“TRACK’S CLEAR”
THE few carbine barrels jutting here and there from behind the
car-wheels were silent, as hugging the side of the train Terry boldly
stepped over them; the skirmish lines were doing the shooting. Half way
down the train a knot of men were holding a council.
They were Chief Engineer Dodge (the figure in the black slouch hat) and
three men in city clothes, and Pat Miles. But before Terry might steal
nearer, fresh cheers arose.
“The Pawnees! Here they come! Hooray for the Pawnees!”
The men underneath the cars began to squirm out, and stand, to yell.
Over a swale up the graded right-of-way there appeared a mounted
force--looked like soldiers--cavalry--one company, two companies,
deploying in broad front; and how they did come!
The graders yonder were waving hats, and cheering; the Cheyennes and
Sioux hemming them in dug their heels into their ponies and bending low
fled before the charge. The General Dodge council had moved out a few
paces, to watch. The general swung his hat, also.
“Now for it!” he shouted. “Form your men, Pat. Blair, you wanted to see
some fighting. Take one company and advance to the left. Simpson, you
take another detachment and advance to the right. White, you and I and
Pat will guard the train with the train crews and the reserve. We’ll
put those rascals between two fires.”
“Fall in! Fall in wid yez!” Pat bawled, running. The words were
repeated. “Yez’ve thray gin’rals, a major an’ meself to lead yez,”
bawled Pat.
“Come on, men,” cried the general named Blair, to his detachment; he
climbed through between the cars; his men followed him and away they
went, in extended order, picking up the skirmishers as they proceeded.
In the other direction ran General Simpson’s detachment, and out across
the plain. But the Indians did not stand. With answering yells they
scattered, and occasionally firing backward at the Pawnees they scoured
away--the Pawnees, separating into their two companies, pursuing madly.
And a funny sight it was, too; for as the Pawnees rode, they kept
throwing off their uniforms, until pretty soon they were riding in only
their trousers.
“B’ gorry!” Pat panted, as he and the general halted near Terry.
“The only thing I have ag’in them Pawnees is, that when they come
there’s nothin’ left for the Irish.” He turned on the general, and
saluted--coming to a carry arms, with his left arm stiffly across his
red-shirted chest. “Track’s clear, gin’ral.”
“So it seems,” laughed General Dodge. “Simpson and Blair might as well
come in. Now let’s see what the damage is.” His sharp eyes fell on
Terry, standing fascinated. “What’s this boy doing out here? He ought
to be under cover.”
“Sure, he’s bigger’n he looks,” apologized Pat. “If ye could have seen
him lift at a tie when the engine was jest onto it----! He earned a
brevet--but I thought he was under the wheels entoirely.”
“That’s the kind of work that counts--but I’ll have to hear about it
later,” answered the general. “Now let’s check up the damage, and get
the men out again. Where’s General Casement?”
“He’s on up at Julesburg, sorr; him and Mr. Reed, too. But I’m thinkin’
they’ll both be back in a jiffy.”
General “Jack” Casement was the chief contractor--the head boss of the
whole construction. Mr. S. B. Reed was the general superintendent of
building. Yes, they doubtless would arrive on the jump.
The two companies of the construction gang were brought in, for the
Pawnees had chased the Sioux and Cheyennes out of sight. Before they
came in, themselves, General Dodge and Foreman Pat had made their
inspection. Three men badly wounded, here; several slightly wounded;
one car burned, other cars, and the engine, riddled and scarred.
But within half an hour all the unhurt men had stacked their guns, had
resumed their tools, and were out on the grade, ready to start in, just
as though there had been no fight.
Jenny the yellow mule had a bullet hole through her ear; Jimmie
Muldoon’s white horse was dead; but speedily he and Terry were mounted
again, waiting for the construction-train to finish unloading, and for
the boarding-train to back out and clear.
That was the system of the U. P., building across the plains into the
Far West.
“Hey, Jimmie! Where were you?” hailed Terry.
“I got behind the cook’s stove,” piped little Jimmie, blushing as red
as his hair. “But I came out and handed ca’tridges. Weren’t you afraid?”
“I dunno. I guess I was too excited.”
“You done well, anyhow,” praised Jimmie, with disregard of grammar.
General Dodge went on up the grade, inspecting. The three men in city
clothes, with him, were General J. H. Simpson, of the United States
Engineer Corps; General Frank P. Blair, who had been one of the
youngest major-generals in the Civil War; and Congressman H. M. White,
who was called “Major” and “Doctor.” They formed a board of inspectors,
or commissioners, sent out by the Government to examine every twenty or
forty miles of the road, when finished, and accept it.
The United States was lending money for the building of the first
railroad across continent, and naturally wished to see that the money
was being well spent.
