torch and said, 'Hello, Yank,' to which the new-comer made no direct
response. He seemed to have something on his mind. 'What are you out
on?' asked the engineer, glancing at the other's overalls. 'Fast
freight--perishable--must make time--no excuse will be taken,' he
snapped, quoting and misquoting from my severe circular. 'Who's in that
Kaskaskia?' he asked, stepping up close to the man with the torch.
"'The ol' man,' said the engineer.
"'No! ol' man, eh? Well! I'll give him a canter for his currency this
trip,' said Yank, gloating. 'I'll follow him like a scandal; I'll stay
with him this night like the odor of a hot box. Say, Jimmie,' he
laughed, 'when that tintype of yours begins to lay down on you, just
bear in mind that my pilot is under the ol' man's rear brake-beam, and
that the headlight of the 99 is haunting him.'
"'Don't get gay, now,' said the engineer of the White Mail.
"'Oh, I'll make him think California fruit is not all that's perishable
on the road to-night,' said Yank, hurrying away to the round-house.
"Just as we were about to pull out, our engineer, who was brother to
Yank, found a broken frame and was obliged to go to the house for
another locomotive. We were an hour late when we left that night,
carrying signals for the fast freight. As we left the limits of the
yard, Hubbard's headlight swung out on the main line, picked up two
slender shafts of silver, and shot them under our rear end. The first
eight or ten miles were nearly level. I sat and watched the headlight of
the fast freight. He seemed to be keeping his interval until we hit the
hill at Collinsville. There was hard pounding then for him for five or
six miles. Just as the Kaskaskia dropped from the ridge between the east
and west Silver Creek, the haunting light swept round the curve at
Hagler's tank. I thought he must surely take water here; but he plunged
on down the hill, coming to the surface a few minutes later on the high
prairie east of Saint Jacobs.
"Highland, thirty miles out, was our first stop. We took water there;
and before we could get away from the tank, Hubbard had his twin shafts
of silver under my car. We got a good start here, but our catch engine
proved to be badly coaled and a poor steamer. Up to this time she had
done fairly well, but after the first two hours she began to lose.
Seeing no more of the freight train, I turned in, not a little pleased
to think that Mr. Yank's headlight would not haunt me again that trip. I
fell asleep, but woke again when the train stopped, probably at
Vandalia. I had just begun to doze again when our engine let out a
frightful scream for brakes. I knew what that meant,--Hubbard was behind
us. I let my shade go up, and saw the light of the freight train shining
past me and lighting up the water-tank. I was getting a bit nervous,
when I felt our train pulling out.
"Of course Hubbard had to water again; but as he had only fifteen loads,
and a bigger tank, he could go as far as the Mail could without
stopping. Moreover, we were bound to stop at county seats; and as often
as we did so we had the life scared out of us, for there was not an
air-brake freight car on the system at that time. What a night that must
have been for the freight crew! They were on top constantly, but I
believe the beggars enjoyed it all. Any conductor but Jim Lawn would
have stopped and reported the engineer at the first telegraph station.
Still, I have always had an idea that the train-master was tacitly in
the conspiracy, for his bulletin had been a hot one delivered orally by
the Superintendent, whom I had seen personally.
"Well, along about midnight Hubbard's headlight got so close, and kept
so close, that I could not sleep. His brother, who was pulling the Mail,
avoided whistling him down; for when he did he only showed that there
_was_ danger, and published his bad brother's recklessness. The result
was that when the Mail screamed I invariably braced myself. I don't
believe I should have stood it, only I felt it would all be over in
another hour; for we should lose Yank at Effingham, the end of the
freight's division. It happened, however, that there was no one to
relieve him, or no engine rather; and Yank went through to Terre Haute.
I was sorry, but I hated to show the white feather. I knew our fresh
engine would lose him, with his tired fireman and dirty fire. Once or
twice I saw his lamp, but at Longpoint we lost him for good. I went to
bed again, but I could not sleep. I used to boast that I could sleep in
a boiler-maker's shop; but the long dread of that fellow's pilot had
unnerved me. I had wild, distressing dreams.
