THE FLOOD
WHEN the White Mail came out of the east, carrying signals for the sun
on the following morning, the driver looked down on a pair of very
dirty faces at the end of West Creek bridge. The white flag fluttered
in the morning breeze, and little Jack’s arm shook like an aspen branch
as the big engine struck the bridge and thundered by. Tommy, who feared
nothing, day or night, stood near him, pushing him encouragingly as he
shrank from the flying train. When they had walked across the bridge
and back, to see that no sparks had fallen from the quivering ash-pan,
they returned to the pump. The old mule had been harnessed before it
was light, from the new platform that Tommy had designed and the boss
carpenter had built. He had stopped short and fallen dead asleep the
moment the boys left him to flag the fast mail. He was now rudely
awakened by Tommy, who hit him a sharp cut with the long whip, as he
climbed to his place on the platform.
In a little while the sun came up over the tree-tops and touched the
water tank. Little Mary Connor came down the track, bringing breakfast
for the boys, and they were glad to see her. When she had fixed the
plates and poured the hot, black coffee into the bright tin cups, she
allowed Tommy to lift her onto the platform, where she encouraged the
mule while the boys had breakfast.
“Say, Jack, old man; this is great,” said Tommy, taking a long pull
at the bracing beverage. Jack gave his companion a furtive glance,
but deigned no reply--not even a smile. “Jimminy-crismus, why don’
yo’ eat?” shouted Tommy. Jack was staring at his sister, who looked
so weird and ghost-like in her black frock, with eyes that seemed too
large for her, and her white face hiding in a heap of hair.
The boys were much refreshed by the hot breakfast, and when Tommy
helped little Mary from the platform he was in a humor to tease her. He
even went so far as to pull her ear gently and to pinch her cheeks,--to
put life in ’em, as he expressed it. Mary smiled and colored slightly:
the first faint flush of little girlhood. She liked Tommy, and he
liked her. Rough and boisterous with boys, he was always gentle and
thoughtful with the little girls, and Mary, to his mind, was the belle
of Lick Skillet.
When Tommy had helped Mary over the bridge, dropped the spaniel
into the water for his morning bath, and shied a few stones at the
kingfisher on the top of a telegraph pole, he pushed Jack from the
platform, ordered him to bed, and began to tickle the mule with the
long lash. Little Jack declared that he was not sleepy. “I’m boss o’
th’ day shif’, Mr. Jack,” said Tommy, “an’ my talk goes,--you’re th’
night hawk,--sabe?”
Jack went reluctantly to the bed that had been fixed for the other
boy, but had not been used, and Tommy continued to larrup the mule and
watch the marker crawl down the figure-board as the water crept toward
the top of the tank. At the end of an hour little Jack came from the
shanty, declaring that he was not sleepy.
“Well,” says Tommy, “if yo’ won’t sleep, yo’ kin work,” and he gave
Jack the whip. “This ole giraft aint had no breakfast, an’ I guess
he’ll want some time th’ tank’s full.”
A half hour later Tommy returned with a big feed of oats in a bag. When
he reached the west end of the bridge he stopped, put down the bag, and
made the woods ring with his boyish laughter.
The old mule was lying peacefully in the endless path, while little
Jack, curled up like a bird dog on the platform, was sound asleep.
Tommy took off his coat, fixed it under Jack’s head for a pillow, and
then cautiously wakened the mule. He dared not use the lash now, but,
following close behind the mule, prodded him persistently with the
whip-handle. Round and round they went, the marker crawled down, the
water up, and little Jack snored like a saw-mill.
By twelve o’clock the big tank was full of water, and the old mule was
having his breakfast and dinner all at one feed.
* * * * *
“I give yo’ fair warnin’, Mr. Jack Connor,” said Tommy, swimming on
his back, “if yo’ don’ skin off yer duds an’ git in here I’ll come up
there an’ trow yo’ off d’ bridge, duds an’ all.”
