Following Collins's return to duty, Bucks was assigned to a new
western station, Point of Rocks. It was in the mountains and where
Casement, now laying five and even six miles of track a day, had just
turned over a hundred and eighty miles to the operating department.
Bucks, the first operator ever sent to the lonely place afterward
famous in railroad story, put his trunk aboard a freight train the
next morning and started for his destination.
The ride through the mountains was an inspiration. A party of army
officers and their wives, preferring to take the day run for the
scenery, were bound for one of the mountain posts, Fort Bridger, and
they helped to make the long day journey in the cabin car, with its
frequent stops and its laborious engine-puffing over the mountain
grades, a pleasant one. The women made coffee on a cabin stove and
Bucks, the only other passenger, was invited to lunch with them.
When the train stopped at Point of Rocks and Bucks got off, the sun
was setting, and though the thin, clear air brought the distant
mountains very close, the prospect was not a cheerful one. In every
direction mountain ranges, some brown and others snow-capped, rose
upon the horizon. Where the railroad line made a tortuous way among
the barren buttes that dotted the uneven plain all about, there was
not a spear of grass nor a living thing except the stunted sage-brush
of the alkali plain. In the midst of this desert a great upheaval of
granite rock thrown squarely across the direct path of the railroad
opposed its straight course and made a long reverse curve necessary.
This was Point of Rocks.
"You," said Stanley once to Bucks, "may live to see this railroad
built across these mountains as it should be built. There will be no
sharp curves then, no heavy grades such as these our little engines
have to climb now. Great compound locomotives will pull trains of a
hundred cars up grades of less than one per cent and around two and
three degree curves. These high wooden bridges will all be replaced
by big rock and earth fills. Tunnels will pierce the heights that
cannot be scaled by easy grades, and electric power supplied by these
mountain streams themselves will take the place of steam made by coal
and hauled hundreds of miles to give us costly motive power. You may
live, Bucks, to see all of this; I shall not. When it comes, think of
me."
But there was no thought now in Bucks's mind of what the future might
bring to that forbidding desert. He saw only a rude station building,
just put up, and as the train disappeared, he dragged into this his
trunk and hand-bag, and in that act a new outpost of civilization was
established in the great West.
He called up Medicine Bend, reported, lighted a fire in the little
stove, and the spot in the desert known now to men as Point of Rocks
for the first time in the story of the world became a part of it--was
linked to the world itself.
But the place was lonely beyond words, and Bucks had a hard time to
keep it from being too much so for him. He walked at different times
over the country in every direction, and one night after a crudely
prepared supper he strolled out on the platform, desperate for
something to do. Desolation marked the landscape everywhere. He
wandered aimlessly across the track and seeing nothing better to
interest him began climbing Point of Rocks.
The higher he climbed the more absorbed he became. Youth and strength
lent ardor to the ascent, and Bucks, soon forgetting everything below,
was scaling the granite pile that towered above him. For thirty
minutes, without a halt, he continued to climb, and reaching after a
while what seemed the highest ledge of the rocky spur, he walked out
upon it to the very edge and was rewarded for his labor with a
magnificent panorama of the mountain divide.
In the west the sky was still golden and, though clouds appeared to be
banking heavily in the north, the view of the distant peaks was
unobstructed. From where he sat he could almost have thrown a stone
into one tiny mountain stream that cut a silver path toward the
setting sun, and another, a hundred yards away, that flowed gently
toward the rising sun. And he knew--for Bill Dancing had told
him--that the one rill emptied at last into the Pacific Ocean, and the
other into the Atlantic Ocean. Alongside these tiny streams he could
plainly trace the overland trail of the emigrant wagons, and, cutting
in straighter lines, but following the same general direction, lay the
right-of-way of the new transcontinental railroad.
Beyond, in every direction, stretched great plateaus, and above these
rugged mountain chains, lying in what seemed the eternal solitude of
the vast desert. He was alone with the sunset, and stood for some
moments silenced by the scene before him. When a sound did at length
reach his ear as he sat spellbound, it brought him back to himself
with the suddenness of a shock.
