division was not ahearty one. She was the first woman I had ever had under myjurisdiction. I was at the office quite late a night or two after this, and heard some of her work; there was no use denying that she was a verysmooth operator as well as a very prompt one. Burke said he had nocomplaint to offer; she was always on time, and I must confess I feltmuch chagrined. I wanted a chance to discharge her, but it didn't appearto materialize. But I was a patient waiter and one morning about threeweeks later I came into the office and on looking over the delay sheet Isaw the following entry in the delay column:

"No. 18 delayed fifty minutes, account not being able to raise theoperator at Bentonville in that time; as an explanation, operator saysshe was over at the hotel getting her lunch. "

Evidently Miss Ross had little ingenuity in the line of excuses or shewould never have offered such a threadbare one as that. I wanted thechance to annihilate her and here it was. I called up Bentonville andasked if Miss Ross was there. She was, and I said, "Isn't it possiblefor you to invent a better excuse than 'lunch' for your failure toanswer last night, or this morning rather?"

She drummed on the key for a moment and then said if I didn't like thatexcuse I knew what I could do. I caught my breath at her audacity andthen "_did_. " I sent her time to her on No. 21, and a man to take herplace. I then dismissed the matter from my mind and supposed that I hadheard the last of Miss Ross. I never was very well acquainted with thefemale sex or I would not have dismissed the matter with suchcomplacency. 

A day or two after this I was sitting in the division superintendent'soffice, he being out on the road, and I heard a voice say:

"Is this Mr. Bates?" I had not heard anyone come in and I glanced up andanswered, "Yes. " I saw before me a young woman of an air and appearancethat fairly took my breath away. I immediately arose to my feet and withall possible deference invited her to take a seat. I supposed she wasthe wife of some of the officials and wanted a pass. In response to myinquiry as to what could I do for her she said, timidly:

"I am Miss Ross, lately night operator at Bentonville. "

Her answer put me more off my ease than ever, but the discipline of theroad had to be maintained at any-cost; so as soon as I could, I put onmy severest look and sternly said, "Well!" She smiled slightly in a waythat made me doubt if she were much impressed by my display of rigor;and answered, "I came to see if you wouldn't take me back. I am sure Ididn't mean to offend the other night. I have been an operator fornearly four years and I have never had the least bit of trouble before. You have no fault to find with my work I am sure; and I promise to bevery careful to never offend again. Won't you please take me back?"

Gee! but she did look pretty and her big black eyes were shining likebright stars. If she had only known it I was ready by this time to havegiven her the best job on the whole division, even my own, but I wasn'tgoing to give up without a show of resistance and I said:

"Humph! Well let's see!" Then I rang my bell and told the boy to get methe train sheet of the sixteenth. I looked very stern and very wise as Iread the delay report to her. 

"That, Miss Ross, is a very serious offense. A delay of fifty minutes toany train is bad enough, but when it happens to a through freight it isthe worst possible. Then you say you were at the hotel for lunch. Theorder book shows that the despatcher called you from two A. M. Untiltwo-fifty A. M. Isn't that rather an unearthly hour to be going out tolunch? My recollection of the Bentonville station is that it is a milefrom the excuse of a hotel in the place. Really, I am very sorry but Idon't see how anything can be done. "

Discipline was being maintained, you see, in great shape, but all thetime I was delivering my little speech I was feeling like a bigred-headed hypocrite. Miss Ross looked up at me with those beautifuleyes; then two big tears made their appearance on the scene, and shesobbed out:

"Well, I know I told a fib when I made that excuse, but the despatcherwas so sharp and I was so scared when he said he had been calling me forfifty minutes, that I told him the first thing that came into my mind. Then, the next day I was angry at you, because I thought you werechaffing me, as I was the only woman on the line, and I suppose I wasrather impudent. But do you think it is fair to discharge me for thesame thing that you only gave Mr. Ferral fifteen days for? Are you notdoing it simply because I am a woman?"

I never could stand a woman's tears, especially a pretty one, and whenshe cited the case of Ferral, I realized that I had lost my game. I letmyself down as easily as I could and that night Miss Ross went back towork at Bentonville, and the man there was put on the waiting list. 

It was very funny after this how many times I had to run down toBentonville. That Sandia branch line had to be inspected; the switchboard had to be replaced by a new one in "BN" office; wires had to bechanged, a new ground put in, and many other things done, and always Ihad to go myself to see that the work was done properly. The agent atBentonville came, before very long, to smile in a very knowing waywhenever I jumped off the train; Mr. Antwerp had a peculiarly wise lookin his eye when I mentioned anything about Bentonville, but I didn'tmind it. I was in love with the sweet little girl, and was walking onthe clouds. If I hadn't been I would have seen that my cake was alldough in that quarter. I might have noticed that big Dan Forbush had anamused look in his eye when I went off on one of these trips. If I hadwatched the mail I might have seen numerous little billets coming dailyfrom Bentonville, addressed in a neat round hand to "Mr. Dan Forbush. "But I didn't, I kept right on in my mad career, and one day when mycourage was high I offered my hand and my heart to Miss Ross. Sherefused and told me that while she was honored by my proposal, she hadbeen engaged to Mr. Forbush for two years, having known him down on the"Sunset" before he came to our road. I took my defeat as philosophicallyas I could and the next spring she left Bentonville for good, and Dantook a three weeks' leave. When he came back he brought sweet Ellen ashis bride. One evening not long after that I was calling there, whenMrs. Forbush looked up at me very naively and said:

"Mr. Bates, did I pay you back for discharging me?"

[Illustration: "Are you not doing it just because I am a woman?"]

There's no doubt about it, she did, and I felt it. She was the thirdgirl to throw me over, and I determined to give up the business and gofor a soldier. I stuck it out there till fall and then resigned for alltime. 

CHAPTER XXI

THE MILITARY OPERATOR--A FAKE REPORT THAT NEARLY CAUSED TROUBLE

The railroad and commercial telegraphers are well known to the generalpublic, because they are thrown daily in contact with them, but there isstill another class in the profession, which, while not being so wellknown are, in their way, just as important in their acts and deeds. Irefer to the military telegrapher. His work does not often carry himwithin the environments of civilization; his instruments are not of thebeautiful Bunnell pattern, placed on polished glass partitioned tables;his task is a very hard one and yet he does it without a grumble. Hissphere of duty is out at the extreme edge of advancing civilization. Youwill find him along the Rio Grande frontier; out on the sun-bakeddeserts of New Mexico and Arizona; up in the Bad Lands of Montana, andthe snow-capped mountains of the Rockies. A few of them you will find innice offices at some department headquarters or in the war office inWashington, but such places are generally given to men who have grownold and gray in the service. His office? Any old place he can plant hisinstruments, many times a tent with a cracker box for a table; a chairwould be an unheard-of luxury. His pay? Thirteen big round Americandollars per month. His rank and title? Hold your breath while I tellyou. Private, United States Army. Great, isn't it? Many times a detailto one of the frontier points means farewell to your friends as long asthe tour lasts. 

When I left the railroad business I journeyed out westward to FortHayes, Kansas, and held up my right hand and swore all manner of oathsto support the Constitution of the United States; obey the orders of thePresident of the United States and all superior officers; to accept thepay and allowances as made by a generous (God save the word) Congressfor the period of five years. Thus did I become a soldier and a "doughboy" because I went to the infantry arm of the service. I've stuck tothe business ever since. 

I supposed when I went into the army that my connection with wires andtelegraph instruments was entirely finished. I had worked at thebusiness long and faithfully and was in a state of mind that I thought Ihad had enough. That's very good in theory, but powerful poor inpractice, because I hadn't been soldiering a month before a feeling ofhomesickness for my old love came over me; in fact to this day I neversee a railroad but what I want to go up in the despatcher's office andsit down and take a "trick. " But there were commissions to be had fromthe ranks of the army and I wanted one, so I hung on and did my duty asbest I could. 

The stay at Fort Hayes was a very peaceful and serene one; I did notelegraphing there for a year, and then we were ordered to Fort Clark, Texas. When I quit the commercial business I had almost taken an oathnever to go back to Texas, but I couldn't help it in this case. 

Fort Clark is one hundred and thirty miles due west of dear old SanAntonio, and situated nine miles from the railroad. When my companyarrived, there was no telegraphic communication with the outside worldand all telegrams had to be sent by courier to Spofford Junction, fortransmission. After having been stationed there for about eight months Iwas sent for by the commanding officer and told to take charge of aparty and build a telegraph line over to the railroad. The poles hadbeen set by a detachment of the 3rd Cavalry and in five days' time I hadstrung the wire. Being the only operator in the post I was placed incharge of the office and relieved from all duty. It was a perfect snap;no drills, no guards, no parades, nothing but just work the wire andplenty of time to devote to my studies. 

In December, 1890, the Sioux Indians again broke loose from theirreservations at Pine Ridge and all of the available men of the pitifullysmall, but gallant, United States army were hurriedly rushed northwardsto give them a smash that would be lasting and convincing. There was the7th Cavalry, Custer's old command, the 6th and 9th Cavalry, the 10th, 2nd, and 17th Infantry, the late lamented and gallant Capron's flyingbattery of artillery, besides others--General Miles personally assumedcommand, and the campaign was short, sharp, brilliant and decisive. TheIndians were lambasted into a semblance of order, and thatpersonification of deviltry, Sitting Bull, given his transportation tothe happy hunting grounds, but not before a score or more of braveofficers and men had passes to their long reckoning. Captain GeorgeWallace, of the 7th Cavalry; Lieutenant Mann, of the same regiment, andLieutenant Ned Casey, of the 22nd Infantry, left places in the ranks ofthe officers that were hard to fill. 

My regiment, the 18th Infantry, was too far away to go, and besides, the Rio Grande frontier, with Señor Garza and his band of cutthroatsprowling around loose, could not be left unprotected. There would be toobig a howl from the Texans if that occurred. 

During all these trying times my telegraph office was naturally thecenter of interest, and I had made an arrangement with the chiefoperator at San Antonio to send me bulletins of any important news. Ialways made two copies, posting one on the bulletin board in front of myoffice, and delivering the other to the colonel in person. 