* * * * *
"The next morning, when I got to my office, I found a column of news cut
from a morning paper. It had the usual scare-head, and began by
announcing that the White Mail, with General Manager Blank's car
Kaskaskia, came in on time, carrying signals for a freight train. The
second section had not arrived, 'as we go to press.' I think I swore
softly at that point. Then I read on, for there was a lot more. It
seemed, the paper stated, that a gang of highwaymen had planned to rob
the Mail at Longpoint, which had come to be regarded as a regular robber
station. One of the robbers, being familiar with train rules, saw the
signal lights on the Mail and mistook it for a special, which is often
run as first section of a fast train, and they let it pass. They flagged
the freight train, and one of the robbers, who was doubtless new at the
business, caught the passing engine and climbed into the cab. The
engineer, seeing the man's masked face at his elbow, struck it a fearful
blow with his great fist. The amateur desperado sank to the floor, his
big, murderous gun rattling on the iron plate of the coal-deck. Yank,
the engineer, grabbed the gun, whistled off-brakes, and opened the
throttle. The sudden lurch forward proved too much for a weak link, and
the train parted, leaving the rest of the robbers and the train crew to
fight it out. As soon as the engineer discovered that the train had
parted, he slowed down and stopped.
"When he had picketed the highwayman out on the tank-deck with a piece
of bell-cord, one end of which was fixed to the fellow's left foot and
the other to the whistle lever, Yank set his fireman, with a white light
and the robber's gun, on the rear car and flagged back to the rescue.
The robbers, seeing the blunder they had made, took a few parting shots
at the trainmen on the top of the train, mounted their horses, and rode
away.
"When the train had coupled up again, they pulled on up to the next
station, where the conductor reported the cause of delay, and from which
station the account of the attempted robbery had been wired.
"I put the paper down and walked over to a window that overlooked the
yards. The second section of the White Mail was coming in. As the engine
rolled past, Yank looked up; and there was a devilish grin on his black
face. The fireman was sitting on the fireman's seat, the gun across his
lap. A young fellow, wearing a long black coat, a bell-rope, and a
scared look, was sweeping up the deck.
"When I returned to my desk, the Superintendent of Motive Power was
standing near it. When I sat down, he spread a paper before me. I
glanced at it and recognized Yank Hubbard's appointment to the post of
master-mechanic at Effingham.
"I dipped a pen in the ink-well and wrote across it in red, 'O--K.'"
OPPRESSING THE OPPRESSOR
"Is this the President's office?"
"Yes, sir."
"Can I see the President?"
"Yes,--I'm the President."
The visitor placed one big boot in a chair, hung his soft hat on his
knee, dropped his elbow on the hat, let his chin fall in the hollow of
his hand, and waited.
The President of the Santa Fé, leaning over a flat-topped table, wrote
leisurely. When he had finished, he turned a kindly face to the visitor
and asked what could be done.
"My name's Jones."
"Yes?"
"I presume you know about me,--Buffalo Jones, of Garden City."
"Well," began the President, "I know a lot of Joneses, but where is
Garden City?"
"Down the road a piece, 'bout half-way between Wakefield and Turner's
Tank. I want you folks to put in a switch there,--that's what I've come
about. I'd like to have it in this week."
"Anybody living at Garden City?"
"Yes, all that's there's livin'."
"About how many?"
"One and a half when I'm away,--Swede and Injin."
The President of the Santa Fé smiled and rolled his lead pencil between
the palms of his hands. Mr. Jones watched him and pitied him, as one
watches and pities a child who is fooling with firearms. "He don't know
I'm loaded," thought Jones.
"Well," said the President, "when you get your town started so that
there will be some prospect of getting a little business, we shall be
only too glad to put in a spur for you."
Jones had been looking out through an open window, watching the
law-makers of Kansas going up the wide steps of the State House. The
fellows from the farm climbed, the town fellows ran up the steps.
"Spur!" said Jones, wheeling around from the window and walking toward
the President's desk, "I don't want no spur; I want a side track
that'll hold fifty cars, and I want it this week,--see?"
"Now look here, Mr. Jones, this is sheer nonsense. We get wind at
Wakefield and water at Turner's Tank; now, what excuse is there for
putting in a siding half-way between these places?"
Again Mr. Jones, rubbing the point of his chin with the ball of his
thumb, gave the President a pitying glance.
"Say!" said Jones, resting the points of his long fingers on the table,
"I'm goin' to build a town. You're goin' to build a side track. I've
already set aside ten acres of land for you, for depot and yards. This
land will cost you fifty dollars per, _now_. If I have to come back
about this side track, it'll cost you a hundred. Now, Mr. President, I
wish you good-mornin'."
