The Republican. [volume] (Oakland, Md.) 1877-current, 1898-04-21
. ON CROW GRADE.
BY RAY S. BAKER.


Custer, then the terminus of the line.
The first was a construction-train with
a load of telegraph poles for the road
beyond the Little Big Horn. Behind it
ratified the dust express" otherwise
gravel train, Rankin. engineer. The
third train. which left Sheridan an
hour or more after the other two were
under way, was called an express train,
but in reality It was only the division
superintendent's explorer" with a
party of talked-out officials, an inquis-
itive stakeholder or two and a few
friends of theirs.
Rankin leaned from the cab window
of the locomotive of the gravel train
with the greasy visor of his 'dinky-
cap drawn down over his face. The
boiler-head within simmered and
stewed. and the cab was hotter than a
kitchen on baking-day.
Outside the ragged Montana buttes
burned in the sunshine. Larson, the
big fireman, was swaying steadily from
the contender to the "glory-hOle" of
the fire-boX. Larson wore red wool
en- undershirt which was open at the
breast and burned down on the back
with cinders. The sleeves were gone.
and the lumpy muscles of his arms
glistened with perspiration. His face
was black with SCOT. There was good
humored CLEAN in his blue eyes; butfor
these eyes he might have been taken
for negro.
On the run from Sheridan. Larson
shoveled ten tons of coal into the red
hot fire-boN, but at the end of the day
he was ready to heave car-wheel with
any man on the line.
All the forenoon Rankin had been
catching momentary glimpses of his
companion train toling on ahead. Us
ually it was only a vanishing blur of
yellow in a mist of dust, but it was a
dear relief from the dead monotony of
plain and mesa-bush ard burning sun
shine. About noon his train came to the
curve near the bottom of Crow grade
so called because it ran through the
land of the Crow Indians. Larson was
Gouble-fring for the long climb, and
Rankin joggled on his arm-pad and
watched for the train ahead. He eX-
pected to see the cars of telegraph
poles just mounting the summit two
miles away.
With a hitch and a culver the engine
enot around the curve. For moment
Rankin stared banlly up the track
Sometimes an engineers eyes play him
Sad pranks.
"Larson!' he shouted, his fingers
Tightening on the throttle-bar.
The fireman's shovel rang on the iron
floor, and he sprang to the cab window
Up Crow grade, "teetering" and sway
ing like ship on choppy sea, two car
loads of telegraph poles were plunging
down the track. The construction train
had burst a coupler. On the front of the
first car Jack Oliver, the brakeman.
frantcaliy waved his blue jacket and
twirled the brake-wheel to show that
1t was useless.
All this flashed instantly on Rankin's
eve. lie knew that in less than two
minutes the runaway cars would crash
into his train, but his hand was as
steady and as firm as the brass throttle
lever. He drew on the whistle cord.
i hNit was IL sing DIbluS DldSbs IL
meant down brakCs-hard." Then he
drove the throttle forward and reversed
the engine. Underneath the wheels
screeched shrill protest. and showers
of sparks few upward. The trainmen
on the cars behind were straining hard
at the brake-wheels. They did not
know the danger, but they felt the
thrill in Ranltin's signal.
Going tojump?" asked Larson, as the
the train shuddered to a stanIstill.
good engineer never deserts his
train while there is shadow of hope.
mo" answered Rankin, sharply;
swell back around the curve"
Rankin had formed his plan instant
1y. The curve which he had just made
was dangerously sharp. Once behind it
if only he could get behind it in time
the train would, perhaps, be saved;
for the runaway cars, coming at ter
rifle speed, would probably leap the
rails and go tearing down the embark
ment. 1t was a slim chance, but Rankin
took it,
Fire away there" he shouted to Lar
son.
Without word the big fireman bent
to his work. He might have jumped
some fremen would-but until he
heard the engineers order Larson was
as much part of the engine as the
piston-rod.
Seconds were precious. Yet the train
seemed to barely crawl-a baby could
have tOddled faster.
Up the track the runaway cars
doomed big and near. The jar Of their
wheels sounded above the noise of
Rankin's train. Poor Oliver was
crouching and waiting his fate. His
hair blew loose in the wind and he clung
to the broken wheel with all the des-
peration of despair.
Rankin's locomotive was on the
curve. Only few feet more and it
might be safe. The throttle was wide
open and the stack belched fire. Lar
son grasped the cab window with
tense muscles, as if to help the strug-
Cling engine.
Now the friendly embankment cut