The herald., 1897-08-30
WHY BILL WHITEHEAD CRIED

"a story, did we say, mates? Why,
can ne'er tell story. Had 1t been
song with a rollicking oath or two,
might "a managed, as
up, up, jolly boys.
Down, down with the BOWL"
"a story, a story-no song, no song.
"Well, since 1 must, l must. Have Y,
ever heard me tell of the time Bill White
head CRIED"
"Bill Whitehead cry; that's too good!'
Well hear how Bill Whitehead cried
well, boys, do ye remember that lone
run over the desert where there's not &
stop after the morning eating house til
late in the day, except the one just rouni
the turn called Balls Junction, where
we're to stop when wood and waters
out? All, ye do? Well, you know how
we used to go buzzing round that turn
when there was no need to stop. No one
lived in that dismal place that could pos
sibly live anywhere else. Cats and dogs
even boarded the train when it stopped
long enough, so eager was every living
thing to get away; and no wonder, just
an interminable stretch of sand and the
bright steeirails running almost at right
angles as they left the station in either
direction. There were the Calico noun
tains in the distance; but nearer cactus
and sagebrush alone diversified the
scene. One time in the year the desert
was beautiful, just after the rains
then
L say, Tom, are you talking to a
crowd of tenderfeet? Just go on and
expatiate upon the beauties of nature;
we are in no hurry to hear why Bill
Whitehead cried. l presume he wept
over the beautiful flowers soon to wither
for the lack of rain
"Oh you hush up, let Tom take his own
time; if he wants to grow eloquent over
the Mojave desert, pray let him."
We'll, boys, if am to tell the story
must have the floor. AS 1 was saying,
the road agent, as we called him, lived
at Balls Junction The last run we had,
when we stopped there he was alone, and
a mighty lovely place it was, too. Well
1 was on the engine with Bill, our runs
had been together for nigh a month, and
a crosser, surlier man than Bill never
worked with. He would snap when he
really wanted to speak pleasantly.
Seemed as though he was made cross
grained
"One evening just as the shadows were
beginning to lie cool on the distant
mountains, just as there comes that soft
hush over the world before the sun goes
down, we came tearing round the turn
at Balls Junction. What should we see
on the track before us? Guess, boys"
"A dog, family of cats, the road agent
dead?"
mo, baby. little, fair-haired baby.
not more than a year old. I shall never
forget that sight. Bill and saw the lit
tie kid just at the same moment. It's
little head rested on one hand, the little
BODY was f1attened out on the ground
right between the rails and the slight
breeze was blowing it's yellow curls."
Bill sprang to reverse the brakes and
started to do the same thing, but he
was too quick for me. Then a thought
came into my mind-you know how
quickly one thinks in time of danger. If
ore thinks at all; sometimes 1 think it
is just blind instinct upon which we act.
well, L had heard of men stepping out
on the cowcatcher and picking up some
thing from the track. Why, only the
week before some of us fellows had tried
it in the yard as the engines were switch
ing and running in and out I knew no
brakes on eartH could reverse the engine
before we would be upon that baby. so
L stepped out on the cow-catcher as
quickly as I could, but OILY in time to
touch one little bare foot as we passed
over.
Bill darted look at me as though he
would "a killed me; I really believe he
shook his fist at me. The great engine
went shuddering on and stopped the
trains length from where the baby Law.
Bill and l started back as soon as she
came to standstill, and 1 could hardly
believe my eyes, there that blessed baby
lay just as when we first saw it.; not a
motion had it made; the cheek rested on
the little hand, the wind blew the yellow
curls, the little bare foot 1 had touched
lay soft and pink from beneath the
crumpled frock. Bill was ahead this
time, too; he ran and took up the baby,
saying THANK God I'm not a MUIR
derer," as he staggered back to the bank
and sat down with face as white as
sheet. Think of it. boys, Bill Whitehead
with white face.
''The baby opened the very prettiest
flowers which it still held, put up its
fat little hand and stroked Bills grimy
face, and then, boys would you believe
it? Bill fairly cried; great tears rolled
down his cheeks, and there he sat hold
ing that baby while it coced and stroked
his beard, when Tom Wharton. he was the
road agent then, came out to see why
the train stopped when he had made no
signal; and then woman rushed out,
the baby's mother. She had come down
on the night train some days before
Such a to-do as was made over the
blessed baby by that mother, who should
have had it in her arms all the time.
1--WE were wondering why the noise of
the train did not waken the little one.
Why, the baby is stone deaf, said the
girlish-looking mother.
Madame said Bill, taking off his
hat in his grandest manner, you know he
could be grand upon occasion. Madame,
another time God may not take care Of
your baby for YOU"
ABBY STUART MARSH.