Soldiers are very loquacious as a rule and give them a thread upon whichto hang an argument, and in a minute a free silver, demo-popocratconvention would sound tame in comparison. Go into a squad-room at anytime the men are off duty, and you can have a discussion on almost anyold subject from the result of the coming prize fight to the deepestquestion of the bible and theology. Many times the argument will becomeso warm between Privates "Hicky" Flynn and "Pie Faced" Sullivan thattheology will be settled _a la_ Queensbury out behind the wash-house. Among soldiers this argumentative spirit is called "chewing the rag. "

One morning shortly after Wounded Knee with its direful results hadbeen fought, I thought it would be a great joke to post a startlingbulletin, just to start the men's tongues a-wagging. 

So I wrote the following:

 "Bulletin

 "San Antonio, Texas, 12 | 26, 1890. 

 "Reported that the 6th and 9th Cavalry were ambuscaded yesterday by Sioux Indians under Crazy Horse, and completely wiped out of existence. Custer's Little Big Horn massacre outdone. Not a man escaped. "

I chuckled with fiendish glee as I posted this on the bulletin board andthen started for breakfast. I thought some soldier would read it, tellit to the men of his company, and in that way the fun would commence. Myscheme worked to perfection, because some of the men of G Company, (minewas D) had seen me stick it up and had come post haste to read. Istarted the ball rolling in my own company and in about a minute therewere fifty men around me all jabbering like magpies as to the result ofthis awful massacre. Of course, the regiment would be hurried northforthwith--no other regiment could do the work of annihilation so wellas the 18th. Oh! no. Of course not!

Said my erstwhile friend and bunkie "Hickey" Flynn: "Av coorse, Moileswill be after sendin' a message to Lazelle to bring the Ateenth fut upat once, and thin the smashin' we will be after givin' them rid divilswill make a wake look sick. "

"Aw cum off, Hickey, " said Sullivan, "phat the divil does yez know avfoightin' injuns? Phat were ye over in the auld sod? Nathin' but a turfdigger. Phat were ye here before ye 'listed? Dom ye, I think ye belongto the Clan na Gael and helped to murther poor Doc Cronin, bad cess toye. "

A display of authority on the part of the top sergeant prevented a clashand the jaw-breaking contest proceeded. By this time the news had spreadand the entire garrison were talking. Just as I was about to tell themthat it was a fake pure and simple, I happened to glance towards myoffice, and Holy Smoke! there was my captain standing on his tiptoes (hewas only five feet four) reading that confounded bulletin. I hadn'tcounted on any of the officers reading it. Generally they didn't get upuntil eight o'clock and by that time I would have destroyed the fakereport. 

The officers' club was in the same building as my office and the captainhad come down early, evidently to get a--to read the morning paper(_which came at 4 P. M. _) and his eye lighted on my bulletin. I saw himread it carefully, and then reaching up he tore it from the board and asquick as his little legs would carry him, he made a bee line for thecommanding officer's quarters. I knew full well how the colonel wouldregard that bulletin when he found out it was a fake. I was able todiscern a summary court-martial in my mind's eye, and that would knockmy chances for a commission sky-highwards--because a man's militaryrecord must be absolutely spotless when he appears for examination. Whatwas I to do? Just then I saw the captain go up the colonel's steps, ringthe bell, and in a moment he was admitted. I felt that my corpse waslaid out right then and there and the wake was about to begin. 

A few moments later the commanding officer's orderly came in, andlooking around for a minute, caught sight of me and said:

"Corporal, the commanding officer wants to see you at his quarters atonce, " and out he went. "Start the band to playing the 'Dead March inSaul, '" thought I, "because this is the beginning of a funeralprocession in which I am to play the leading part. " I walked as slowlyas I could and not appear lagging, but I arrived at my crematory all toosoon. I rapped on the door and in tones that made me shiver was biddenby the old man to come in. The colonel was standing in the middle ofhis parlor, wrapped in a gaudy dressing gown, and in his hand he held mymangled bulletin. Right at that minute I wished I had never heard atelegraph instrument click. 

"Corporal, " said the colonel, "what time did you receive this bulletin?"

"About six-fifteen, sir, immediately after reveille, " I replied with aface as expressionless as a mummy's. 

"Why did you not bring it to me direct as you have heretofore done?"

"Well, sir, I didn't think you were awake yet, and I did not want todisturb you. "

"Have you any later news, corporal?"

"No sir, none, but I haven't been back to the office since, sir. " Gee!but that room was becoming warm!

"Are you certain as to the truth of this awful report?"

"It is probably as authentic as a great many stories that are startedduring times like these--that is all I know of it, sir. " (Lord forgiveme. )

"It seems almost too horrible to be true, and yet, one cannot tell aboutthose Sioux. They're a bad lot--a devilish bad lot"--this to mycaptain--and then to me: "You go back to your office, corporal, andremain very close until you have a denial or a confirmation of thisstory and bring any news you may receive to me instanter. That's allcorporal. "

The "corporal" needed no second dismissal, and saluting I quickly gotout of an atmosphere that was far from chilly to me. 

Now, by my cussed propensity for joking, I had involved myself in thismess, and there was but one way out of it, and that was to brazen it outfor a while longer and then post a denial of the supposed awful rumor. _But the denial must come over the wire_, so when I reached my office Icalled up Spofford and told old man Livingston what I had done and whatI wanted him to do for me, and in about half an hour he sent me a"bulletin" saying that the previous report had happily proved unfoundedand the 6th and 9th Cavalry were all right. This message I took at onceto the colonel and as he read it he heaved a big sigh of relief, but hedismissed me with a very peculiar look in his eye. 

The next evening as I was passing the colonel's quarters on my way todeliver a message to the hospital, I heard him remark to anotherofficer, "Major, don't you think it is strange that the papers receivedto-day make no mention of that frightful report received-here yesterdaymorning relative to the supposed massacre of the 6th and 9th Cavalry?"

No, the major didn't think it a bit strange. Maybe he knew thatnewspaper stories should be taken _cum grano salis_, and then maybe heknew me. 

There were no more "fake reports" from that office. 

CHAPTER XXII

PRIVATE DENNIS HOGAN, HERO

It was while I was sitting around a barrack-room fire that I picked upthe following story. There were a number of old soldiers in mycompany--men who had served twenty-five years in the army--and theirfund of anecdote and excitement was of the largest size. 

On Thanksgiving Day, 187--, Private Dennis Hogan, Company B, 29th UnitedStates Infantry, the telegraph operator at Fort Flint, Montana, sat inhis dingy little "two by four" office in the headquarter building, communing with himself and cussing any force of circumstances that madehim a soldier. The instruments were quiet, a good Thanksgiving dinnerhad been enjoyed and now the smoke from his old "T. D. " pipe curled ingraceful rings around his red head. 

Denny was a smashing good operator and some eighteen months before hehad landed in St. Louis dead broke. All the offices and railroads werefull and nary a place did he get. While walking up Pine street onemorning his eye fell foul of a sign:--

"Wanted, able-bodied, unmarried men, between the ages of twenty-one andthirty-five, for service in the United States Army. "

In his mind's eye he sized himself up and came to the conclusion that hewould fill all the requirements. Now, he hadn't any great hankering forsoldiering, but he didn't have a copper to his name and as emptystomachs stand not on ceremony, in he went and after being catechized bythe recruiting sergeant, he was pounded for thirty minutes by theexamining surgeon, pronounced as sound as a dollar, and then sworn in"to serve Uncle Sam honestly and faithfully for five years. So help meGod. " The space of time necessary to transform a man from a civilian toa soldier is of a very short duration, and almost before he knew it hewas dressed in the plain blue of the soldier of the Republic. He wasassigned to B company of the 28th United States Infantry stationed atFort Flint, Montana. The experience was new and novel to him, and thethree months recruit training well nigh wore him out, but he stuck toit, and some two months after he had been returned to duty, he wasdetailed as telegraph operator vice Adams of G Company, discharged. There he had remained since. 

At four o'clock on the afternoon in question Denny was aroused from hisreverie by the sounder opening up and calling "FN" like blue blazes. Heanswered and this is what he took:

 "DEPARTMENT HEADQUARTERS ST. PAUL, MINN. "November 26th, 187-

 "COMMANDING OFFICER, "Fort Flint, Montana. 

 "Sioux Indians out. Prepare your command for instant field service. Thirty days' rations; two hundred rounds ammunition per man. Wire when ready. 

 "By command of Major General Wherry. 

 (Signed) SMITH, "Assistant Adjutant-General. "

Denny was the messenger boy as well as operator and without waiting tomake an impression copy, he grabbed his hat and flew down the line tothe colonel's quarters. That worthy was entertaining a party at dinner, and was about to give Hogan fits for bringing the message to him insteadof to the post adjutant; but a glance at the contents changed things andin a moment all was bustle and confusion. 

For weeks the premonitory signs of this outbreak had been plainlyvisible, but true to the red-tape conditions, the army could not moveuntil some overt act had been committed. The generous interiordepartment had supplied the Indians with arms and ammunition and thenMr. Red Devil under that prince of fiends incarnate, Sitting Bull, started on his campaign of plunder and pillage. 

At eight o'clock that night Colonel Clarke wired his chief that hiscommand was ready, and at midnight he received orders to proceed thenext morning at daylight, by forced marches up to the junction of theforks of the Red Bud, and take position there to intercept the Indiansshould they attempt to cross. Two regiments from the more northern postswere due to reach there at the same time, and the combined strength ofthe three commands was supposed to be sufficient to drive back any bodyof Indians. There was little sleep in Fort Flint that night. 

Now, Hogan wasn't much of a success as a garrison soldier, but when achance for a genuine fight presented itself, all the Irish blood in hisnature came to the surface, and after much pleading and begging, theadjutant allowed him to join his company, detailing Jones of D Companyas operator in his stead. Jones wasn't as good an operator by far asDenny, but in a pinch he could do the work, and besides, he had justcome out of the hospital and was unable to stand the rigors attendantupon a winter campaign in Montana. 

Denny went to the company quarters in high glee and soon had his kit allpacked. Some weeks before he had been out repairing the line and when hereturned to the post he had left a small pocket instrument and a fewfeet of office wire in his haversack. He saw these things and was aboutto remove them, when something impelled him to take them along. Whatthis was no one ever knew. Perhaps premonition. 

The next morning just as the first dim shadows of early dawn stole overthe snow-clad earth, the gallant old 29th, five hundred strong, swungout of Fort Flint, on its long tramp. From out of half-closed blinds onthe officer's line gazed many a tear-stained face, and up on "SoapsudsRow" many an honest-hearted laundress was bemoaning the fates thatparted her from her "ould mon. "

The weather turned bitter cold and after seven days of the hardest kindof marching they reached and crossed the Red Bud just below the junctionof the two forks. A strong position was taken and every disposition madeto prevent surprise. The expected re-enforcement would surely come soonand then all would be safe. 