At first he heard only distant echoes of a short, muffled blow,
irregularly repeated and seeming familiar to the ear. As he speculated
upon what the sound might be, it grew gradually plainer and came
seemingly nearer. He bent his eyes down the valley to the west and
scanned the wagon-trail and the railroad track as far as he could in
the dusk, but could see nothing. Then the muffle of the sound was at
once lifted. It came from the other direction, and, turning his eyes,
he saw emerging from a small canyon that hid the trail to the east, a
covered emigrant wagon, drawn by a large team of horses and driven by
a man sitting in front of the hood, making its way slowly up the road
toward the station.
The heavy play of the wheel-hubs on the axles echoed now very plainly
upon his ears, and he sat watching the outfit and wondering whether
the travellers would camp for the night near him and give him what he
craved most of all, a little human society. The horses passed the
station, and as they did so, the driver peered intently at the new
building, looking back around the side of the canvas cover, and
straining his neck to see all he could see, while the horses moved
along.
This would have seemed to Bucks mere idle curiosity had he not noticed
that some one within the wagon parted the canvas flaps at the rear as
it went by and likewise inspected the building with close attention.
Even this was no especial incident for wonderment, nor was Bucks
surprised when the emigrants, after pursuing their way until they were
well out of sight of the station itself, guided their wagon from the
trail into a little depression along the creek as if to make camp for
the night. The driver, a tall, thin man, wearing a slouch hat, got
down from the front of the wagon and walked with a shambling gait to
the head of his horses and loosened their bridles. While the horses
were drinking, a second man, carrying a rifle, climbed down from the
rear of the wagon. He was of a shorter and stockier build, and on one
side the brim of his soft hat had been torn away so that it hung
loosely over one ear, the other ear being covered only by a shock of
dusty hair.
A third man emerged from under the canvas cover, dropping down almost
behind the second--a fat man who looked about him with suspicion as he
slowly drew a rifle out of the wagon. The driver joined his companions
for a brief conference, and when it was finished the three men,
examining their rifles, walked back up the road toward the station. As
they neared it, two of them loitered back and presently took their
places behind convenient rocks where, without being seen, they could
see everything. The third man, the driver, carrying his rifle on his
arm, walked ahead, crossed the road, and, proceeding with some care,
stepped up on the platform and pushed open the door of the station
building.
Bucks, perched high on the rocky spur above the scene, looked on, not
knowing just what to make of it all. As he saw the two men conceal
themselves, he wondered what sort of a call the third man intended
making on the new agent, and why he should leave two armed men close
at hand in ambush when calling on one lone telegraph operator. Bucks
began to feel a bit creepy and watched the scene unfolding below with
keen attention. The driver of the wagon getting no response as he
opened the door, walked inside, and for a moment was not seen. He soon
reappeared, and, stepping to the side of the building signalled his
companions to come up. Bucks saw them emerge from their hiding-places
and join the driver at the station door.
A second conference followed. It was briefer than the first, but
there seemed some difference of opinion among the three men, and
the talk terminated abruptly by the driver's clubbing his rifle and
deliberately smashing in the sash of the window before which he
was standing.
Whatever had held Bucks spellbound thus far released him suddenly for
action when he saw the rifle-stock raised and heard the crash of the
glass. He jumped up, and running to the edge of the ledge nearest the
station yelled at the marauder and shook his finger at him vigorously.
The attack on his habitation was too much for Bucks's composure, and,
although he knew his words could not be heard from where he stood, he
felt he could frighten the intruders.
This was his second mistake. No sooner had his visitors sighted him
than two guns were turned on him and instantly fired. He jumped back
before the fat man, who, slower than his companions, had some
difficulty in shooting so high above his head, could get his gun up.
Afterward, Bucks learned how providential this was, inasmuch as the
big fellow was the deadliest shot of the three.
But at the moment, danger was the last thing the operator thought of.
