FIRST NIGHT ON THE RANGE
Away up among the Rockies, with towering, pine-fringed, snow-sprinkled
crests looming dimly about them in the moonlight, two young men stood
waiting by a switch-target of the Transcontinental. Facing westward,
they could see the huge bulk of the mountain range rolling up between
them and the starry sky-line, black and forbidding in the middle
distance, yet fading away northward and southward into faint and tender
outlines--soft grays and violets--and with the earliest signals in the
East of the speedy coming of the long summer's day. Facing eastward,
there confronted them close at hand the huge black bulk of the mammoth
Mogul engine, its dazzling head-light shining afar up the westward
right of way, and throwing into heavier shade, by force of contrast,
every object outside its beams. In the solemn stillness of nature in
those high levels, almost the only sound was the soft hiss of escaping
steam from the cylinder-cocks or an occasional rumble from the boiler.
Even murmured words seemed audible and intelligible sixty feet away,
and twice big Ben Tillson, the engineer of 705, had pricked up his ears
as he circled about his giant steed, oiling the grimy joints, elbows,
and bearings, and pondering in his heavy, methodical way over certain
parting instructions that had come to him from the lips of the division
superintendent. "A young feller learning firing" would board him at
Chimney Switch, forty miles out from the Springs, and the Boss desired
Ben Tillson to understand that "The Road" had its reasons, and the
"young feller" was to be spared the customary quizzing. Furthermore,
Ben Tillson was to understand that nothing was to be said about it. If
anybody at Argenta or among the mines had any questions to ask, Ben was
to know next to nothing.
But what set Ben's wits to work was the odd behavior of his fireman,
Jim Toomey. Toomey was a silent sort of chap as a rule, and surely,
too, with a grudge against the gang over in Hatch's Cove and up the
Run. Toomey had taken to firing because he had got cleaned out at the
mines. Toomey ordinarily wasn't over-civil to anybody. Toomey, too, had
been favored with a word from Mr. Anthony, and never had Big Ben seen
his fireman more cheery over his work than he was that night as they
panted and strained up the foot-hills to Chimney Switch. Ben could have
sworn Toomey was "excited like" when they side-tracked there for a
way-train, and never in the course of Big Ben's experience had he seen
an old fireman greet a would-be as Toomey welcomed the tall "young
feller" in the dirty cap, shirt, and overalls who there clambered into
the cab. Twice, Ben could have further sworn, he had heard Toomey say
"sir," a word Toomey used to no one less than the division
superintendent.
Somewhat grudgingly and suspiciously, therefore, had Ben nodded
greeting and looked the "young feller" over. He did not extend his
hand. The new-comer had on a pair of oiled-buck gauntlets, "soldier
gauntlets," such as the cavalry used to have at Reynolds, that "all the
boys in the cabs are stuck on." Even at the hardest kind of shovelling
they outlived every other kind a dozen weeks, and the fireman was a
lucky malefactor who could induce a soldier to part with his.
And though the "young feller's" cap and clothing were strictly and
unimpeachably professional and grimy, it was the face no less than the
gloves and boots that told Ben Tillson this was no needy seeker after a
job. The boots were new and fine, laced daintily up the front, and
showed their style even through the lack of polish and the coating of
dust and ashes. The gauntlets also, though worn and old, were innocent
of grease. This was no cub fireman, said Ben, resentfully, as he
revolved in mind a scheme or two that should take the stuffing of
conceit out of him, when suddenly he paused. "Why, certainly," Ben had
it, just another case such as he had been reading about, how the sons
of successful railway magnates, discarding wealth and luxuries, had
determined to learn the business from the bottom up and fit themselves
for future eminence in railway circles. The "young feller" must be a
Gould or a Vanderbilt, a Ledyard, a Huntington, a son of somebody at
the financial head of things. While sacrificing none of his steady
self-reliance or self-respect, Ben Tillson decided to treat his new
fireman, assistant to the old, with all due civility. He would cringe
or kowtow to no one, but, like the sturdy citizen he was, Ben deemed it
wise to keep on the good side of the powers. It was necessary, however,
that the new-comer should understand who was boss on that engine, and
even as they stood waiting at the Chimney Ben had taken occasion to
say, "I see you're not stuck on shovelling, young man"; then with a
most knowing and suggestive wink, "I reckon you'd rather do tennis or
tiddlywinks," and was surprised at the answer.