The next day dawned and passed, but not a sign of that re-enforcement. That night queer looking red glows were seen at stated intervals on thehorizon--North, West and East on the north side of the river, and to theSouth on the other bank did they gleam and glow. Colonel Clarke was oldand tried in Indian warfare and well did he know what those firesmeant--Indians--and lots of them all around his command. His hope nowwas that the two northern regiments would strike them in the rear whilehe smashed them in front. 

The next morning, first one, two, three, four, an hundred, a thousandfigures mounted on fleet footed ponies appeared silhouetted against theclear sky, and it wasn't long before that little command of sturdybluecoats was surrounded by a superior force of the wildest red devilsthat ever strode a horse or fired a Winchester rifle. Slowly they drewtheir lines closer about the troops like the clinging tentacles of somemonster devilfish, and about eleven o'clock, _Bang!_ and the battle wason. 

"Husband your fire, men. Don't shoot until you have taken deliberateaim, and can see the object aimed at, " was the word passed along theline by Colonel Clarke. 

Behind hastily constructed shelter trenches the soldiers fought off thatencircling band of Indians, with a desperation and valor born of analmost hopeless situation. Ever and anon, from across the river came theping of a Winchester bullet, proving that retreat was cut off that way. The Indians had completely marched around them. 

Where was the re-enforcement? Why didn't it come? Was this to be anotherLittle Big Horn, and were these brave men to be massacred like thegallant 7th Cavalry under Custer? As long as his ammunition held outColonel Clarke knew he could stand them off, but after three days ofhard fighting, resulting in the loss of many brave men, the situationwas becoming desperate. Fires could not be lighted and more than onebrave fellow went to kingdom come in filling the canteens at the river'sbank. Most of the animals had been shot, many of them being used forbreastworks. 

Colonel Clarke was inspecting his lines on the early evening of thethird day, and had about made up his mind to ask for a volunteer to tryand get beyond the Indian lines and carry the news to Fort Scott, sixtymiles away, to call for re-enforcements. Six troops of the 11th Cavalrywere stationed there under his old friend and classmate, ColonelFoster. He knew the character of the regular army chaps well enough tobe certain they would come to his assistance, if it were a possiblething. If all went well with his courier in three days' time they wouldbe there. 

The word was passed along the line and in a few seconds he had anynumber of officers and men who were willing and ready to take the ride. Just as the colonel had decided to send 1st Lieutenant Jarvis on thisperilous trip, Hogan appeared before him, saluting with militaryprecision, and said with a broad Irish brogue:--

"Axin' yer pardin' kurnel, but Oi think Oi kin tell ye a betther way. The telegraph loine from Scott to Kearney runs just twenty-foive moilesbeyant here to the southards. Up at the end of our loines on the otherside of the river is a deep ravine. If Oi kin get across with a goodhorse and slip through the Indian loines on the other soide, I can, byhard roidin' reach this loine in two or three hours. I have a pocketinstrument wid me and can cut in and ask for re-enforcements from FortScott. If the loine is down I can continue on to the post, and make asquick time as any of the officers; if it is up it will be a matther of ashort toime before we are pulled out of this hole. Plaze let me thry itkurnel. Lieutenant Jarvis has a wife and two children, and his losswould be greatly felt, whoile I--I--well I haven't any wan, sir, andbesoides, I'm an Irishman, and you know, kurnel, an Irishman is a foolfor luck. " This last was said with a broad grin. 

Colonel Clarke was somewhat amazed at this speech, but he studiedreflectively, with knitted brows for a moment, and then said, "Allright, Hogan, I'll let you try it. Take my horse and start at threeo'clock in the morning. Do your best, my man, do your best; the lives ofthe remainder of this command depend on your efforts. God be with you. "

"If I fail kurnel, it will be because I'm dead, sir. "

Shortly before three o'clock in the morning, Denny made ready for hisperilous ride. The horse's hoofs were carefully padded, ammunition andrevolver looked after, the pocket instrument fastened around his neck bythe wire, so if any accident happened to the horse he would not beunnecessarily delayed, and all was ready. He gave his old bunkie afarewell silent clasp of the hand and then started on his ride thatmeant life or death to his comrades. The horse was a magnificentKentuckian and seemed to know what was required of him. Carefully andslowly Hogan pushed his way to the place opposite the ravine, and thengiving his mount a light touch with the spurs, he took to the coldwater. The stream was filled with floating ice but was only about fiftyyards wide and in a few minutes he was safely over, and climbing up theother bank through the ravine. Finally, the end was reached and he wason high ground. Resting a minute to see if all was well, he started. Sofar, so good, he was beyond the Indian lines. He was congratulatinghimself on the promised success of his mission when all at once, directly in front of him he saw the dim shadowy outlines of a mountedIndian. Quick as a flash Denny pulled his revolver and another Indianwas soon in the happy hunting ground. This caused a general alarm andHogan knew he was in for it. Putting his spurs deep in his horse'sflanks away he went with the speed of the wind. A perfect swarm ofIndians came after him, yelling like fiends and shooting like demons. On! on! he sped, seemingly bearing a charmed life because bulletswhizzed by him like hail. He was not idle, and when the opportunitypresented itself his revolver spoke and more than one Indian pony wasmade riderless thereby. 

Suddenly he felt a sharp stinging pain in his right shoulder, and butfor a convulsive grasp of the pommel with his bridle hand he would havepitched headlong to the earth. 

No, by God! he couldn't fail now. He must succeed, the lives of hiscomrades depended on his efforts. He had told Colonel Clarke he wouldget through or die, and he was a long way from dead yet. Only an hourand a half more and he would have sent the message and then all theIndians in the country could go to the demnition bow wows for all hecared. 

Hearing no more shots Denny drew rein for a moment and listened. Not asound could be heard, the snow had started to softly fall and the firstfaint rays of light on the eastern horizon heralded the approach of anew-born day. Ah! he had outridden his pursuers. Gently patting hisfaithful horse's neck, he once more started swiftly on, and when he waswithin a few miles of the line he chanced to glance back and saw thatone lone Indian was following him. 

Now it was a case of man against man. In his first flight and runningfight he had fired away all his ammunition save one cartridge. This hedetermined to use to settle his pursuer, but not until it was absolutelynecessary; and putting spurs to his already tired horse, he gallopedon. 

The Indian was slowly gaining on him and he saw the time for decisiveaction was at hand. Ahead of him but one short half mile was that line, already in the early morning light he could see the poles, and if thegod of battles would only speed his one remaining bullet in the rightdirection, his message could be sent in safety and his comrades rescued. His wounded right arm was numb from pain and his left was not thesteadiest in the world, but nothing venture, nothing have, and justthen--_Bang!_ and a bullet whizzed by his head. "Not this toime, ye reddevil, " Denny defiantly shouted. A second bullet and he dropped off hishorse. Quickly wheeling about, he dropped on his stomach, and taking acareful aim over his wounded right arm, he fired. The shot wasapparently a true one and the Indian pitched off head first and laystill. 

With an exultant shout Hogan jumped up and started for the line. Nothingcould stop him now. Loss of blood and the intense cold had weakened himso that his legs were shaky, the earth seemed to be going around at agreat rate, dark spots were dancing before his eyes; but with asuperhuman effort he recovered himself and was soon at the line. 

The wire was strung on light lances, and if Denny were in fullpossession of his strength he could easily pull one down. He threw hisweight against one with all of his remaining force--but to no avail. What was he to do? But sixteen feet intervened between him and thatprecious wire. 

The faithful, tired horse, when Denny jumped off, had only run a littleway and stopped, only too glad of the chance to rest. He was nowstanding near Hogan, as if intent on being of some further use to him. Suddenly Denny's anxious eyes lighted on the horsehair lariat attachedto the saddle. Here was the means at hand. Quickly as he could he undidit, and with great difficulty tied one end to the pommel and the otherto the lance. Then he gave the horse a sharp blow, and, _Crash!_ downwent the lance. 

Making the connections to the pocket instrument as best he could withone cold hand, he placed the wire across a sharp rock and a few blowswith the butt of his revolver soon cut it. The deed was done. 

 * * * * *

Private Dunn, the operator at Fort Scott, opened up his office brightand early one cold morning and marveled to find the wire working clearto Kearney. After having a chat with the man at Kearney about theIndian trouble, he was sitting around like Mr. Micawber when he heardthe sounder weakly calling "FS. " Quickly adjusting down he answered andthis is what he took. 

 "COMMANDING OFFICER, "Fort Scott, Montana. 

 "29th Infantry surrounded by large body hostile Sioux just north of junction of the forks of the Red Bud. Colonel Clarke asks for immediate re-enforcements; ammunition almost gone; situation desperate. I left the command at three o'clock this morning. 

 (Signed. ) DENNIS HO----. "

Then blank, the sounder was still and the line remained open. Thesending had been weak and shaky, just as if the sender had been out allnight, but there was no mistaking the purport of the message. 

Dunn didn't wait to pick up his hat but fairly flew down the line to thecommanding officer's quarters. The colonel was not up yet, but the soundof animated voices in the hallway caused him to appear at the head ofthe stairs in his dressing gown. 

"What is it, Dunn, " he asked. 

"A message from the 29th Infantry, sir, saying they are surrounded bythe Sioux Indians and want help. "

Colonel Foster read the message, and exclaimed, "My God! Charlie Clarke stuck out there and wants help! Dunn, have thetrumpeter sound 'Boots and Saddles. ' Present my compliments to theadjutant and tell him I desire him to report to me at once. Kraus, "--this to his Dutch striker who was standing around inopen-mouthed wonderment--"saddle my horse and get my field kit ready atonce. Be quick about it. "

A few men had seen Dunn's mad rush to the colonel's quarters andsuspected that something was up, so they were not surprised a fewminutes later to hear "Boots and Saddles" ring out on the clear morningair. The command had been in readiness for field service for some days, and but a few moments elapsed until six sturdy troops were standing inline on the snow-covered parade. A hurried inspection was made by thetroop commanders and then Colonel Foster commanded "Fours right, trot, march, " and away they went on their sixty-mile ride of rescue. A fewhalts were made during the day to tighten girths, and at six o'clock ashort rest was made for coffee. 

