The Portland daily press., 1895-06-17
THE DEATH run.
By CY WARMAN.

Along in the early eighties, when the
Denver and Rio Grande was narrow
gauge road and the main line lay across
the great divide at Marshall pass, there
was a wreck in the Black canyon, and
of that wreck / write.
So rough and impenetrable was this
canyon that the men sent out to blaze
the trail were unable to get through.
Engineers, with their instruments, were
let down from the top Of the canyon
wall, hundreds of feet, by long ropes,
and to this day, il you look up when the
train goes round 'tDead Man, 8 Curve, !"
you will see frayed out rope whipping
the gray rocks 500 feet above the river
and the rail.
By the breaking of this rope human
life was lost, the first of many lives that
have been lost in this wild canyon. In
the rush and hurry to complete the road
little attention was given to sloping the
cuts or making it safe for the men who
ride ahead. So when the spring came
and the snow began to melt on the
mountains and moisten the earth great
pieces of scenery" would loose their
hold upon the steep hill and sweep down
the side Of the canyon, carrying rails,
roadbed-in fact, everything but the
right of way-across the river, where
the landslide was often landed high and
dry on the opposite shore
So often was the scenery" shifted
during the first 12 months that the
night run through the Black canyon, so
wildly beautiful by day, SO grand and
awful by night, came to be called the
"death run. !"
1t was Engineer Peasley's run out
that night. but his had just returned
from the stony little graveyard that had
been staked out on the banks of the Gun
nison, where they had buried his baby.
He was a delicate looking man, and
when he came into the roundhouse that
afternoon to register off he wore his soft
hat far down over his infiamed eyes, as
if he would hide from the world any
trace of that sacred gries, Kipp, his fire.
man, saw him and was sorry, for he
knew how dearly the driver had loved
the little one sc.S lost to him. Sliding
from the pilot, where he had been scour-
ing the number plate, Kipp went to the
book and registered off also.
And so it happened that when No. 2
left Gunnison at a quarter past 9 Jack
Walsh held the seat and Fireman Nc.
Connell handled the scoop. The sharp
exhausts from the straight stack sent up
solid stream of fire as they hurried out
through the yards
The brisk bark of the bounding en-
gine dwindled down to faint pant and
was drowned in the roar of the wheels
as the long train hurried away down
the valley and was swallowed up in the
Black canyon. The run was regard;s:2
as a difficult one. but the extra crew
were equal to it, and at every station up
to half past II tha operator wired the
dispatcher the dispatcher the train mas
ter, and he the superintendent, "No +
on time.
Although he had nc regular run, Nc
Connell was really an old fireman. He
had but recently returncS to the road
after years absence AT the earnes:
solicitation of his good mother he had
left the rail to return to his fathers
farm near Salina. Kan. He was a good
and dutiful SOL, and he loved his moth.
er as ouly such son can love, but be
could not help the longing within him
to return to the road. That summer the
Missouri Pacific opened a new lire
right through his fathers farm, and
every day he heard the snort Of the iron
horse, saw the trains go up and down
the track, saw the enginemen throwing
kisses to the girls on the farm, and he
wanted to return to the Rockies. More
than once every day he looked away to
the west, where he knew the trains were
going up and down, where the snow lay
in great drifts on one side of the track
and the flowers bloomed by the other.
Who can say how the heart of the en-
gineman longs for the engine?
He loves the locomotive
As the flowers love tho lea,
As the song birds love the sunlight,
AS the sailor loves the sea.
When the harvest had been cut and
the golden grain garnered, the restless
youth bade his parents adieu and set
his face toward the sunset. He had been
a faithful fircnssa and found no trouble
in re-establishing himself in the service
of the "Scenic" line.
The ''death run" was long one-135
miles over mountains and through can
yons. They had crossed Cero summit
and were now roaring along the canyon
by the banks of the beautiful river.
The night grew warmer as they drift
ed down toward the valley of the
Grande The engineer sat silently in his
place, trying the water, whistling for
stations and watching the way. The
fireman, having little to do now,
lounged in the open window and looked
out on the ripping river where the
lay. 1t was almost midnight
when the operator at Roubideau was
awakened by the wild wall of the west
bound express. AS the long train ratified
over the bridge beyond the little station
the operator reached for the key and
made the wire say, "No. on time,
Beyond the bridge there was bit Of