"As matters stand, I'd rather be shovelling here than playing
tennis--anywhere."
"It's the first time you ever saw the West from a cab-window, I'm
betting," said Ben. And George Graham, who had seen more of the West
than Ben could ever hope to see, and who knew the Silver Run country
before ever the railway reached the foot-hills, had the wisdom to
answer, "You'd win."
And now at Buffalo Butte 705 was side-tracked, awaiting the coming of
passenger No. 4, east bound, and then--then there would be a clear run
to and through Argenta. Then would come the familiar scenes about old
Fort Reynolds; then the wild and picturesque beauty of Squaw Cañon and
Hatch's Cove, and then George Graham would be able to judge by surface
indications how far his disguise had really disguised him. Toomey had
already told him where Nolan and Feeny could be found. Toomey was to
send word or a letter to both of them, and then it would be time to
decide on the next move.
For now the scheme was to reach the heart of what might be called the
enemy's country, and to get there unsuspected, unobserved, and thus far
all was working well.
It was the second morning after his reaching Denver. Mr. Anthony had
put him through to the Springs, and then to Chimney Switch, where he
was to wait for 705 and Toomey. And even now as they stood there, he
and Toomey, exchanging at intervals some low-toned words at the switch,
the eastward skies were slowly taking on their early morning garb of
pink and violet, the eastward fronts of the snow-sifted peaks and domes
far to the north and south were lighting up with wondrous hues of gold
and crimson; the stars aloft were paling and the moon was sinking low,
and still big 705 stood hissing and grumbling placidly on the long
siding, and the green lights back at the caboose blinked sleepily
against the dawn. Two glimmering threads of light in rigid right lines,
converging far beyond the rear of the train, stretched eastward from
their feet until lost in the shadows of Buffalo Butte, and not yet had
Toomey's accustomed ear been able to detect the faint, whirring, song
of the rails that tells of the coming of far-distant, thundering
wheels. "She's late again," said Toomey, uneasily. "We should have
heard her whistling for Spearman's Ranch five minutes ago, and I wanted
to pull you out of Argenta before seven o'clock."
"You still think I'm not grimy enough," said Geordie, with a grin. "I
can lay on a coat of coal-dust--"
"'Tisn't that," came the murmured answer, with a shake of the head.
"It's the back and shoulders, sir. You couldn't turn yourself
hindside-foremost, could you, and get your chest between your
shoulder-blades?"
"I can cultivate a stoop," said Geordie, with a forward hunch of the
shoulders. "But there you go with that 'sir' again. We're in uniform,
but not that of the cavalry. You'll betray me yet, Toomey, if you're
not careful. Now, about the stoop--"
"It might do, s--, if you could keep it, but from the time you came to
Reynolds you were the straightest boy in the garrison, and now, with
four years at West Point, you've got a back on you flat as a board.
That's what's going to queer us in passing you off for a kid fireman.
It was hard enough going through before it was fairly light. Now,
unless No. 4 gets in in five minutes, the sun will be lighting the
length of the shed at Argenta, and we've got cars to cut out there,
too. Confound No. 4!"
And then a certain superfluous lantern, bleary with a night of service,
came dawdling up the side of the train, and the conductor hove in
sight, watch in hand. "Four left Argenta on time," said he to the
engineer. "What the mischief keeps her? She ought to have gone by five
minutes ago. Who's yonder with Toomey?"
"Friend of his; young feller from Chimney, learning firing. Old man's
orders," he added, at sight of rebuke in the conductor's eyes. "Told me
himself to take him along and give him a show."
The conductor set his lantern down near the fore truck of the tender.
He did not half like it that a superior should give orders to his
engineer that did not come through him. He had been a soldier in his
day and accustomed to military ways of doing things. He was already
chafing over a delay that would bring him behind time to Argenta. Now
he was nettled at this apparent slight. "When did he tell you, and
where?" was the demand. "He was at Denver the last I saw of him."
"He ran out to the Springs on No. 5; passed you at Monument, probably;
spoke to me at the round-house about ten o'clock." And having thus
summarily settled the matter, Big Ben clambered sulkily once more into
the cab.
The conductor made a grimace expressive of much disgust. Presently he
turned, left his lantern by the side of the engine, and then came
angering on to the switch. He decided to see for himself what the
stranger was like.