The commissioners traveled in a special coach, called the “Lincoln”
coach because it had been made for President Abraham Lincoln, during
the War. The railroad had bought it, for the use of officials.
Now it was back at North Platte, the terminus. When the commissioners
heard of the fight, they had volunteered to come along with General
Dodge and help out.
“Drill, my paddies, drill!
Drill, you tarriers, drill!
O, it’s work all day,
No sugar in your tay,
Wor-rkin’ on th’ U. Pay. Ra-a-ailway!”
The construction-train had dumped its iron, the boarding-train had
backed out, and Jimmie and Terry again plied back and forth, with the
rails.
The Pawnees returned, in high feather like a lot of boys themselves.
They certainly were fighters. Major Frank M. North, a white man, was
their commander. He had lived among them, and spoke their language, and
they’d follow him to the death. He had enlisted four companies--drilled
them as regular cavalry, according to army regulations; they were sworn
into the United States Army as scouts, and were deadly enemies to the
Sioux and the Cheyennes. The Sioux and Cheyennes feared them so, that
it was said a company of North’s Pawnees was worth more than a regiment
of regular soldiers. When these Pawnees sighted an enemy, they simply
threw off their clothes and waded right in.
The two companies, A and B, made camp on the plains, a little distance
off, near the Platte River. Major North and Chief Petalesharo--who was
the war-chief and son of old Petalesharo, known as “bravest of the
braves”--cantered forward to the track. The major wore buckskin and
long hair, like a frontiersman. Petalesharo wore army pants with the
seat cut out, and the legs sewed tight, same as leggins.
“Take any hair, major?” was the call.
“Yes; there are three or four fresh scalps in the camp yonder. But most
of the beggars got away too fast.”
“Say, Pete! Heap fight, what?”
Petalesharo smiled and grunted, with wave of hand.
“He says the Sioux ponies have long legs,” called Major North. “Where’s
the general? He was here, wasn’t he?”
“Yes; he’s up ahead, with the graders.”
The major--young and daring and very popular--rode on with Chief
“Pete,” as if to report to General Dodge.
They all came back together, after a time--and the newly laid track
was advancing to meet them. Already the boarding-train had moved up a
notch. The Pawnees from the camp were scattered along, watching the
progress. The way with which the white man’s road grew, before their
eyes, seemed to be a constant marvel to them.
“Faith, we’ll build our two miles this day in spite o’ the Injuns,”
cheered the sweaty Pat, everywhere at once and urging on the toiling
men.
The three commissioners were as interested as the Pawnees; they
hung around, while Chief Engineer Dodge, General Jack Casement and
Supervising Engineer Reed (who had arrived horseback) conferred in the
headquarters car.
General Simpson and Dr. White had seen the track-laying gang at work
last year, but this was young General Blair’s first trip out. Now
while he was here, three-quarters of a mile of track was laid before
the call for supper sounded; and as the men rushed to meet the train,
Engineer Richards unhooked and gave the three commissioners a ride on
the cow-catcher to the very end o’ track, to show them how well the
rails had been put down.
In honor of the commissioners, after supper there was a parade of the
Pawnees, under Major North and the white captains Lute North and Mr.
Morse, Lieutenants Beecher and Matthews, and Chief Petalesharo.
A great parade it was, too--“Might call it a dress p’rade, and ag’in ye
might call it an undress p’rade,” as Foreman Pat remarked. The Pawnees
were in all kinds of costume: some wore cavalry blouses and left their
legs naked; some wore cavalry trousers with the seats cut out, and left
their bodies naked; some wore large black campaign hats of Civil War
time, with brass bugles and crossed muskets and crossed cannon, on the
front; some wore nothing but breech clouts, and brass spurs on their
naked heels; but they kept excellent line and wheeled and trotted at
word of command.
They broke up with a wild yell, and away they went, careening over the
plain, whooping and prancing and shooting, and taking scalps--chasing
the “Sioux.”
“The gin’ral wants to see you,” ordered Pat, of Terry. “Ye’ll find him
in his car yon. Now stand on your feet an’ take off your hat an’ do the
polite, an’ mebbe it’s promoted you’ll be.”
So Terry, with Shep close following, trudged down the line of box-cars,
to the Chief Engineer’s “traveling arsenal.” He was curious to see the
inside of it. This was the general’s home, in which he toured up and
down the line, from Omaha to the end o’ track, caring not a whit for
the Indians.
It was fitted up inside with bunks and a desk and racked guns, and
a forward compartment which was dining-room and kitchen, ruled by a
darky cook. When the general was not traveling in his car, he was out
overseeing the surveys far beyond the railroad; he had explored through
the plains and mountains to Salt Lake long before the railroad had
started at Omaha.