At the door Jones paused and looked back. "Any time this week will do;
good-mornin'."
The President smiled and turned to his desk. Presently he smiled again;
then he forgot all about Mr. Jones and the new town, and went on with
his work.
Mr. Jones went down and out and over to the House to watch the men make
laws.
* * * * *
In nearly every community, about every capital, State or National, you
will find men who are capable of being influenced. This is especially
true of new communities through which a railway is being built. It has
always been so, and will be, so long as time expires. I mean the time of
an annual pass. It is not surprising, then, that in Kansas at that time,
the Grasshopper period,--before prohibition, Mrs. Nation, and religious
dailies,--the company had its friends, and that Mr. Jones, an honest
farmer with money to spend, had his.
Two or three days after the interview with Mr. Jones, the President's
"friend" came over to the railroad building. He came in quietly and
seated himself near the President, as a doctor enters a sick-room or a
lawyer a prison cell. "I know you don't want me," he seemed to say, "but
you need me."
When his victim had put down his pen, the politician asked, "Have you
seen Buffalo Jones?"
The President said he had seen the gentleman.
"I think it would be a good scheme to give him what he wants," said the
Honorable member of the State legislature.
But the President could not agree with his friend; and at the end of
half an hour, the Honorable member went away not altogether satisfied.
He did not relish the idea of the President trying to run the road
without his assistance. One of the chief excuses for his presence on
earth and in the State legislature was "to take care of the road." Now,
he had gotten up early in order to see the President without being seen,
and the President had waved him aside. "Well," he said, "I'll let Jones
have the field to-day."
* * * * *
Two days later, when the President opened his desk, he found a brief
note from his confidential assistant,--not the Honorable one, but an
ordinary man who worked for the company for a stated salary. The note
read:--
"If Buffalo Jones calls to-day please see him.--I am leaving town.
G.O.M."
But Buffalo did not call.
Presently the General Manager came in, and when he was leaving the room
he turned and asked, "Have you seen Jones?"
"Yes," said the President of the Santa Fé, "I've seen Jones."
The General Manager was glad, for that took the matter from his hands
and took the responsibility from his drooping shoulders.
About the time the President got his mind fixed upon the affairs of the
road again, Colonel Holiday came in. Like the Honorable gentleman, he
too entered by the private door unannounced; for he was the Father of
the Santa Fé. Placing his high hat top side down on the table, the
Colonel folded his hands over the golden head of his cane and inquired
of the President if he had seen Jones.
The President assured the Colonel, who in addition to being the Father
of the road was a director.
The Colonel picked up his hat and went out, feeling considerable relief:
for _his_ friend in the State Senate had informed him at the Ananias
Club on the previous evening, that Jones was going to make trouble for
the road. The Colonel knew that a good, virtuous man with money to spend
could make trouble for anything or anybody, working quietly and
unobtrusively among the equally virtuous members of the State
legislature. The Colonel had been a member of that august body.
In a little while the General Manager came back; and with him came
O'Marity, the road-master.
"I thought you said you had seen Jones," the General Manager began.
Now the President, who was never known to be really angry, wheeled on
his revolving chair.
"I--_have_--seen Jones."
"Well, O'Marity says Jones has not been 'seen.' His friend, who comes
down from Atchison every Sunday night on O'Marity's hand-car, has been
good enough to tell O'Marity just what has been going on in the House.
There must be some mistake. It seems to me that if this man Jones had
been seen properly, he would subside. What's the matter with your
friend--Ah, here comes the Honorable gentleman now."
The President beckoned with his index finger and his friend came in.
Looking him in the eye, the President asked in a stage whisper: "Have
you--seen--Jones?"
"No, sir," said the Honorable gentleman. "I had no authority to see
him."
"It's damphunny," said O'Marity, "if the President 'ave seen 'im, 'e
don't quit."
"I certainly saw a man called Jones,--Buffalo Jones of Garden City. He
wanted a side track put in half-way between Wakefield and Turner's
Tank."
"And you told him, 'Certainly, we'll do it at once,'" said the General
Manager.
"No," the President replied, "I told him we would not do it at once,
because there was no business or prospect of business to justify the
expense."
"Ah--h," said the Manager.
O'Marity whistled softly.