In the gray light of the dawn the two young men, one of them stockily,
strongly built, the other very slender and erect, were absorbed in
eager talk. Not until the conductor was within five yards of them did
Graham note his coming and signal "Hush." Abruptly came the challenge:
"'Ain't you heard her whistle yet, Toomey?" and the tone implied that
sheer neglect could be the only explanation for Toomey's failure in
case no whistle had been heard.
"Nary whistle," was the indifferent answer.
"Well, how could you expect to hear it? You were talking a blue
streak." And while the conductor's rebuke was levelled at Toomey, his
sombre eyes were on Graham.
"Doing that to keep awake," was the blunt reply. "Haven't been to bed
for thirty hours."
"That's nothing. In my day a-soldiering we didn't get to bed once a
week. That's when we was after Morgan. You regulars couldn't stand
that, I s'pose."
"In my day we didn't get to bed once a month," answered Toomey, with
equal truth. "That was when we was after Sittin' Bull. The volunteers
that started on _that_ chase petered out at Powder River."
The conductor sniffed. It had been give and take 'twixt him and Toomey
ever since the discovery that each had served in the cavalry. Beaten
thus far in the battle of chaff, the conductor tried another as he
studied Geordie with unfriendly eyes.
"Got a kid fireman here--'nother of y'r officers' dog-robbers?" he
demanded.
Toomey whirled on him in an instant, in spite of Geordie's
quick-gripping hand. "You're boss on this train, Cullin," said he,
savagely, "and you know I can't jaw back as you deserve, but if Bob
Anthony happens to be where he can hear of _that_ remark, you'll get
your time or _I'm_ a liar."
For a moment Cullin stood and glared, wrath and humiliation
commingling. Graham it was who quickly stepped forward and interposed.
"Yes, I'm playing kid fireman, Mr. Cullin," said he, quietly, "and I
was told by the division superintendent if any trouble arose to give
this to the conductor," whereat he held forth a card on the back of
which dimly appeared some written words. Over these Cullin glanced,
unappeased, until he came to the last line and signature. Then a
curious change swept slowly over his face. He looked Graham carefully,
doubtfully from head to foot, slowly thrust the card in a
waistcoat-pocket, and was turning silently away when Geordie hailed
him, a ready smile on his young face.
"I'll trouble you for the card," said he. "I may meet _other_
conductors."
Slowly Cullin fumbled for it, twiddled it between his fingers, and
finally, half reluctant, restored it. At that instant, faint, distant,
but distinct, came the sound of the whistle of the belated No. 4.
"That's for Spearman's now," thought Geordie, but so tense had been the
scene that for a moment no man spoke.
Then Toomey gave tongue.
"She'll go by here kiting," said he. "Ten miles down-grade and a
two-mile straightaway from Cimarron Bend, out yonder." Again the
whistle, and nearer. "That's for the crossing at the creek. By gad,
she's just jumping! Hang onto your hair when you see her head-light and
scramble for the cab."
Another whistle, two short blasts and a long. Nearer still, yet still
out of sight; and then presently there shot into view, over a mile
away to the west, even though the gray light of the summer's dawn now
overspread the landscape, the glare of a head-light. It was No. 4
coming full tilt.
And then--surprise! From steam-drum and 'scape-valve jetted clouds of
flat-driven steam. No. 4 had suddenly "shut off," and was now coasting
downhill like a huge toboggan.
Another blast came from the whistle. "By Jove, she's going to stop!"
said Cullin. "What on earth's the meaning of that?"
With prodigious shriek and roar of steam, with clinching, crunching
air-brakes on the glistening tires, with sparks flying from the
whirring wheels and signal-lanterns swinging at the side, No. 4 came
rushing in. As the baggage-car shot by, a little group of men stood by
the doorway about a recumbent figure, and the conductor whisked up his
lantern and started after it. When nearly opposite the caboose the big
train settled to a stop. Four pairs of strong arms lifted the prostrate
figure from one car to the other. There were brief, hurried words. A
lantern waved; the whistle sounded two quick blasts; No. 4 slowly
started, quickly gained speed, and, almost as quickly as it came, was
steaming away for Buffalo Butte, its pale lamps gleaming dimly in the
gathering light. The conductor came running forward.
"Pull out for Argenta, Ben!" he shouted. "Say, young feller, drop
shovelling and come back. I've got nobody to help me, and here No. 4's
loaded me with a half-dead man to be taken home. There's a row at the
mines. Every man is out from Silver Shield!"