The whole party were in the car; the three commissioners (General
Simpson was a famous explorer, too), and General Casement, and
Superintendent Reed, sitting with General Dodge. Terry removed his
dusty hat, and stood in the doorway. Shep stuck his black nose past his
legs, to gaze and sniff.
“Hello, my boy,” General Dodge greeted.
“Pat Miles said you wanted to see me, sir.”
“That’s right. Come in, dog and all. Gentlemen, this is Terry Richards.
They tell me he risked his life to save the boarding-train from being
wrecked during the Indian attack. I move that we all shake hands with
him.”
Terry, considerably flustrated, had his hand shaken, all ’round.
“Well, what’s your job, Terry?” asked General Dodge. He was a handsome
man, every inch a soldier, but with a very kind eye above a dark,
trimmed beard. Nobody could feel afraid of General Dodge.
“I help bring up the rails, on a truck. I ride a yellow mule, sir.”
“You’re rather a big boy to be doing that.”
“Yes, sir; but that’s my job. Somebody has to do it. The men have got
to have rails.”
“Very necessary, in building a railroad,” laughed General Blair.
“We did almost two miles today,” informed Terry. “We’d have done two
miles sure if the Injuns hadn’t tried to stop us.”
“That’s the right spirit,” approved General Simpson.
“General Casement is responsible for it,” quickly spoke Chief Engineer
Dodge. “His men are trained to the minute, either to work or to fight.
But the Union Pacific Company doesn’t overlook individual acts of
bravery. What would you like to do instead of riding that yellow mule,
Terry?”
“I’d like to be out in front, exploring with the engineers, sir.”
“Oh, you would!” General Dodge’s eyes kindled. Evidently he liked that
kind of work, himself. “Why? It’s the most dangerous job of all--away
out in the Indian country, with only a handful of men and maybe no help
except your own guns.”
“I think I’d like it, though,” stammered Terry. “If I could be any use,
George Stanton’s out there somewhere.”
“Who’s George Stanton?”
“He’s another boy. He’s my pardner. We were station hands on the
Overland [that was the stage line] before we joined the railroad.”
“Where is George?”
“I don’t know, exactly. He went out with his father in Mr. Bates’
survey party, as a sort of a cub to learn engineering. I guess he cuts
stakes.”
“Oh, I see. The Bates party are bound from Utah, to run a line this
way. But they’ll not be back before winter. Probably none of the survey
parties will turn up before winter. I’m afraid it’s too late for a job
with the engineers in the field, this year. Maybe you’ll have to stick
to your old mule, and haul rails for General Casement.”
“Well, if there’s nothing better I can do,” agreed Terry. “It’s fun to
help the track go forward, anyhow. We’ll beat the Central folks.”
“Yes, siree!” General Casement declared. He was a great little man,
this General “Jack” Casement: a wiry, nervy, snappy little man, not
much more than five feet tall, peaceful weight about 135 pounds and
fighting weight about a ton--“an’ sure there’s sand enough in him to
ballast the tracks clear to Californy,” Pat asserted. He had a brown
beard and a bold blue eye and a voice like a whip-crack. His brother
“Dan” Casement was smaller still, outside, but just as big inside. They
two were commanders of the grading and track-laying outfits.
“There’s one more party to go out yet,” General Dodge suddenly said;
“and that’s mine. If General Casement will lend you to me, maybe I’ll
have a place for you. We’ll see if we can’t find the Bates party, and
George Stanton.” And he added, with a smile, to the other men: “A
fellow can always use a boy, around camp, you know, gentlemen.”
“Golly! I’d sure like to go, sir,” Terry blurted.
“Were you ever farther west?”
“Yes, sir. I helped drive stage, when I was working for the Overland.
And George and I had a pass to Salt Lake, but George broke his leg up
on the divide, in the mountains, so we quit and came back.”
“How did you happen to get a pass?”
“Just for something we did. We brought a stage through, when the driver
was near frozen. ’Twasn’t much, though. But we were glad to get a pass.
We’d never been west over the line.”
“How far east have you been over this line?” asked the general, keenly.
“North Platte, is all. I joined at North Platte, this spring, when you
began the big push to make 290 miles before stopping again.”
“Two hundred and eighty-eight,” the general corrected. “That will take
us to Fort Sanders in the Laramie Plains. But I think you ought to
inspect what’s been done in the two other years. It’s up to the Union
Pacific to treat you as well as the Overland treated you. Did you ever
ride on a railroad?”
“I guess I did when I was little, before we came out to Kansas. We
drove out to Kansas from Ohio in 1858; but after that Harry Revere and
I drove across to Denver.”
“Who’s Harry Revere?”
