The Havre herald. [volume] (Havre, Mont.) 1904-1908, 1906-03-16


fire at Bear Dance that had been go
ing over the wires for two hours, re-
minded him of the slow order for the
No. 8 culvert and as the rude visitor
slammed the door behind him held his
hand over the lamp. Then he sat down
again and turned over his letter Of res
ignation.
TO make it binding it lacked only his
signature - James Gillespie Blaine
Lyons-now himself of the opinion of
every one else ON the West End that he
was just natural born blooming fool.
He lifted his pen to sign off the as
pirations of a young lifetime when the
sounder began to snap and sputter his
call. 1t was the dispatcher, and he
| asked hurriedly if No. 80 was there.
/, 'No. 80 is on the Y" answered Bull
| head.
Then came a train order. Hold No.
30 till No. / arrives
Bullhead repeated the order and got
back the o. X. He grabbed his hat
and hurried out of the door to deliver
| the new order to the local freight be-
fore it should pull out.
| To reach the train Bullhead had to
| cross the short line tracks. The wind
was securing the flats, and as he tack
ed up the platform the dust swept dead
/ into him. At the switch he sprang
across the rails, thinking of nothing but
reaching the engine cab of the local,
forgetting about the track he was cross
ing. Before he could think or see CT
jump a through freight on the short
line, wild, from the west, storming
down the grade behind him, struck
Bullhead as a grizzly would gnat,
hurled him, doubling, fifty feet out on
the spur and stormed on into the east
without culver out Of the ordinary.
One fatality followed another. The en-
gineer Of the short line train did not
see the man he had hit, and with the
nightman lying unconscious in the ditch
the local freight pulled out for Sackley.
Bullhead never knew just how long
he lay under the stars. When his head
began to whirI the wind was blowing
cool and strong on him and the alkali
dust was eddying into his open mouth.
1t was only matter of seconds, though
it seemed hours, to pull himself togeth-
er and to put UP his hand unsteadily
to feel what it was soaking warm and
sticky into his hair; then to realize that
he had been struck by a short line train
to think of what failure he had lately
acknowledged himself to be and of
what it was he was clutching SO tightly
In his right hand-the holding order for
No. 80 He raised his Keeling head
There was drift Of starlight through
the dust cloud, but no train in sight;
No 30 was gone With that conscious
ness came d recollection--he had forgot
ten to put out his red light.
His red light wasn't out. He kept
repeating that to himself to put the
picture Of what it meant before him.
He had started to deliver an order
without putting out his light, and No.
80 was gone-against No. l, a head
end collision staring the freight and
the belated passenger in the face. No.
80, running hard on her order to make
Sackley for the meeting, and No. 1
running furiously, as she always ran
tonight worse than ever.
He lifted his head, enraged with
himself, enraged. He thought about
the rules and he grew enraged. Only
himself he blamed, nobody else-study
ing the rules for a lifetime, and just
when it would mean the death of a
trainload Of people forgetting his red
signal. He lifted his head; it was SICK
deadly sick, but up it must come, No.
80 gone, and it wabbled, swooning sick
hn
tried to locate himself. One thing he
could see, the faint outline Of the sta
ton and his lamp blazing smoky in the
window. Bullhead figured a second;
then he began to crawl. If he could
reach the lamp before his head went
off again. before he went completely
silly, he might yet save himself and
, No. !.
1t wasn't in him to crawl till he
thought of his own mistake, but there
was spur in the sweep of that
through his head. His brain, he knew,
was wabbling but he could crawl, and
he stuck, fainting. to that one idea and
crawled for the light of his lamp.
1t is bare hundred feet across to
the Y. Bullhead tapped every foot Of
the hundred with blood. There was
no one to call on for help; he just
stuck to the crawl, grinding his teeth
in bitter self reproach. They traced
him, next morning when he was past
the telling of it, and his struggle look
. ed the track Of a wounded bear. Drag
ing along one crushed leg and half
crazed by the crack on his forehead,
Bullhead climbed to the platform,
across and dragged himself to the
door. He can tell yet about rolling his
broken leg under him and raising him
self to grasp the thumb latch. Not I'M
, til he tried to open 1t did he remember
it was spring lock and that he was
. outside. He felt In bis pocket for his
keys-but his keys We're gone.
There were no rules to consult then.