The Honorable gentleman smiled, and looked out through the open window
to where the members of the State legislature were going up the broad
steps to the State House.
"Mr. Rong," the Manager began, "it is all a horrible mistake. You have
never 'seen' Jones. Not in the sense that we mean. When you see a
politician or a man who herds with politicians, he is supposed to be
yours,--you are supposed to have acquired a sort of interest in him,--an
interest that is valued so long as the individual is in sight. You are
entitled to his support and influence, up to, and including the date on
which your influence expires." All the time the Manager kept jerking his
thumb toward the window that held the Honorable gentleman, using the
President's friend as a living example of what he was trying to explain.
"Is Jones a member?"
"No, Mr. Rong, but he controls a few members. It is easier, you
understand, to acquire a drove of steers by buying a bunch than by
picking them up here and there, one at a time."
"I protest," said the Honorable member, "against the reference to
members of the legislature as 'cattle.'"
Neither of the railway men appeared to hear the protest.
"I think I understand now," said the President. "And I wish, Robson, you
would take this matter in hand. I confess that I have no stomach for
such work."
"Very well," said the Manager. "Please instruct your--your--" and he
jerked his thumb toward the Honorable gentleman--"your _friend_ to send
Jones to my office."
The Honorable gentleman went white and then flushed red, but he waited
for no further orders. As he strode towards the door, Robson, with a
smooth, unruffled brow, but with a cold smile playing over his handsome
face, with mock courtesy and a wide sweep of his open hand, waved the
visitor through the open door.
* * * * *
"Mr. Jones wishes to see you," said the chief clerk.
"Oh, certainly--show Mr. Jones--Ah, good-morning, Mr. Jones, glad to see
you. How's Garden City? Going to let us in on the ground floor, Mr. Rong
tells me. Here, now, fire up; take this big chair and tell me all about
your new town."
Jones took a cigar cautiously from the box. When the Manager offered him
a match he lighted up gingerly, as though he expected the thing to blow
up.
"Now, Mr. Jones, as I understand it, you want a side track put in at
once. The matter of depot and other buildings will wait, but I want you
to promise to let us have at least ten acres of ground. Perhaps it would
be better to transfer that to us at once. I'll see" (the Manager pressed
a button). "Send the chief engineer to me, George," as the chief clerk
looked in.
All this time Jones smoked little short puffs, eyeing the Manager and
his own cigar. When the chief engineer came in he was introduced to Mr.
Jones, the man who was going to give Kansas the highest boom she had
ever had.
While Jones stood in open-mouthed amazement, the Manager instructed the
engineer to go to Garden City when it would suit Mr. Jones, lay out a
siding that would hold fifty loads, and complete the job at the earliest
possible moment.
"By the way, Mr. Jones, have you got transportation over our line?"
Mr. Jones managed to gasp the one word, "No."
"Buz-z-zz," went the bell. "George, make out an annual for Mr.
Jones,--Comp. G.M."
Jones steadied himself by resting an elbow on the top of the Manager's
desk. The chief engineer was writing in a little note-book.
"Now, Mr. Jones--ah, your cigar's out!--how much is this ten acres to
cost us?--a thousand dollars, I believe you told Mr. Rong."
"Yes, I did tell him that; but if this is straight and no jolly, it
ain't goin' to cost you a cent."
"Well, that's a _great_ deal better than most towns treat us," said the
Manager. "Now, Mr. Jones, you will have to excuse me; I have some
business with the President. Don't fail to look in on me when you come
to town; and rest assured that the Santa Fé will leave nothing undone
that might help your enterprise."
With a hearty handshake the Manager, usually a little frigid and remote,
passed out, leaving Mr. Jones to the tender mercies of the chief
engineer.
Up to this point there is nothing unusual in this story. The remarkable
part is the fact that the building of a side track in an open plain
turned out to be good business. In a year's time there was a neat
station and more sidings. The town boomed with a rapidity that amazed
even the boomers. To be sure, it had its relapses; but still, if you
look from the window as the California Limited crashes by, you will see
a pretty little town when you reach the point on the time-table called
"Garden City."