“He’s a friend of George and me. He was an Overland man, too--he
was station-keeper at Beaver Creek station while George and I were
hostlers. Then he rode Pony Express for a while, between Bijou
Junction and Denver. He’s a dandy; as spunky as a badger. He’s back
east somewhere, on the railroad, doing telegraphing.”
“You build railroads, but you don’t travel on them, eh?” laughed
General Blair.
“Yes, sir. All I do is haul rails and watch ’em being laid--but the
graders don’t even see the rails. They just shovel dirt.”
“You’ll be out of sight of the rails and the dirt, too, if you go on
that western trip with me,” General Dodge said, grimly. “So first,
you’d better get acquainted with the finished end and see what those
rails that you’ve helped lay are being used for. Suppose you stay right
aboard this car and take a trip back, of a couple of hundred miles, if
General Casement will spare you.”
“I’ll spare him if you’ll spare some of that 288 miles,” General
Casement retorted. “You’re breaking up my army.”
Evidently even a boy was important, these days.
“Jimmie Muldoon’s brother will spell me, while I’m gone,” Terry
proffered. “He can ride my mule. Her name’s Jenny. She’s smart. She’d
do the hauling without anybody on her.”
“All right. You make your arrangements with Pat and Jimmie Muldoon,
then,” said General Casement.
“And I guess I’ll ask my father.”
“Where’s he?”
“He’s the engine driver for the boarding-train. That’s his job, because
he got crippled up in the war.”
“Oh, Ralph Richards?” queried General Dodge. “He was one of my
soldiers, in that same war. You’re his boy, are you? Any more of the
family on the U. P.?”
“My mother’s down at Denver still, but here’s my dog. His name’s Shep.
He’d fight Injuns, only today there was too much shooting, so he stayed
in the engine.”
“Well,” spoke the general, “you see your father and Pat Miles and
Jimmie Muldoon; then bring your dog and come along back to the car.
We’re going down to North Platte tonight, and tomorrow I’ll take you as
far as Kearney, anyhow. How’ll that suit you?”
“Fine, sir.” And Terry hustled out, his head in a whirl of excitement.
Matters were speedily fixed; but before he could return dusk had
settled over the great expanse of lonely plains. The Pawnees were
on guard. Far up the grade a few lights twinkled, from the graders’
camps. Already the track-layer gang were going to bed; some inside the
boarding-train, some on top, some underneath--just as they all pleased.
Ordinarily Terry would have spread his blankets on top, where there was
plenty of fresh air. However, this night he was to be a guest of the
big chief, General Dodge himself, in the headquarters car, for a trip
over the new U. P. Railroad, to see that the rails were O. K.
And so was Shep. Shep usually tried to go wherever Terry went--except,
of course, when guns were banging too recklessly.
The men were still up, in the rear or office end of the headquarters
car, talking together.
“The rest of us won’t turn in till we’re back at North Platte,” the
general explained. “I’ve had a bunk opened for you, up forward. Do you
think you can sleep?”
“Yes, sir. I can always sleep,” Terry assured.
“All right. Good night. You won’t miss much. We’ll probably lie over at
North Platte till morning.”
The bunk was a clever arrangement. During the day it was folded against
the side of the car and nobody would know it was there. At night it
was let down, and hung flat with a curtain in front of it. The car
probably had several such bunks. They were something new, the invention
of a Mr. Pullman; and when Terry climbed into his, he found it mighty
comfortable. Shep curled underneath, between the seats.
Lying snug and warm, Terry prepared to calm himself, and sleep; but
the future looked very bright. He caught his thoughts surging ahead,
upon the survey trip half promised by the general: maybe clear to Utah,
exploring and finding George and the Bates party. Hooray! Indians, bear
and buffalo, new country--! Pshaw! He was getting wide awake. He ought
to sleep. So he began to figure.
Over 300 miles, so far, by the Union Pacific, in the two years and a
quarter; 700 miles yet to Salt Lake, and then as much farther as they
could get before meeting the Central! The general had planned to lay
nearly 300 miles more--288 anyway--this year! Whew! Forty car-loads of
supplies to every mile; 400 rails and 2,650 ties to every mile; ten
spikes to each rail, three blows of the sledge to each spike--then how
many rails, how many ties, how many sledge blows, how many galloping
charges back and forth of Jenny and the little truck, to cross plains
and deserts and mountains and win the race with the Central?
This tour by train was going to be nice enough, but it seemed tame
compared with end o’ track work, and with surveying. And the laying of
the track looked to be such a big job that perhaps General Casement
couldn’t spare him again. Shucks!
While figuring and bothering, Terry fell asleep. He did not know that
his trip east and back was not going to be as tame as it appeared in
advance.