The Salt Lake herald. [volume] (Salt Lake City [Utah]) 1870-1909, 1902-12-28

Jimmie Bradshaw had never lifted a
pick in as swell cab. The hind end
OF the 1012 was big as q private car:
Jimmie had never seen so much play
for a shovel in his life, and he knew
the trick CT the business better than
most men even in west end cabs. and
as Oliver let the engine out very. very
fast, Jimmie Bradshaw sprinkled the
crate bars craftily and blinked at the
shlvering pointer, as much as to say,
Its you and me now for the Yellow
Mail. and nobody else on EARTH
There was a long reach OF smooth
track in front of the foothills It was
there the big start had TO be made.
and in two minutes the bark of the big
machine had deepene6 TO chest tone
full as thunder It was all fun for an
nour, for two hours. 1t was that Ions
before the ambitious fireman realized
what the new speed meant; the sicken-
ing slew, the lureh on lurch so fast the
engine never righted, the shortened
breath along the tangent. the gfddy roll
70 the elevation and the sudden shock
or the curve. the roar Of the fight on
the ear, and, above and over il all, the
booming purr of the maddened steel.
The canoe in the heart Of the rapid,
the bridge Of a liner at sea. the gun in
the heat OF the fight. take something
OF thistle cab Of the mail takes it
ALL
When they struck the foothills Sol
lers and Jimmie Bradshaw looked at
their watches and looked at each other
IKE men who had turned their backs
on every mountain record There was
stop for water, an oil around. an
anxious touch on the journals. then
the Yellow Mail drew reeiing into the
hills. The train wrfthed franticaIfy as
it cut the segments, and the men
thought, in spite of themselves, of the
mountain curves ahead. The worst of
the run lay ahead of the pilot, because
the art in mountain running is not
alone or so much in getting up hill; it
Is in getting down hill.
Before they knew IL they were
through the gateway, out into the des-
ert country, up along the crested buttes
and then, sudden as eternity, the
Wheel-baSe of the 1912 struck a tight
curve, a pent-doWn rail sprang out
like a knitting needle, and the Yellow
Mail shot staggering off track into a
gray bOrrow-pit.
There was a crunching of truck and
frame, crashing splinter Of vanished
cars, a scream from the wounded en-
CINE, a cloud Of gray ash in the burn
ing sun, and ruin of human effort in
the ditch In the twinkle of an eye
the mail train lay spilled on the aIkaE
1t was hardly more than a minute;
then like ants out OF a .trampled hill
men began crawling from the yellow
wreck There was mOre-there was
groaning and worse. yet little for so
frightful a shock. And first on his
feet, with no more than scratches. and
quickest back under the cab after his
engineer, was Jimmie Bradshaw, the
fireman
Sellers, barely conscious, lay wedged
between the tank and the -footboard.
Jimmie, all by himself, eased him away
from the boiler. The conductor stood
with broken arm, directing his brake
man how TO chop a crew out of the
head of the mail car. and the hind
crews were getting out unaided. There
Was Il quick calling back and forth,
and the cry, Nobody killed." But the
engineer and the conductor We're put
out of action. There was, in fact. only
one west end man unhurt-Jimmie
Bradshaw.
The first wreck of the fast mail took
place just east of CrOckett's siding. A
WestbOund freight lay at that moment
on the passing track waiting for the
mail Before the freight crew had
reached the wreck Jimmie was hustlius
ahead to tell them what he wanted.
The freight conductor demurred; and
when they discussed it with the freight
engineer, Kingsley. he objected. My