 * * * * *

The sound of the firing across the river shortly after Hogan left the29th was plainly heard by his comrades and many a man was heard toexclaim, "It's all up with poor Denny. " But the firing grew more distantand Colonel Clarke had hopes that Hogan had successfully eluded hispursuers and determined to hold on as best he could. He knew full wellthat the Indians would be extraordinarily careful and that it would befolly for him to attempt to get another courier through that night. Thatday was indeed a hard one; it was trying to the extreme. Tenaciously didthose Indians watch their prey. Well did they know by the rising of themorrow's sun the ammunition of the soldiers would be exhausted and thenwould come their feast of murder and scalps; Little Big Horn would berepeated. 

About two o'clock, Colonel Clarke, utterly regardless of personaldanger, exposed himself for a moment and Chug! down he went, shotthrough the thigh by a Winchester bullet. Brave old chap, never for oneminute did he give up, and after having his wound dressed as best itcould be done, he insisted on remaining near the fighting line. Lieutenant Jarvis was shot through the arm, Captain Belknap of E Companywas lying dead near his company, and scores of other brave men had goneto their last reckoning. Hanigan, Hogan's bunkie, was badly wounded, andout of his head. Every once in a while he would mumble, "Never you mind, fellers, we will be all right yet, just stand 'em off a little whilelonger and Denny will be here with the 11th Cavalry. He said he'd do itand by God! he won't fail. "

As the shades of the cold winter evening crept silently over the earth, the firing died away, and the command settled down to another night ofthe tensest anxiety and watching. Oh! why didn't those northernregiments come? Did Hogan succeed in his perilous mission? Depressedindeed were the spirits of the officers and men. 

About nine o'clock Lieutenant Tracy, the adjutant, was sitting besidehis chief, who was apparently asleep. Suddenly, Colonel Clarke sat upand grabbing Tracy by the arm said, "Hark! what's that noise I hear?"

"Nothing sir, nothing, " replied Tracy; "lie down Colonel and try torest, you need it sir"--and then aside--"poor old chap, his mind'swandering. "

"No, no, Tracy. Listen man, don't you hear it? It sounds like the beatof many horses' hoofs, re-enforcements are coming, thank God. Hogan gotthrough. "

Just then, Crash! Bang! and a clear voice rang out, "Right front intoline, gallop, March! _Charge!_" and those sturdy chaps of the 11thCavalry true to their regimental hatred for the Indians, charged downamong the red men scattering them like so much chaff. Then to thenorthwards was heard another ringing cheer, and the two long-delayedregiments came down among the Indians like a thunderbolt of vengeance. Truly, "It never rains but it pours. " The 29th, all that was left of it, was saved, and when Colonel Foster leaned over the prostrate form of hisold friend and comrade, Colonel Clarke feebly asked, "Where is thatbrave little chap, Hogan?"

"Hogan? Who is Hogan?" asked Foster. 

"Why, my God, man, Hogan was the man that got beyond the Indian lines tomake the ride to inform you of our plight. Didn't you see him?"

"No, I didn't see him, " and then Colonel Foster related how theinformation had reached him. 

A rescuing party was started out and in the pale moonlight they cameupon the body of poor Denny lying stark and stiff under the telegraphline, his left hand grasping the instrument and the key open. A bullethole in his head mutely told how he had met his death. Beside him laythe Indian, dead, one hand grasping Hogan's scalp lock, the otherclasping a murderous-looking knife. Death had mercifully prevented theaccomplishment of his hellish purpose. 

Hogan's shot had mortally wounded the Indian in the left breast, butwith all the vengeful nature of his race, he had crawled forward on hishands and knees, and while Hogan was intent on sending his preciousmessage, he shot him through the head, but not until the warning hadbeen given to Fort Scott. Denny's faithful horse was standing near, asif keeping watch over the inanimate form of his late friend. 

They buried him where he lay, and a traveler passing over that trail, will observe a solitary grave. On the tombstone at the head isinscribed:

 "DENNIS HOGAN, "Private, Company B, "29th U. S. Infantry. "He died that others might live. "

CHAPTER XXIII

THE COMMISSION WON--IN A GENERAL STRIKE

The time spent as a soldier in the ranks passed by all too swiftly. Theservice was pleasant, the duty easy, and the regiment one of the best inthe entire army. I don't know any two and a half years of my life thathave been as happy and peaceful as those spent in the ranks of theAmerican Army. When the proper time came my recommendations were all ingood shape and I was duly ordered to appear before an august lot ofofficers and gentlemen at Fortress Monroe, Virginia, to determine myfitness to trot along behind a company, sign the sick-book, and witnessan occasional issue of clothing. One warm June afternoon I bade good-byeto the men who had so long been my comrades, and journeyed to theeastwards. I was successful in the examinations, and on a Sunday morningearly in August, myself, in company with twelve other young chaps, received the precious little parchment in which the President of theUnited States sends greetings and proclaims to all the world:--

"That reposing especial confidence and trust in the valor, patriotism, and fidelity of one John Smith, I have made him a second lieutenant inthe regular army. Look out for him because he hasn't much sense but Ihave strong hopes as how he will learn after a while. "

[Illustration: "... Dennis, lying under the telegraph line, his lefthand still grasped the instrument"]

The apprenticeship was finished and the chevrons gave way to theshoulder straps. 

This time I thought surely I had heard the last of the telegraph, neveragain was I going to touch a key. I had been at my first station justabout two months when one morning I appeared before the Signal Officerof the post and plaintively asked him to let me have a set of telegraphinstruments. He did, and it wasn't long before I had a ticker going inmy quarters. There was no one to practice with me, so I just poundedaway by myself for an hour or so each day, to keep my hand in. I haveyet to see a man who has worked at the business for any length of timewho could give it up entirely. It's like the opium habit--powerful hardto break off. I have never since tried to lose sight of it. 

In 189- one of those spasmodic upheavals known as a sympathetic strikespread over the country like wild fire, and it wasn't long before thecontinuance of law and order was entirely out of the hands of the stateauthorities in about ten states, and once more the faithful little armywas called out to put its strong hand on the throat of destruction andpillage. Troops were hurriedly despatched from all posts to the worstpoints and the inefficient state militia in several states relegated toits proper sphere--that of holding prize drills and barbecues. 

Owing to the fact that the army cannot be used until a state executiveacknowledges his inability to preserve law and order, and owing also tothe fact that the executives in one or two of the states were panderingto the socialistic element, saying they could enforce the laws withoutthe assistance of the army, this strike had spread until the entirecountry except the extreme east and southeast was in its strong grasp, and the work cut out for the army was doled out to it in great bigchunks. Men seemed to lose all their senses and the emissaries of theunion succeeded in getting many converts, each one of which paid the sumof one dollar to the so-called head of the union. Snap for the aforesaid"head, " wasn't it? It was positively refreshing to the army at this timeto have at its head a man who did not know what it was to pander to thesocialists, and one who would enforce his solemn oath, "To enforce thelaws of the United States, " at all hazards. United States mail trainswere being interfered with; the Inter-State Commerce law was beingviolated with impunity, and various other acts of vandalism and pillagewere being committed all over the land--and the municipal and stateauthorities "winked the other eye. "

Way out in one of the far western posts was a certain Lieutenant JackBrainerd, 31st U. S. Infantry, serving with his company. Jack was a big, whole-souled, impulsive chap, and before his entrance to the militaryacademy, had been a pretty fair operator. In fact, being the son of ageneral superintendent of one of the big trunk lines, he was quitefamiliar with a railroad, and could do almost anything from driving aspike, or throwing a switch to running an engine. The first three yearssucceeding his graduation had been those of enervating peace; all ofwhich palled on the soul of Lieutenant Jack to a large degree. Themartial spirit beat high within his breast, and he wanted a scrap--hewanted one badly. 

The preliminary mutterings of this great strike had been heard for days, but no one dreamed that anarchy was about to break loose with thestrength of all the fires of hell; and yet such was the case. On theevening of July 4th, a message came to the commanding officer at FortBlank, to send his command of six companies of infantry to C---- at onceto assist in quelling the riots. The chance for a scrap so longed for byLieutenant Brainerd was coming swift and sure. The next morning thecommand pulled out. The trip was uneventful during the day, but at nighta warning was received by Major Sharp, the grizzled battalion commander, who had fought everything from manly, brave confederates to skulkingIndians, to watch out for trouble as he approached the storm centre. There were rumors of dynamited bridges, broken rails, etc. The majordidn't believe much in these yarns, but--"_Verbum Sap_. "--and theprecautions were taken. The next morning at five the train pulled intoHartshorne, eleven miles out from C----. This was the beginning of thegreat railroad yards and evidences of the presence of the enemy werebecoming very apparent. A large crowd had gathered to watch thebluecoats and it was plain to be seen that they were in full sympathywith the strikers. "Scab" and a few other choice epithets were hurled atthe train crew, and when they were ready to pull out the train didn'tgo. The conductor went forward and found that the engineer had refusedto handle his engine because Hartshorne was his home and the crowd hadthreatened to kill him if he hauled that load of "slaves of Pullman" anyfurther. When Major Sharp heard of it his little grey eyes snapped andhe growled out:--

"Won't pull this train, eh! Well, damn him, we'll make him pull it. Here, Mr. Brainerd, you take some men and go forward and make thatengineer take us through these yards. If he refuses you know what to dowith him. "

Do? Well, I reckon Jack knew what to do all right enough. He tookSergeant Fealy, a veteran, and three men and went forward. The engineer, a little snub-nosed Irishman, was at his post with his fireman, a goodhead of steam was on, but nary an inch did that train budge. A big crowdof men and women stood around jeering and laughing at the plight of thebluecoats. Pushing his way through the crowd, Jack climbed up into thecab closely followed by his little escort. 

"Sergeant Fealy, " he said in a voice loud enough to be heard a block, "get up on that tender, have your men load their rifles, and shoot thefirst d----d man that raises a hand or throws a missile. And you, " thisto the engineer, "shove that reverse lever over and pull out. "

"But, my God, lieutenant, " expostulated the engineer, "this is my homeand if I pull you fellers out of here they'll kill me on sight--besideslook at the track ahead. I'd run over and kill a lot of those people. "

"There's no 'buts' about it. This train is going in or I'll lose mycommission in the army; besides if these people haven't sense enough toget out of the way let 'em die. "

Mr. Engineer started to expostulate farther but the ominous click of a. 38 Colt's was incentive enough to make him stop and then he shoved herover and gave her a little steam--just a coaxer. 

