Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1902-10-04
SODA-WATER SAL,
BY CHARLES q. SPEARMAN.
Copyright. 1900, by G. H. spearman.)
244yGN G7 Us 242$J 24 &s

throttle, his eyes straining into the night
anead, and the face of the long Irish boy,
streaked with smut and channeled with
sweat, lit every minute with the glare of
the furnace as he fed the white-hot blast
that leaped' and curled and foamed under
the crown-sheet of Soda-Water Sal.
There he stopped and sweat and swung
as she slowed and lurched and jerked
across the fish-plates. Carefully. nursingy
ceaseiessiy he pushed the steam pointer
! higher higher. higher on the dial-and that
despite the tremendous draughts of Dads
throttle.
Never a glance to the right or the left, to
the track or the engineer. From the coal to
the fire, the fire to the water, the water TO
the gauge, the gauge to the stack and
back again to the coal-that was Burns.
Neither eyes nor ears nor muscles for any
thing but steam.
Such firing as the West End never saw
till that night: such firing the old
CINE never felt in her choking flues till that
night; such a firing as Dad Sinclair. king of
an West and East End firemen. lifted his
hat to-that was Burns firing that night
on Soda-Water Sal; the night she chased
the Acton runawayS down the line to save
George Sinclair and No l.
1t was a frightful pace-how frghtful no
one ever knew; neither old man Sinclair nor
Dick Burns ever cared. Only, the crew of
freight, sidetracked for the approaching
flyer, saw an engine flying light; knew the
hunter and the quarry, for they had seen
the runaways shoot by-saw then. minute
after, a star and a streak and a trail of
| rotten smoke fly down the wind, and she
had come and passed and gone
1t was just east of that siding, so Burns
l. and Sinclair always maintained - but 1t
measured 10000 feet east-that they caught
them.
A shout from Dad brought the dripping
fireman up standing. and looking ahead he
saw in the blaze of their own headlight the
string of coalers standing still ahead of
them. So it seemed to him, their own
speed was so great. and the runaways Were
linn N yi,,O fnr
miles an hour when they dashed past the
paralyzed freight crew.
Without waiting for orders-what orders
did such a man need?-wthout a word
Burns crawed out of his window with
pin. and ran forward the footboard,
clinging the best he could. the engine
dipped and lurched climbed down on the
cowcatcher. and lifted the plot-bar to
couple. 1t was a crazy thing to attempt:
he much lkelier to get under the pilot
| than to succeed; yet he tried it.
Then it was that the fine hand of Dad
Sinclair came into play. To temper the
speed enough and Just enough: to push
her nose just enough. and far enough for
Burns to make the draw-bar of the run
away-that was the nicely of the big seam
! ed hands the throttle and on the air; the
very magic of touch which. a slender
bar of steel. could push a hundred tons of
flying metal up. and hold it steady in a
play of six inches on the teeth of the gale
that tore down behind him.
Again and again Burns tried to couple and
failed. Sinclair, straining anXiously ahead.
caught sight of me headlight of No. l
rounding OFallons bluffs.
He cried to Burns, and, incredible though
it seems, the fireman heard Above all the
internal din, the tearing of the fianges and
the roaring of the wind, Burns heard the
cry; it nerved him to a supreme effort He
slipped the eye once more into the draw
and managed to drop his pin. Up went
his hand in signal.
Choking the steam, Sinclair threw the
brake-shoes flaming against the big drivers.
The sand poured on the rails and with
Burns up on the coalers setting brakes, the
three great runaways were brought to with
a jerk that would have astounded the most
reckless scapegraces in the world.
While the plucky fireman crept along the
top of the freight cars to keep from being
blown bodily through the air, Sinclair, with
every resource that brain and nerve and
power could exert, was struggling to over
come the terrible Roadway of pursuer and
pursued, driving now frightfuIly into the
beaming head of No. I.
With the Johnson bar over and the drivers
dancing gallop backward; with the sand
striking fire and the rails burning under it:
with the old Sky-Scraper shivering again
in a terrific struggle. and Burns twisting
the heads off the brake-rods; with every
trick of old Sinclair's cunning. and his boy
duplicating every one of them IN the cab of
No. 1-still they came together. 1t was
too fearful a momentum to overcome, when
minutes mean miles and tons are reckoned
by thousands.
They came together; but instead of an
appalling wreck-destructon and death-it
only a bump. No. l had the speed
when they met; and It was car Of coal
dumped bit sudden and a nose on Geor-
gie's engine like ful-back's after a center
rush. The pilot doubled back into the
ponies and the headlight was secured with
nut, pea and slack; but the stack was hard
ly bruised.
The minute they struck George Sinclair,
making fast and leaping from his cab, ran
forward in the dark, painting with rage and
excitement. Burns, torch in hand was
himself Just jumping down to get forward.
His face wore it's usual grin. even when