The Indianapolis journal. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1867-1904, 1903-09-20

But Walter Doubleday. angry as he was.
couldn't strike Fred. He caught up both
the boys hands and pushed him, struggling
madly, back against the wall to slap his
face, when froth of blood stained Fred's
lips and he fell fainting; just at that min
ute Blackburn stepped into the room.
1t wasn't the kind of time-they weren't
the kind Of men-tO ask or volunteer ex-
plantations. Blackburn was on Doubleday
in a wink, and before Walter could right
himself the night dispatcher had thrown
him headlong across the room. As the
operators rushed in. Blackburn and the tall
master mechanic sprang at each other in
a silent fury. No man dare say where it
might have ended had not Fred Norman
staggered between them with his hands up
but the blood was gushing from his mouth.
1t was a pretty serious business. They
caught him as he fell, and the boy lay on
Blackburns arm limp as a dead wire: no
body thought after they saw that hem
orrhage that he would live to have another.
was scared sick, and 1 never saw a man
so cut up as Doubleday. Blackburn was
cool in a second. for he saw quicker than
others and he knew there was danger of
his tracks. Blackburn stood over him.
much at home facing death as he was in
a fight or in a dispatcher's chair He APP
| peared to know just how to handle the
| boy to check the gush. and to know just
where the salt was and how to feed it, and
he had Doubleday teIephoning for DR.. Car
hart and me running to saloon after
| chopped ice in a jiffy. When anybody was
knocked out, Blackburn was as regular a
nurse as ever you saw; every switchman,
when they got pinched kind of looked to
| Blackburn.
That day the minute he got Fred into
Carhart's hands there was Fred's trick to
| take care of, and nobody, of course, but
| Blackburn to do it. He sat in and picked
| up the threads and held them till noon;
| then Maxwell relieved him. Doubleday was
waiting outside when Blackburn left the
! chair. saw him put out his hand to the
| night dispatcher. They spoke a minute
and went out and Up Third street toward
| Fred Normans room. 1t was a gloomy
day around the depot. Everybody was
| talking about the trouble and the way it
had begun and the way it had ended. They
| talked in undertones, little groups in cor
| ners and in rooms with the doors shut
| There wasn't much Of that in our day there,
| and it was depressing. 1 went home early
| to bed, for 1 was nights. But the wind
sung so, even in the afternoon, that
couldn't quiet down to sleep.
| II
| We were handling trains then on the old
| single-order system. I mention this because
in no other way could this particular thing
have happened: but there's no especial
point i'm that since other particular things
| do happen all the time, single order, double
| order, no order system.
| The wind had dropped and there was just
| a drizzle Of rain falling through the noun
| tains when i got down to the depot at z
o'clock that Sunday evening. 1 don't know
how much sleep Blackburn had had during
the day, but he had been at Fred Norman's
bed most of the afternoon with Doubleday
and Carhart, so he couldn't have had much.
About half past Maxwell sent me over
| there with a note and his storm coat for
| him, and the three men were in the room
| then. Boy-like, hung around until it was
| time for Blackburn to take his trick, and
then he and Doubleday and walked over
to the Wickiup together.
At shutdown everything was shipshape.
| There hadn't been an engine failure in
| the district for twenty-four hours and
| every hand-car was running smoothly.
Moreover. there We're no extra sections
marked up and only one special on the
| division card-a theatrical train east
| bound with Henry Irving and company
| from Frisco to Chicago. The Irving special
was heavy, as it always is; that night
| there were five baggage cars, coach and
| two sleepers. 1 am particular to lay all
| this out just as the night opened when
| Blackburn took his train sheet, because
sometimes these things happen under ex-
| traordinary pressure on the line and some
| times they don't; sometimes they happen
| under pressure the dispatcher himself.
/ 1t was all fixed, too, for Blackburn to
| handle not only his own trick but the first
| two hours of Fred's trick, which would
carry till o'clock in the morning. AT 6
| Maxwell was to double into four-hour
| dog watch, and Callahan was to sit in till
noon.
| There was nothing to hold the big fell
| lows around the depot that night, and they
| began struggling home through the rain
| about o'clock. Before TO- Bucks and CAL
| lahan had left the office; by IL Neighbor
had got away from the round-house;
| Doubleday had gone back to sit with Fred
| Norman.
| The lights in the yard were low and
| the drizzle had ceased into mist; it was
| a nasty night, and yet one never prom
| Used better for quiet. Before midnight
| the switchmen were snug in the yard
shanties; in the Wickiup there were the
| night ticket agent downstairs and the
| night baggagemen. Upstairs every door
was locked and every room was dark ex-
cept the dispatcher's Office. In that Black
| burn sat at his key; near by, but closer to
the stove, sat the night caller for the train
| crews. trying to starch his hair with a
| ten-cent novel.
The westbound Overland passenger
| Number /, was due to leave Ames at 12:40
a. m, and ordinarily would have met a
| special like the Irving at Rosebud, which
is good bit west Of the river. But Num-
/ Der is engine had been steaming badly all
the way from McCloud, and on her sched-
| ule, which was crazy fast all night, she
did not make Ames till some fifty minutes
| late. While there were no special orders.
| it understood were to help the
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