"Here, you blasted chump, that won't do, " and with that Brainerd reachedover and yanked the throttle so that she bounded away like a hare; atthe same time he gave her sand. It's a great wonder every draw head inthe train didn't pull out, but fortunately they held on. The crowd onthe track melted away like the mists before the summer's sun, and beyonda few taunting jeers no overt act was committed. The engineer didn'trelish the idea of a soldier running his engine and became somewhatobstreperous. Brainerd grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and landedhim all in a heap in the coal. Then he climbed up on the right-hand sideof the cab and took charge of things himself. There were myriads oftracks stretching out before him like the long arms of some giantoctopus, but all traffic was suspended on account of the strike and themain line was clear. The train flew down the line like a scared rabbitand in thirty minutes reached the camp at Blake Park. I had arrivedthere that morning from the south for special service and when I sawBrainerd climb down off of that engine his face was smutty, but his eyestwinkled and he came towards me with a broad grin and said, "Hello, Bates, where in thunder did you spring from?"

There wasn't much time for talking because the great city was groaningbeneath the grasp of anarchy, and until that power was broken, therewould be no rest for the weary. 

The situation that existed at this time is too well known to require anyexplanation here. The state and city authorities were powerless; themilitia inefficient and many a citizen bowed his head and thanked God onthat warm July morning for the arrival of the regulars. Only twenty-onehundred of them all told, mind you, against so many thousands of therioters, and yet, they were disciplined men and led by officers whosimply enforced orders as they received them. No matter where or whatthe sympathies of the men of a company might be, when the captain said"Fire, " look out, because the bullets would generally fly breast high. The situation resembled the Paris Commune, and but for the timelyarrival of the small body of bluecoats, another cow might have kickedover another lamp, and the frightful conflagration of 1871 have beenmore than duplicated. But the "cow" was slaughtered and the "lamp"extinguished. 

The morning after Brainerd arrived he was detailed on special serviceand ordered to report to me, and together we worked until the troublewas over. Just what this service was need not be recorded, but one thingsure, railroads and the telegraph figured in it quite largely. In factthe general superintendent of the Western Union Telegraph Company placedthe entire resources of the company at my disposal. A wire was rundirect to Washington, lines run to all the camps, and Jack and I eachcarried a little pocket instrument on our person. 

Although the Brotherhood of Locomotive Engineers did not go out in abody, there was quite a number of them who would not pull trains forfear of personal violence from the strikers. One old chap, Bob Redway, by name, had known Major McKenney of our battalion, in days gone by, when he was pulling a train on the N. P. , and the major was stationed atMissoula. Bob wandered into camp one afternoon to see his old friend andjust at that time a company was ordered to the southern part of the cityto stop a crowd that was looting and burning P. H. Railway property. Asusual the engineer backed out at the last moment. The major turned toRedway, and said, "See here, Bob, you're not in sympathy with thesecutthroats, suppose you pull this train out. "

"All right, major, I'll pull you through if the old girl will only holdup. She's a stranger to me, but I reckon she'll last. "

Brainerd and I were to go along and do some special work around thestock-yards, and soon we were shooting down the track like a flyer. At62nd street we passed a sullen looking crowd and when we reached 130thstreet, we were flagged by the operator in the tower, and informed thatthe mob in our rear was starting to block the track by overturning astandard sleeper. They were going to cut us off. We cut the engineloose, put fourteen men up on the tender, and Brainerd and I startedback with them. The engine was going head on, having backed out from thecity, and Bob let her put for all she was worth. Just at 62nd streetthere is a long sweeping curve and we were coming around it like astreak of blue lightning, when all at once we saw the crowd just in theact of pulling the sleeper over on our track. There was no time to loseand the command "Fire" was sharply given. "Bang, " rang out theSpringfields, one or two of the mob dropped to the ground, the rest letgo of the ropes and ran like scared cats, and the car tottered back inits original place. Redway had shut off steam and was slowing down underordinary air, when all at once there was a dull deafening roar, and thenfor me--oblivion. I was only stunned and when I regained consciousnesslooked around and saw the men slowly regaining their feet. Redway wasnot killed, but the shock and concussion of the detonation of thedynamite made him lose his speech and he was bleeding profusely at thenose and ears. The cowcatcher, headlight and forward trucks of theengine were blown to smithereens, but fortunately the boiler did notburst and there she stood like some powerful monster wounded to thedeath. The mob, imagining that their fiendish work had been complete, became emboldened and rapidly gathered around the little body ofbluecoats. It began to look rocky, and Brainerd came limping over to meand said, "Bates, I'm pretty badly bruised about the legs, and can'tclimb, but if you're able, for God's sake climb that telegraph pole andcut in and ask department headquarters to send us down some help. I'llform the men around the bottom of the pole and shoot the first damnedman or woman that throws a missile. We're in a devilish bad box. "

I took the little instrument, nippers and wire and up I went. There wereside steps on the pole so the ascent was easy. What a scene below! Fiveor six thousand angry faces, besotted, coarse and ill-bred lookingbrutes, gazing up at me with the wrath of vengeance in their hearts; andheld at bay by a band of fourteen battered and bruised bluecoats, awounded engineer and fireman, commanded by an almost beardless boy. Welldid that mob know that if those rifles ever spoke there would be anumber of vacant chairs at the various family boards that night. Thewire was soon cut, the main office gave me department headquarters andin thirty minutes' time that mob was scattering like so much chaffbefore the wind, and with a ringing cheer, two companies of the --thInfantry came down among them like a thunderbolt. We were saved and tookRedway back to camp with us. That evening the major came over to seehim. Poor chap! he couldn't speak but he motioned for a pencil andpaper and this is what he wrote:--

"Don't worry, major, I'm all right. My speaking machine seems to havehad a head end collision with a cyclone, but if you want me to pull anymore trains out my right arm is still in pretty good shape. " Bob hung tous all through the trying weeks that followed and in the end some of ussucceeded in getting him a good position in one of the departments inWashington. 

Far up in the Northwest things were in a very bad shape. Everything wastied up tight; mail trains could not run because there were no men torun them; "Debsism" had a firm grasp; and even though many of thetrainmen were willing to run, intimidation by the strikers caused themto go slow. 

At one place, call it Bridgeton, there was an overland mail waiting togo out, but no engineer. Here's where the versatility of the Americansoldier came in. Major Clarke of the --th Infantry, had four companiesof his regiment guarding public property at Bridgeton and he sent wordby his orderly that he wanted a locomotive engineer and a fireman. Quickas a flash he had six engineers and any number of men who could fire. Hechose two good men and then detailed Captain Stilling's company to goalong as an escort. Orders were procured at the telegraph office for thetrain to run to Pokeville, where further orders would be sent them. Whenthe crowd of loiterers and strikers saw the preparations they jeered inderision. They had the engineer and fireman corralled, but their laughturned to sorrow when they saw a strapping infantry sergeant climb intothe cab and after placing his loaded rifle in front of him, he graspedthe throttle and away they went--much to the disgust of Mr. Rioter. Theydidn't like it worth a cent, but as one striker put it, "What's the useof monkeyin' with them reg'lars? When they gets an order to shoot, they're just damned fools enough to shoot right into the crowd. Milish'fire in the air, because as a rule they have friends in the crowd anddon't care to hurt 'em. "

Pokeville was one hundred and two miles from Bridgeton and the run wascarefully made and without incident. When the volunteer engineer andCaptain Stillings, who was playing conductor, went to the office fororders, they found the place deserted. A sullen-looking crowd waslooking on and appeared to enjoy the discomfiture of the soldiers. Theyhad put the operator _away_ for a while. Pressing up near the sides ofthe train they became somewhat ugly and Captain Stillings brought outhis company, and lining them up alongside of the track he turned to his1st lieutenant and said:

"Mr. Mitchell, I'm going into this telegraph office. If this crowd getsugly I want you to shoot the first damned man that moves a finger toharm anybody. "

But without an operator orders could not be procured, and without ordersthe train could not go. Captain Stillings was in a quandary, but all atonce he stepped out in front of his company and said in a loud tone, "Iwant an operator. "

"I'm one, sir, " said Private O'Brien, quickly stepping forward andsaluting. 

"Go in that office and get orders for this train. "

"Yes, sir, " replied O'Brien, and in a minute another bluecoat washelping the train on its way. If Captain Stillings had wanted a Chineseinterpreter he could have gotten one--any old thing. The train had nofurther mishaps, because everything necessary to run a railroad wasright here in one company of sixty-two men belonging to the regulararmy. 

July slipped away and it was well into August before we returned to ourposts and the old grind of "Fours right, " and "Fours left. "

CHAPTER XXIV

EXPERIENCES AS A GOVERNMENT CENSOR OF TELEGRAPH

The few years succeeding the great strike were ones of calm, peacefultranquility. Each recurring November 1st, brought the initiation of PostLyceums at all garrisons, in which the officers were gathered togethertwice a week, and war in all its phases was studied. We didn't exactlyknow where the war was coming from, but, still we boned it out. Oldcampaigns were fought over; the mistakes made by the world's greatestcommanders, from Alexander the Great to Grant and Lee were pointed out;Kriegspiel was played; essays written and discussed, recommendationsmade as to ammunition and food supply; use of artillery in attack anddefense; the proper method of employing the telegraph in the war; and athousand and one things relative to the machine militaire were goneover. All this time we were slumbering over a smoldering volcano, and onFebruary 16, 1898, the eruption broke loose; the good ship _Maine_ wasdestroyed in Havana harbor, and the feelings of the people, alreadydrawn to the breaking point by the inhuman cruelties of Spain towardsher colonies near our own shores, burst with a vehemence that portended, in unmistakable language, the rending asunder of the once proud kingdomof Spain. The army wanted a war; the navy wanted it, the wholepopulation wanted it and here it was within our grasp. It was thedawning of a new day for the United States; a new empire was being bornin the Western hemisphere. The feverish preparations attendant upon thenew conditions are of too recent date to need any sketching here. 

When it was finally determined that the time had arrived for theassembling of the small but efficient regular army, I was stationed withmy regiment at Fort Wayne, Michigan. Like all other troops, we were atthe post ready for the start. The pistol cracked on the 15th of April, and on the 19th we started. Mobile, Alabama, was our objective where wearrived on the 22nd of the month. Here began the ceaseless preparationfor the part the regiment was to play in the grand drama of war that wasto follow, all this camp life and concentration being but the prologue. 