THE IRON HORSE AND THE TROLLEY
I
Two prospectors had three claims in a new camp in British Columbia, but
they had not the $7.50 to pay for having them recorded. They told their
story to Colonel Topping, author of "The Yellowstone Park," and the
Colonel advanced the necessary amount. In time the prospectors returned
$5.00 of the loan, and gave the Colonel one of the claims for the
balance, but more for his kindness to them; for they reckoned it a bully
good prospect. Because they considered it the best claim in the camp,
they called it Le Roi. Subsequently the Colonel sold this "King," that
had cost him $2.50, for $30,000.00.
The new owners of Le Roi stocked the claim; and for the following two or
three years, when a man owed a debt that he was unwilling to pay, he
paid it in Le Roi stock. If he felt like backing a doubtful horse, he
put up a handful of mining stock to punish the winner. There is in the
history of this interesting mine a story of a man swapping a lot of Le
Roi stock for a burro. The former owner of the donkey took the stock and
the man it came from into court, declaring that the paper was worthless,
and that he had been buncoed. As late as 1894, a man who ran a
restaurant offered 40,000 shares of Le Roi stock for four barrels of
Canadian whiskey; but the whiskey man would not trade that way.
In the meantime, however, men were working in the mine; and now they
began to ship ore. It was worth $27.00 a ton, and the stock became
valuable. Scattered over the Northwest were 500,000 shares that were
worth $500,000.00. Nearly all the men who had put money into the
enterprise were Yankees,--mining men from Spokane, just over the border.
These men began now to pick up all the stray shares that could be found;
and in a little while eight-tenths of the shares were held by men living
south of the line. At Northport, in Washington, they built one of the
finest smelters in the Northwest, hauled their ore over there, and
smelted it. The ore was rich in gold and copper. They put in a 300
horse-power hoisting-engine and a 40-drill air-compressor,--the largest
in Canada,--taking all the money for these improvements out of the mine.
The thing was a success, and news of it ran down to Chicago. A party of
men with money started for the new gold fields, but as they were buying
tickets three men rushed in and took tickets for Seattle. These were
mining men; and those who had bought only to British Columbia cashed in,
asked for transportation to the coast, and followed the crowd to the
Klondike.
In that way Le Roi for the moment was forgotten.
II
The Lieutenant-Governor of the Northwest Territories, who had been a
journalist and had a nose for news, heard of the new camp. All the while
men were rushing to the Klondike, for it is the nature of man to go from
home for a thing that he might secure under his own vine.
The Governor visited the new camp. A man named Ross Thompson had staked
out a town at the foot of Le Roi dump and called it Rossland. The
Governor put men to work quietly in the mine and then went back to his
plank palace at Regina, capital of the Northwest Territories,--to a
capital that looked for all the world like a Kansas frontier town that
had just ceased to be the county seat. Here for months he waited,
watching the "Imperial Limited" cross the prairie, receiving delegations
of half-breeds and an occasional report from one of the common miners in
Le Roi. If a capitalist came seeking a soft place to invest, the
Governor pointed to the West-bound Limited and whispered in the
stranger's ear. To all letters of inquiry coming from Ottawa or
England,--letters from men who wanted to be told where to dig for
gold,--he answered, "Klondike."
By and by the Governor went to Rossland again. The mine, of which he
owned not a single share of stock, was still producing. When he left
Rossland he knew all about the lower workings, the value and extent of
the ore body.
By this time nearly all the Le Roi shares were held by Spokane people.
The Governor, having arranged with a wealthy English syndicate, was in
a position to buy the mine; but the owners did not seem anxious to sell.
Eventually, however, when he was able to offer them an average of $7.50
for shares that had cost the holders but from ten to sixty cents a
share, about half of them were willing to sell; the balance were not.
Now the Governor cared nothing for this "balance" so long as he could
secure a majority,--a controlling interest in the mine,--for the English
would have it in no other way. A few thousand scattering shares he had
already picked up, and now, from the faction who were willing to sell,
he secured an option on 242,000 shares, which, together with the odd
shares already secured, would put his friends in control of the
property.
As news of the proposed sale got out, the gorge that was yawning between
the two factions grew wider.
Finally, when the day arrived for the transfer to be made, the faction
opposed to the sale prepared to make trouble for those who were selling,
to prevent the moving of the seal of the company to Canada--in short, to
stop the sale. They did not go with guns to the secretary and keeper of
the seal and say, "Bide where ye be"; but they went into court and swore
out warrants for the arrest of the secretary and those of the directors
who favored the sale, charging them with conspiracy.
It was midnight in Spokane.