The Greeley tribune., 1907-01-24

|
All the while the station agent. panic
stricken, ratified on Sinclair was look
ing at his watch, casting it up. charting
it all under his thick. gray, grizzled
wool, fast us thought could compass.
No. headed for Acton. and her pace
was hustle every mile of the way
three cars of coal bowling down on
| her, how fast he dared not think, and
through it all he was asking himself
: what day it was. Thursday? Up!
Yes, George, his boy. was on the tiier
No. /. 1t was his day up If they met
ON curve
.'Uncouple herr" roared Dad Sinclair
\ in a giant tone.
What are you going to dog
Burns" thundered Dad to his fire
man, "give her steam. and quick. boy!
Dump in grease. waste, oil, everything!
Are you clear there?" he cried, open
| ing the throttle as he looked back.
The old engine, pulling clear of her
coaches, quivered as she gathered her
self under the steam. She leaped ahead
with a swish. The drivers churned in
the sand, bit into 1t with gritting tires
and forged ahead with a suck and a
hiss and roar. Before Reynolds had
fairly gathered his wits Sinclair. leav-
ing his train on the main track in front
of the depot, was Gathering over the
switch after the runaways. The wind
was a terror. and they had too so ID
start. But the way Soda Water Sal
took the gait when she once felt her
feet under her made the wrinkled en-
gineer at her throttle set his mouth
with the grimness Of a gamester. 1t
meant the runaways-and catch them
-or the ditch for Soda Water Sal, and
the throbbing old machine seemed to
know 1t, for her nose hung to the steel
like the snout Of pointer.
He was a man Of hundred even
then-Burns-bu nobody knew 1t then.
We hadn't thought much about Burns
before. He was a tall, lank Irish boy,
with an open face and a morning
smile. Dad Sinclair took him on be-
| cause nobody else would have him.
Burns was SO green that Foley said
you couldn't set his name afire He
would, so Foley said, put out hot box
just by blinking at it.
| But every mans turn comes once,
| and 1t had come to Burns. 1t was Dick
4 Burns chance now to ahow what man
ner Of stun was bred In his long Irish
bones. It was his task to make the
steam-if he could-faster than Dad
Sinclair could burn it. What use to
grip the throttle and scheme II Burns
didn't furnish the power. put the life
into her heels as she raced the wind
the merciless. restless gale sweeping
1 hn N q ri 70 thnr
fly before It?
Working smoothly and swiftly into u
dizzy whirl, the monstrous drivers took
the steel in leaps and bounds. Dad Sin
clair, leaning from the cab window,
gloatingly watched their gathering
speed, pulled the bar up notch after
notch, and fed Burns fire into the old
engines arteries fast and faster than
she could throw 1t into her steel hoofs.
That was the night the West End
knew that greenhorn had cast his
chrysalis and stood out a man-knew
that the honor roll of our frontier di-
vision wanted one more name, and
that it was big Dick Burns. Sinclair
hung silently desperate to the throttle,
his eyes straining into the night ahead.
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,
GfYy 1v co1n hn
steam pointer higher. higher. higher on
the dial-and that despite the tremen-
dous drafts 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 wa
ter, the water to the gauge, the gauge
to the stuck and back again to the coal
that was Burns. Neither eyes nor
ears nor. muscles for anything but
steam.
Such firing as the West End never
saw till that night; such firing as the
old engine never felt in her choking
hues till that night; such a firing as
Dad Sinclair. king Of all West and
East End fremen, 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
ave George Sinclair and No. /.
It was frtghtful pace-how fright
fuI no one ever knew; nsither old man
Sinclair nor Dick Burns ever cared.
Only. the crew Of freight, side track
ed for the approaching dier. saw an
engine flying light; knew the hunter
and the quarry. for they had seen the
runaways shoot bylaw then, 4 min
ute after, a star and a streak and a
trail Of rotten smoke ny down the
wind. and she had come and passed
and gone