The camp was a most beautiful one, the weather pleasant, and it wasindeed a most inspiring sight to see the long unbroken lines of blue goswinging by, keeping absolute time and perfect alignment to theinspiring strains of some air like "Hot time in the old town to-night, "or "The stars and stripes forever. "

I had started in with my regiment and expected to remain on duty with ituntil the end of the war, sharing all its perils and hardships, doing mypart in the fighting, and partaking of any of the renown it mightachieve should the Dons ever be met. But "Man proposes and Goddisposes, " and on the afternoon of May 21st, I was sitting in my tentcorrecting some manuscript when a very bright-eyed colored newsboy camealong and said:

"Buy a paper, cap'n. "

That was the day that a wild rumor had been in circulation that Sampsonhad met Cervera in the Bahama Channel and completely smashed him, so Ilaid down my manuscript and said:

"Anything in there about Sampson licking Cervera?"

"Naw, sir, dat were a fake, cap'n, but dere is lots of oder news furyou. "

"No, kid, I don't want a paper to-night, and besides I'm not a captain, I'm only a lieutenant. "

"But yer may be one some day. Please buy one cap'n, " and with this helaid a paper down on my table (a cracker box). I was about to shove itaside and sharply tell him to skip out when my eye fell upon:

"Nominations by the President. "

"To be captains in the Signal Corps, " then followed my name. I bought apaper, yes, all he had. 

On May 27th, I was ordered to proceed at once to Tampa, Florida, reporting upon arrival by telegraph to the chief signal officer of thearmy for instructions. Tuesday morning, the 29th of May, I reported myarrival and spent the rest of the morning in looking around the camps, renewing old acquaintances. I supposed of course that I was to beassigned to the command of one of the new signal companies then formingto take part in the Santiago campaign and was filled with delight at theprospect, but about eleven o'clock I received an order from GeneralGreely directing me to assume charge of the telegraphic censorship atTampa. Three civilians, Heston at Jacksonville, Munn at Miami, andFellers at Tampa, were sworn in as civilian assistants and directed toreport to me, thereafter acting wholly under my orders. Mr. B. F. Dillon, superintendent of the Western Union Telegraph Company, was inTampa, and I had a long conference with him. He assured me of hisconfidence and cordial support, and placed the entire resources of hiscompany at my disposal. Operators all over the state were instructedthat anything I ordered was to be obeyed and then the work began. 

The idea of a telegraphic censorship was a new and irksome one to thegreat American people and just what it meant was hard to determine. Muchhas been written about "Press Censorship. " That term was a misnomer. There never _was_ an attempt to _censor_ the _great American press_. Thenewspapers were just as free to print as they were before the warstarted. _All the censorship that existed was over the telegraph linesmilitarily occupied. _ A government officer was placed in charge and hisword was absolute; he could only be overruled by General Greely, theSecretary of War or the President. It was his duty to watch telegrams, regulate the kind that were allowed to pass, and to see that no news wassent whereby the interests of the government or the safety of the armymight suffer. 

The instructions I received were general in their nature and in allspecific cases arising, my judgment was to determine, and I want toremark right here, the rapidity with which those specific cases wouldarise was enough to make a man faint. The first rule made was thatcipher messages or those written in a foreign tongue were prohibitedunless sent by a government official on public business. There were afew exceptions to this rule. For instance; many large business houseshave telegraphic cipher codes for the transaction of business, and itwas not the policy of the government to interfere in any manner with thecommercial affairs of the country, so these messages were allowed topass when the code book was presented to the censor and a sworntranslation made in his presence. Spanish messages were transmitted onlyafter being most carefully scanned and upon proof of the loyalty of thesender or receiver and a sworn translation. Not a single private messagecould be sent by any one, that in any way hinted at the time of thedeparture or destination of any ship or body of troops. Even officersabout to sail away were not allowed to telegraph their wives andfamilies. If they had a pre-arranged code, whereby a message could bewritten in plain English, there was no way to stop their transmission. Foreign messages were watched with eagle eyes and many and many a onewas gently consigned to the pigeon hole, when the contents and meaningwere not plain. 

From Key West (which was shortly afterwards placed in my charge) thereran the cable to Havana, and this line was the subject of anextraordinarily strict espionage; not a message being allowed to passover it that was not perfectly plain in its meaning. Mr. J. W. Atkinswas sworn in as my assistant at Key West, and thus I had the whole stateof Florida under my control. All the lines from the southern part of thestate converge to Jacksonville, and not a message could go from a pointwithin the state to one out of it without first passing under thescrutiny of either myself or one of my sworn assistants. 

My office was in H. B. Plant's Tampa Bay hotel, and there, every day, from seven A. M. Until twelve midnight, and sometimes one and two in themorning, I did my work. My own long experience as a practicaltelegrapher stood me in good stead and when any direct work was to bedone with the White House in Washington, or any especially importantmessages were to be sent, I personally did the telegraphing. At theExecutive Mansion was Colonel B. F. Montgomery, signal corps, in chargeof the telegraph office, so when anything special passed, no one knewit but the colonel and myself. 

The Tampa Bay hotel was at this time the scene of the most dazzling andbrilliant gaiety. Shafter's 5th Corps was preparing for its Santiagocampaign and each night many officers and their wives would meet in thehotel and pass the time away listening to the music of some regimentalband or in pleasant conversation. Men who had not seen each other sincethe close of the great civil war renewed old acquaintances and spunreminiscences by the yard. Military attaches from all the countries ofthe world were daily arriving, and their gaudy uniforms added a dash ofcolor to the already brilliant panorama. The bright gold of CaptainPaget, the English naval attache, the deep blue of Colonel Yermeloff, who represented Russia, contrasted vividly with the blue and yellow ofJapanese Major Shiska, and the scarlet and black of Count Goetzen ofGermany. But prominent among all this moving panorama of color was theplain blue of the volunteer, and the brown khaki of the regular. My viewof the scene was limited to fleeting glimpses from my office where I wasnightly scanning messages, doing telegraphing or overlooking 30, 000 or40, 000 words of correspondents' copy. Preparations for the embarkationwere going on with feverish haste, and orders were daily expected forthe army to move. 

There were at this time nearly two hundred newspaper correspondentsscattered around through the hotel and in the various camps. Theyrepresented papers from all over the world, and were typicalrepresentatives of the brain and sinew of the newspaper profession, andwere there to accompany the army when it moved. Such men as RichardHarding Davis, Stephen Bonsai, Frederick Remington, Caspar Whitney, Grover Flint, Edward Marshall, Maurice Low, John Taylor, John Klein, Louis Seibold, George Farman and Mr. Akers of the London papers, andscores of others. They were quick and active, intensely patriotic, alertfor all the news, a "scoop" for them was the blood of life, and thecensorship came like a wet blanket. In a small way I had beencorresponding for a paper since the beginning of the war, but when thedetail as censor came I gave it up as the two were incompatible. 

CHAPTER XXV

MORE CENSORSHIP

I must confess that I stood in awe of these newspaper chaps, because Iknew my orders would incense them and if they took it into their headsto roast me my life would be made miserable for a good many days tocome. But then in the army orders are made to be obeyed and I determinednot to show partiality to any of them. It was to be "a fair field and nofavor, " so I sent word and asked them to meet me in the reading-room ofthe hotel at two o'clock that afternoon. They came garbed in all sortsof field uniform and I made a little speech telling what they might sendand what was interdicted; I remarked that the work was as irksome to meas it was to them, but orders were orders and if they would live up tothe few _simple_ rules they would make my task much easier and savethemselves lots of trouble. Nothing absolutely was to be sent, thatwould convey in any way an idea of the number of troops in Tampa, thetime of arrival or departure of any number of troops or ships, andabove all, not a word was to be sent out as to when the 5th Army Corpswas to sail. When I had finished one of the correspondents shook hishead in a deprecatory way and said:

"Well, captain, we thought Lieutenant Miley (my predecessor) was badenough but you can give him cards and spades and beat him out. You'recertainly a hummer from the word go, and I reckon we'd better go home. "

He had my sympathy but that was all. Every correspondent had a wardepartment pass; these I examined and registered each man. 

That night my fun commenced. At six P. M. They began to file stuff, andarmed with a big blue pencil I started to slash and when I finished, some of their sheets looked like a miniature football field, while theirfaces betokened blank amazement and intense disgust. Boiled down, thefirst night's batch of copy consisted of a glowing description of thenew censor; this fiend whose weapon was a blue pencil--his glowing redwhiskers--his goggle eyes, and his Titian-colored hair. One of themsaid:

"This afternoon the new censor stuck his head out of the window and theglow was so great from his red whiskers and auburn locks that the firedepartment was turned out. The latest report is that the censor wasunquenched, " and so on. They couldn't send any news so they sent me. Most of them were space writers and everything went. In many ways theytried to evade the rules; by insinuations, hints upon which a brighttelegraph editor could raise an edifice with a semblance of truth, butthe blue pencil generally got in its work before the dispatch reachedthe operator. I had two stamps made; one "O. K. For transmission, " andthe other, "REJECTED, file, do not return. " Number one went on allmessages for transmission and number two on all others. As I gaze atthese relics now I see that number two has been used much more than itscompanion. 

I had made it a rule that each paper maintaining a correspondent inTampa was to furnish me with a copy of every edition of the paper. As aresult, in a few days I had a mail that was stupendous. A clerk was onhand who read these papers, marking all things bearing a Tampa dateline. Then I would read them and woe betide the correspondent whosepaper contained contraband news from Tampa. Off went his head and hispermit was recalled for a certain time as a punishment. 

There never has been a line of sentinels so strong but that some onecould break through, and there was undoubtedly some leakage from Tampa, but to see news of actual importance from there was like hunting for aneedle in a haystack. The mails carried out some, but even then thecorrespondents suffered. Two incidents may not be amiss. 

One young chap whose keenness ran away with his judgment, brought me astack of copy one night, almost every word of which was contraband. Theblue pencil got in its work in great shape and then the "rejected" stampput its seal of disapproval on the message and it was filed away withmany others, that "were not dead, but sleeping. " Mr. Correspondentmuttered something about "a cussed red-headed censor who wasn't the popeand could be beaten" and walked away. I thought no more of the matteruntil about seven days thereafter when my clerk gave me a marked copy ofthe correspondent's paper, and there, big as life, under a Tampa dateline was the rejected dispatch. He had left my office and mailed hisstory to a friend living up in Georgia, and it was telegraphed by himfrom there. You see, Georgia was beyond my jurisdiction. He had surelymade a "scoop;" he had sown the wind and that night he reaped thewhirlwind, because I promptly suspended him from correspondents'privileges, and forbade him the use of the wires. General Greely upheldme in this as in all other cases and for ten days I allowed him toruminate over his offence, while his paper was cussing him out forfailing to send in stuff. Then I restored him to his former status, first making him sign a pledge on honor that he would abide foreverthereafter by the censorship rules. 