“I don’ feel like ut, Tommy,” said Jack, “t’ mar’ I’ll go in, maby.”
Tommy and the dog took a few dives from the bridge, when Jack, who had
been standing guard, shouted to his companion to “hustle on his duds”
for Mary was coming down the track with the dinner.
Tommy, properly attired, was waiting at the narrow foot-bridge that
lay across the ditch from the grade to the little shanty. He took the
basket and the jug of buttermilk, and Mary, young as she was, felt and
appreciated these little attentions from the young gallant. She spread
a newspaper on the little pine table and put down the plates.
“Watcher doin’ uv three plates, Mary?” asked Jack.
“Mamma said I could hev dinner wif you’uns,” said Mary, shyly.
“’S matter uv yo’, Jack Connor? Think girls never gits hungry?”
demanded Tommy, tumbling over his companion and rolling him in the high
grass.
There was no fried chicken, no green peas, no radishes, nor corn, nor
bread and butter; there was nothing--not even chicken bones--when the
banquet was over, for the dog had eaten the bones.
Mary picked up the dishes and the empty jug, and when Tommy had climbed
up in the old sugar tree to see if the young birds were out, she swept
the little shanty and gathered a bouquet of wild flowers and placed
them in a tomato can on the little table.
When Tommy had helped her over the bridge the boys put the mule out to
grass. They tied his long reata to the rope that hung from the water
tank--the rope the fireman pulls when the engine stops for water--and
then sat under the tank, playing mumblety-peg, while the mule regaled
himself on the luxurious grass. Jack soon grew tired of the sport,
put his head on the oat-bag and fell asleep. In a little while Tommy
followed him, for they were exceedingly comfortable and content with
the big tank full of water and their own little tanks full of wholesome
food and buttermilk. They had scarcely begun to dream, however,
when an extra west came creeping up over the ridge. The engineer was
fanning them down the long slope in order to be able to lift them
over the hill at Hagler’s tank, when he observed the old pump mule
slowly crossing the track beyond the bridge. He sounded the whistle
and the mule stopped, with his hind legs not far from the outer rail.
The whistle screamed frantically, and the brakeman climbed out of the
caboose to the top of the cars to be near the brakes in case of danger.
The boys slept peacefully under the tank. The mule raised his head
and looked at the locomotive. He had a placid contempt for screaming
locomotives, whose very breath of life was drawn from tanks which he,
and his kind, were forced to fill. The travel-worn engine had ceased
its screaming and was now driving madly, and with malice aforethought,
toward the mule. At the last moment--not from fear of the machine, but
because he hated it--the mule moved a space away. This move on the
part of the mule tightened the rope slightly, so that the pilot of
the engine picked it up and stretched it across the front end of the
flying locomotive. A moment later the mule, at one end of the rope,
received a jerk that turned him over, and the tank valve, at the other
end of the rope, was pulled wide open. A great stream of water, as
big around as one of the boys, now shot down against the side of the
passing train, and, rebounding, spread out under the tank. The boys,
thus suddenly awakened by the cold flood, which, before they could
get to their feet, began to roll them over and almost smothered them,
thought they must be in the midst of a cloud-burst. The roar of the
train was so deafening they could not call to each other. If they stood
up, the weight of the falling water knocked them down again. When the
train had gone by the noise grew less terrific and Tommy fought his
way to the open air. A glance at the surroundings showed him what had
happened, and he hastily dragged little Jack, drenched, half drowned,
and thoroughly frightened, from under the tank. One end of the broken
rope had wrapped around the water-spout and held the valve open. Tommy
climbed upon the tank-ladder, extricated the rope, and that closed the
valve.
The old mule, which had caused all the trouble, was hitched up again
and started ’round on his endless journey to put up the few hundreds of
barrels of water that had been wasted.
Tommy and Jack stretched themselves on the platform to encourage the
mule and dry their clothes.