The unprovoked and murderous attack infuriated him, and again
forgetting his caution he drew his own revolver without hesitation,
and, running to a more protected spot, leaned over the ledge and fired
point-blank into the group, as they looked up to see what had become
of him.
If it had been his intention to hit any one of them with his bullets,
his shooting was a failure and some experience in after years among
men practised in gunnery convinced him that to aim at three men is not
the right way to hit one.
But if he had meant only to create a sensation his move was successful
beyond his greatest expectation. Had a bomb been exploded on the
platform the marauders could not have scattered more quickly. Bucks
never in his life had seen three men move so fast. The fat man,
indeed, had given Bucks the impression of being heavy and slow in his
movements. He now made a surprising exhibition of agility, and Bucks
to his astonishment, saw him distancing his leaner companions and
sprinting for the shelter at a pace that would have made a jack-rabbit
take notice.
Bucks, somewhat keyed up, fired twice again at the fleeing men, but
with no more effect than to kick up the dust once behind and once
ahead of them as they ran. The instant they reached the rocks where
they found shelter Bucks drew back out of sight, and none too soon,
for as he pulled himself away from the ledge, a rifle cracked
viciously from below and the slug threw a chunk of granite almost up
into his face; the fat man was evidently having his innings.
Bucks, out of immediate danger, lay perfectly still for a few moments
casting up the strange situation he found himself in. Why the men
should have acted as they had, was all a mystery, but thieves or
outlaws they evidently were, and outlaws in this country he already
well knew were men who would stop at nothing.
He realized, likewise, that he was in grave danger. The night was
before him. No train would be through before morning. He could not
reach his key by which he might have summoned aid instantly. For a
moment he lay thinking. Then taking off his hat he stuck his head
carefully forward; it was greeted at once by a bullet. The lesson was
obvious and next time he wanted to reconnoitre he stuck his hat
forward first on the muzzle of his gun, as he had often read of
frontiersmen doing, and, having drawn a shot, stuck his head out
afterward for a quick look. All that remained in the open was the team
and wagon, but this left the outlaws at a disadvantage, for if they
wanted to get their outfit and go on their way they must expose
themselves to Bucks's fire. While they might feel that one operator,
armed with a revolver he hardly knew how to use, was not a dangerous
foe, a Colt's, even in the hands of a boy who had thus far fired first
and aimed afterward, was not wholly to be despised. An accident might
happen even under such conditions, and the three men, knowing that
darkness would soon leave them free, waited in absolute silence.
Night fell very soon and the light of the stars, though leaving
objects visible upon the high ledge, left the earth in impenetrable
darkness. Strain his eyes as he would, Bucks could perceive nothing
below. He could hear, however, and one of the first sounds audible was
that of the wagon moving quietly away. It was a welcome sound, even
though he dared not hope his troublesome visitors would withdraw
without further mischief. His chief concern at this juncture was to
get safely, if he could, down the rocks and into the station to give
the alarm to the despatcher; for he made no doubt that the outlaws, on
their wagon trip west, would damage in any way they might be able
railroad supplies and property along their way.
Before Bucks had climbed down very far and after he had made one or
two startling missteps, he began to consider that it was one thing to
get up a rough arete in daylight and quite another to get down one in
the darkness. The heavy clouds moving down from the north had massed
above Point of Rocks, and he heard once in a while an ominous roll of
thunder, as he slipped and slid along and bruised his hands and feet
upon the rocks.
He had with great care got about half-way down, when the pitch
darkness below him was pierced by a small flame which he took at first
for the blaze of a camp fire. In another moment he was undeceived. The
station was on fire. It was evidently the last effort of the outlaws
to wreak vengeance as they left. Bucks clambered over the rocks in
great alarm. He thought he might reach the building in time to save
it, and, forgetting the danger of being shot should his enemies remain
lying in wait, he made his way rapidly down the Point. The flames now
burst from the east window of the station, and he despaired of saving
it, but he hurried on until he heard the crack of a rifle, felt his
cap snatched from his head and fell backward against the face of the
rock. As he lost consciousness he slipped and rolled headlong down the
steep ledge.