Another young man who represented a Cincinnati daily, walked into theexpress office in Tampa one evening and gave the agent a package saying:

"Say, old chap, have your messenger running north to-night give this tothe first operator after crossing the Georgia line and tell him to sendit to my paper. It's a big scoop and I want to get it through. "

Of course, the "old chap" was built just that way. He took the messageand in five minutes it was reposing gently in my desk. I then quicklysent out a telegram to all my censors taking away the correspondent'sprivileges until further orders. 

That night full of innocence--and beer--he walked into the Tampa cityoffice and handed Censor Fellers a message for his paper, just as asort of a bluff. Fellers grinned at him quietly said:

"Sorry, Mr. J--, but Captain B--has just suspended you from use of thetelegraph until further orders. "

In a very few minutes Mr. J--appeared at my office, blustering like aKansas cyclone, and demanded to know why I had dared to treat him thus?I simply picked up his copy and showed it to him, saying:

"This is your handwriting, I believe, Mr. J--. "

The props dropped out from under him and he said:

"Well, by thunder, you censor mail, telegraph and express; I reckon if Iattempted to send anything by carrier pigeon you'd catch it and put thatd--d old 'rejected' stamp on it. "

"No, " I replied, "but I might possibly use it on a mule. "

In spite of his pleadings and promises he was hung up for ten days. 

It must be said, however, that such men as these were rarities: most ofthe men, especially those representing the great dailies, were only toowilling to abide by orders. They kicked hard--naturally andrightfully--because news that they were forbidden to send from Tampa wassent broadcast from Washington as coming from the war department. Oh!yes they kicked so much that it seemed as if my auburn locks would turngray, but the protest was against the censorship in general and notagainst me. I was enough of a newspaper man to fully appreciate theirposition, and more than one message went from me to General Greelyasking if Washington could not be censored as well as Tampa. No! Armyofficers had no power to stop the mouths of the high civil officials ofthe government, and so the dance went on. 

And the managing editors would flood their correspondents with telegramsof inquiry as to why they did not send the news that daily came fromWashington as having originated in Tampa; and the correspondents wouldcome to me and I would endeavor to calm them down as best I could. Then, incidentally, the managing editors would take a fling at me personally, and I would receive a polite telegram of protest but to no avail. 

Finally, one night the trouble culminated, and conjointly thecorrespondents sent a long telegram to General Greely asking if he couldnot right the seeming injustice. They did not mind being beaten in afair field, but they did hate to be "scooped" by Washingtoncorrespondents who were having an easy time. Almost every man signedthe protest and then it was brought to me, and I quickly O. K'd. It. Shortly afterwards a number of them came to my office and assured methat it was not against me personally they were kicking, and LouisSeibold, of the New York World, sent General Greely a message saying:

"I don't like your blooming censor business one bit, but if you have tohave it, you've got the best man for it in the army right here inTampa, " or words to that effect. Many others sent similar messages, butnot quite so outspoken. General Greely appreciated their position andsaid so, but was unable to change the condition of affairs and somatters continued. 

All this time feverish preparations were being made to rush offShafter's expedition. June 7th was a very hard and trying day, and atsix o'clock in the evening I had just seated myself for a hasty bite ofdinner when a messenger came to me from the telegraph office saying thatthe White House wanted me at once. I went to the key and was informedthat the President wanted to talk to Generals Miles and Shafter and thatthe greatest secrecy must be maintained. After sending word to thegenerals, I sent all the operators out of the office, closed the windowsand turned down the sounder so that it could not be heard _three feetaway_. When General Shafter came in he had an officer stationed in thehall so that no one could approach in that direction. General Miles camein shortly afterwards and the door was closed. We all sat in front ofthe table, General Miles on my right, and General Shafter on the left. Lieutenant Miley of General Shafter's staff stood behind his chief. Itwas a scene long to be remembered. General Shafter was dressed in theplain blue army fatigue uniform, its strict sombreness being relievedonly by the two gleaming silver stars on his shoulder straps. GeneralMiles, the commanding general, was in conventional tuxedo dress, andlooked every inch the gallant soldier and gentleman that he is. From thelittle telegraph instrument on the table ran a single strand of copperwire, out in the dark night, over the pine tops of Florida and Georgia, over the mountains of the Carolinas, and hills and vales of Virginia, into the Executive Mansion at Washington. In the office of the WhiteHouse were the President, the Secretary of War, and Adjutant-GeneralCorbin. The key there was worked by Colonel Montgomery, so if there everwas an official wire this was one. 

When all was ready I told the White House to go ahead. 

The first message was from the Secretary of War to General Shafterdirecting him to sail at once, as he was needed at the destination whichwas known at this time only to about five officers in Tampa. GeneralShafter replied that he would be ready to sail the next morning atdaylight. Then, by the President's direction, a message was repeatedthat had been received from Admiral Sampson, saying he had that daybombarded the outer defenses of Santiago, and if ten thousand men werethere the city and fleet would fall within forty-eight hours. ThePresident further directed that General Shafter should sail as indicatedby him with not less than ten thousand men. Then followed an interchangeof messages, more or less personal in their nature, between the generalsand the Washington contingent. Finally all was over and the line was cutoff. The whole conversation lasted about fifty minutes, but thebeginning of new history was started in that time and the curtain wasgoing up on the grand drama of war. All the time this was going on Icould hear faintly his strains of '_Auf Wiedersehn_, ' together with themerry jest of the officers and the light laughter of the women. Bravemen, braver women--soon their laughter was turned to tears and many ofthe officers who went out of the Tampa Bay hotel on that warm June nightare now sleeping their last sleep, having given up their lives thattheir country's honor might live. The train carrying the headquarters toPort Tampa left at five o'clock in the morning. There was very littlesleep that night and the next morning the big hotel was well nighdeserted. And all this time the destination of the fleet was unknown toall but those high in rank and myself. 

CHAPTER XXVI

CENSORSHIP CONCLUDED

My own sleep on that night was limited to about two hours snatchedbetween work, and the following morning was a very busy one. About onceevery hour I would report to the White House how things were progressingat the port. As the big transports received their load of livingfreight, one by one they would pull out in the stream and anchor, waiting until the time should come when all would be ready, and thenlike a big swarm they would pull out together. They did not sail atdaylight; unexpected delays occurred, and eight, nine, ten, eleven andtwelve o'clock passed and still they had not sailed, although the twelveo'clock report said they would be gone by twelve-thirty. 

At one o'clock a messenger came hurriedly to me and said the White Housewanted me at the key at once. When I answered, Colonel Montgomery said, "_The President wants to know if you can stop that fleet?_" Now the wireto Port Tampa was on a table right back of me and calling him with myleft hand I said:

"Can you get General Miles or General Shafter?" and with my right hand Isaid to the President, "I'll try, wait a minute. "

Then said the White House, "_It is imperative that the fleet be stoppedat once. _"

From Port Tampa, "No sir, I can't find General Miles or GeneralShafter. "

I replied, "Have all the transports pulled out of the slip?"

"Yes sir, so far as I can see they are all gone. "

From Washington, "Have you stopped the fleet?"

"Wait a minute--will let you know later, am trying now. "

To Port Tampa, "Go out and find a tug and get this message to eitherGeneral Miles or General Shafter, 'The President directs that you stopthe sailing of Shafter's army until further orders. ' Now fly. "

Just then Port Tampa said, "Here comes General Miles now, " and in aminute more the message was delivered and the fleet stopped. I thenreported to the President:

"I have delivered your message to General Miles and the fleet will notsail until further orders. "

They came back wondering what had stopped them and that evening welearned of the appearance of the "Phantom" Spanish fleet in the NicholasChannel _heading westward_. "Cervera wasn't bottled up in Santiago, "said some, "and before morning he will be here and blow us out of thewater. " Great was the consternation and as a precaution all the shipswere ordered back into the slip. It must be said, however, that GeneralMiles _never had any idea that the Spanish fleet was approaching ourshores_. 

The transport fleet was tied up and then followed six days of wearywaiting, and the duties of the censor became more arduous than ever, andthe utmost vigilance was exercised. Private messages were almost allhung up, in fact, very little else than government business was allowedto pass over the wires. And yet, every day for a week, copies of thedaily papers that reached me had, under flaming headlines, the startlingnews that Shafter's fleet had sailed--destination--Havana, San Juan, Matanzas, --yes--even the Spanish coast. All this was announced fromWashington, and made the correspondents snort; they made every excuse tolet their papers know they were still there. They wanted money, theywanted to send messages to their families, in fact, they wantedeverything under the sun, but to no avail. Finally, on the 14th of Junethe army sailed away, filled with hope and courage, on their missionthat resulted in victory for the American arms; but that was a foregoneconclusion, while we less fortunate ones were left behind to pray forthe success that we knew would be theirs. 

The correspondents were all on the transport "Olivette, " and just beforethey pulled out I sent them a message saying I would release the newsthat night about the _sailing of the fleet only_, and they might filetheir messages. They did in large numbers and here is where the jokecame in. When the messages reached the papers they thought it was all abluff to mislead the public, and many of them refused to publish thenews, but the fleet had gone this time for certain. As late as two daysafterwards I received messages from the managing editors of two of thegreatest papers in the country, asking me if the fleet had reallysailed. I assured them it had. One thing is certain, the destination ofthat fleet was a well-kept secret. Mr. Richard Harding Davis in hisadmirable book on the Cuban and Porto Rican Campaigns, says that creditis due the censor because it was so well kept. I am afraid that this isabout the only good word the censor ever received from the said Mr. Davis. 

The "Olivette, " on which the correspondents sailed, was the last boat toleave Port Tampa. She left about six-thirty P. M. In the glory of thesetting sun of a tropical evening. About five-thirty P. M. Mr. EdwardMarshall, that prince of good fellows, who represented the New YorkJournal, came into my office to write a message for his paper, to beleft with me and sent when the story was released. Marshall was atypical newspaper man and a thorough American, and had just returnedfrom New York where he had been in attendance upon the sick-bed of hiswife. He was very anxious to get his story written before he sailed. Iknew the "Olivette" was about to pull out, and if he expected to go onher it was high time he was moving. As Port Tampa was nine miles away, Itold him to fly and cut his story short or send it from Port Tampa. Hethanked me and reached Port Tampa just in time to save being left. Itwas this same Edward Marshall who so daringly pushed to the front duringthe Guasimas fight of the Rough Riders, and was seriously wounded by aMauser bullet near his spine. He was supposed to be dying, but true tohis newspaper training and full of loyalty to his paper, he dictated amessage to his journal between the puffs of a cigarette, when it wassupposed each breath would be his last. But thank God he did not die, and now gives promise of many years of useful life. I have often thoughtif I had not warned him in time to go he would not have been shot; butthen all war is uncertain, and in warning him I was only, "Doing untoothers as I would be done by. "

During all these stirring times just described there were two womencorrespondents, poor souls, who were indeed sad and lonely. They werevery ambitious and wanted to go to Cuba with the army, but the WarDepartment wisely forbade any such a move and then my trouble began. Atall hours of the day or night I was pestered by these same women. One ofthem represented a Canadian paper and was most anxious to go. She triedevery expedient and tackled every man or woman of influence that camealong. Even dear old Clara Barton did not escape her importunities. Shewanted to go as a Red Cross nurse, but didn't know anything aboutnursing. However, I reckon she was as good as some of the women who didgo. She was an Irish girl with rich red hair, and as mine was of anauburn tinge we didn't get along worth a cent. She didn't do muchtelegraphing but sent all of her stuff by mail. However, it was herintention to send _one telegram_ to her paper and "scoop" all the otherchaps in so doing. She wrote a letter to her managing editor in Torontoand told him there was a censor down there who thought he could bottleup Florida as regards news, but she intended to outwit him. Particularattention was being paid so as to preserve the secrecy of the sailingday of Shafter's army. Cipher and code messages bearing on thisoccurrence were to be strictly interdicted. But that didn't make anydifference to her; she could beat that game. So on the day the fleetactually sailed she would send a message to her paper saying, "_Send mesix more jubilee books. _" This would indicate that the fleet had reallygone. Brilliant scheme from the brain of a very bright woman, but shelost sight of the fact that Messrs. Carranza and Polo y Bernabe were atthat time in Canada spying on the United States, and that all theCanadian mail was most carefully watched. Such, however, was the case, and in a short time the contents of her letter were known to GeneralGreely, and by him communicated to me. One evening Miss Correspondentwas standing in the lobby of the Tampa Bay hotel surrounded by a groupof her friends, when I approached and said:

"Excuse me, Miss J--, but I should like to speak to you for a moment. "

"Well, what is it, pray? Surely you haven't anything to say but what myfriends can hear, have you?" Sassy, wasn't she?

"Oh! well if that is the case?" I replied, "I am sorry to inform youthat you are suspended from correspondent's privileges and from the useof the telegraph until further orders. "

"And what for pray?"

"I don't just exactly know, " I answered, "but I think it has somethingto do with sending you 'six more jubilee books' from Canada. "

Well! she turned all the colors of the rainbow, and snapped out, "Goodness gracious! how did you--where did you hear that?"

I smiled politely and walked away. The next morning, shortly after Ireached my office, a timid knock was heard at the door. 

"Come in, " I yelled, thinking it was a messenger boy. In walked MissJ----, woebegone, crestfallen and disheartened, with a letter of apologyand explanation. I forwarded this to General Greely and kept hersuspended for seven days. She never offended again, and the last Iheard of her she was in Key West gazing with longing eyes towards thePearl of the Antilles. She never reached there. 

The other woman correspondent was different. She was an American widow, bright, dashing and vivacious. She had heard of the ogre of a censor;she would conquer him through his susceptibility. I'll admit that thecensor in question was susceptible of some things--but not in businessmatters. One day she filed an innocent little telegram to her paper, saying, "For ice cream read typhoid. " The operator glanced at it andsaid, "You'll have to get Captain B----'s O. K. On that message before Ican send it. "

She talked sweetly to him, but that didn't happen to be one of his"susceptible" days. Then she came to me, and as my "susceptibility" hadrun to a pretty low ebb I refused to permit the message to go on, onaccount of its hidden meaning. 

"Oh, pshaw! Captain, I wrote a story for my paper and in it describedthe death of a man from the effects of eating too much ice cream, andnow I learn that he died of typhoid fever. "

I was pretty hard-headed that morning and couldn't assist the lady andshe left the office vowing vengeance. The next edition of her papercontained the most charmingly sarcastic article about the red-headed, white-shoed censor I have ever seen, but I had become case-hardened bythis time and did not mind it in the least. 

It might be supposed that as soon as the army had sailed and thecorrespondents had gone, that the censorship duties would be lighter. They were, officially, but otherwise they became harder than ever. Thearmy had gone, but the women had been left behind. The husbands wereaway--fighting--dying--while the wives were waiting with dry eyes andaching hearts for the news that would mean life or death to them. Therewere some forty wives, daughters, and sweethearts remaining in the TampaBay hotel, and to them the censor became a most interesting party. Theyknew that any news that came to Tampa would come through him, and theywanted it whether his orders would allow him to divulge it or not. Before, I had to contend with the importunities of zealouscorrespondents, now it was the longing eyes of sweet women whose heartswere breaking with suspense, whose lives had stood still since the 14thday of June when the fleet sailed away. Of the two, I would rathercontend with the former. 

The long and trying days dragged slowly by and still no news. Finally, on the 22nd of June, it was known that the army was landing; June 24th, the Guasimas fight of the cavalry division took place, and from thattime on life was made miserable for me by importunate women. Manytelegrams--yes, hundreds of them--came to me every day, and each timeone of those cursed little yellow envelopes was put in my hands, if Ihappened to be in the lobby of the hotel, I could feel forty or fiftypairs of anxious eyes concentrated on me, as if to read from theexpression of my face whether the news was good or bad. Colonel Michlerof General Miles's staff was there, and if we should happen to betogether talking, the women would surmise that the news was bad; andmany times their surmises were just about right. One sweet littleblack-eyed woman always said she could tell from my face whether I wasbluffing or not. July 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, were very gloomy days for wepoor chaps who had been left behind--and for the women. We--they--knewthe fight was on, that men were heroically dying, and _we_ also knewthat the army was in a hard way. Strive as we might, no gleam of hopecould be culled from the news of those three days. Cervera's fleet wasstill in the harbor of Santiago, and the army not only had the Spanishtroops to fight but the navy as well. Flesh and blood might stand therain of Mauser bullets, but they could not stand rapid-fire guns andeight-inch shells. The third of July dragged by, and at eleven o'clockColonel Michler retired for the night not feeling in a very pleasantframe of mind. The lobby was well nigh deserted, but Colonels Smith andPowell and a few more officers sat by one of the big open doors having afarewell smoke and chat before going to bed. At eleven-thirty I wasstanding by the desk talking to the clerk, when the night operator camecharging out of the office and gave me a little piece of yellow paper. Iquickly opened it and read, "Sampson entirely destroyed Cervera's fleetthis morning. " News like that, if true, was too good to keep, so I wentinto the telegraph office and had a wire cut through to the New Yorkoffice and asked for a confirmation or denial of the report. Theyconfirmed it and gave me the text of the official report. I bounded outin the hall and shouted out the glorious news at the top of my voice. Gloom was dispelled instanter, and joy reigned supreme. At just twelveo'clock midnight, we drank a toast to the army and navy, and to ourcountry. 

Santiago surrendered and the army went to Porto Rico only to be stoppedin the midst of a most brilliant campaign by the signing of theprotocol. The censorship was ended and willingly did I lay down the bluepencil and take up my sword. 

CHAPTER XXVII

CONCLUSION

I cannot refrain from concluding this little volume by a tribute to thetelegraphers of the country. 

It is but fifty-five years since Professor S. F. B. Morse electrifiedthe civilized world by the completion of his electro-magnetic telegraph. Since that time great improvements have been made until now it isdifficult to recognize in the delicate mechanisms of the relay, key, sounder, duplex, quad, and multiplex, the principle first promulgated inthe old Morse register. Its influence was at once felt in all walks oflife; it was an art to be an expert telegrapher. Keeping pace with thestrides of advancing civilization, the telegraph has spread its slenderwires, until now almost the entire world is connected by its magnetism. Away back in the early fifties when railroads and comforts were few, while danger and trials were plenty, these faithful knights of the keycarried on their work under the most adverse circumstances. Since itsfirst appearance it has manifestly been the possessor of millions ofsecrets, public and private. In times of joy you flash yourcongratulations to distant relatives or friends; in minutes of sorrowand tribulation, your message of sympathy is quickly carried as a balmto aching hearts; in the worries of business its use is of the mostvital importance; and while you are peacefully slumbering on someswiftly moving railroad train the telegraph is one of the principalmeans of insuring a safe and speedy trip. Pick up your favorite dailypaper--the one that is always reliable--read the market or press reportsaccurately printed, and then think that the telegraph does it all. Readnews from foreign countries--from out-of-the-way places--and think ofthe miles of mountains, deserts, plains and valleys passed over; thinkof the slender cable down deep in the throbbing bosom of the ocean andof the little spark that brings the news to your door; and then reflecton the men whose abilities accomplish these results. Think of his workin the countries where it is so hot that it seems as if the land beyondthe River Styx is at his elbow; in lands where it is always cold and thedays and nights are long. In season and out; in times of death, pestilence and famine, with never a murmur, these sturdy, loyal men, andtrue-hearted women do their work. All these are incidents of peace. Nowthink, when war, grim-visaged and terrible, spreads its mighty powerover the earth. What is responsible for the news of victory? What bringsyou the list you so anxiously scan of the dead and wounded? What meansare employed by the subdivisions of the army in the field to keep inconstant communication, so that they may act as the integral parts of anharmonious whole? In the late Spanish-American war what first broughtnews, authentic in character, to the Navy Department that Cervera withhis doomed fleet was in Santiago harbor? And during the dark and tryingdays from June 22nd until July 14th, the telegraphers of the army--thesignal corps men--were ceaseless and tireless in their efforts, and as aresult within five minutes of its being sent, a message would be inWashington. While the army slept they worked, without any regard to selfor comfort. And to-day in the far-off Philippine islands they are stillstriving with the best results. The telegraphers are honest, loyal, patriotic men--a little Bohemian, perhaps, in their tastes--and deservea better recognition for the good work they do. 

 "30" "Filed, 2:35 A. M. " "Received, 2:43 A. M. "