The Havre herald. [volume] (Havre, Mont.) 1904-1908, 1907-05-24

open the train crew were running for
ward, and there stood Bartholomew on
the track above me looking at the re-
frigerators. When I got to him he ex-
planned to me how he was dragged in
and had to tear the sleeves out of his
blouse under water to get free.
The surprise is how little fuss men
busy. It took only five minutes for the
conductor to hunt up coil of wire and
a sounder for me, and by the time be
got forward with it Bartholomew was
halfway up telegraph pole to help me
cut in on live wire. Fast as l could
rugged a pony and began calling the
McCloud dispatcher. 1t was rocky
send, but after no end Of pounding
got him and gave orders for the wreck
ing gang and for one more of Neigh
boris rapidly decreasing supply Of loco
motives.
Bartholomew, sitting on strip Of
fence which still rose above water
looked forlorn. TO lose the first engine
he ever handled in the Beaver was
tough, and he was evidently speculat-
Ing on his chances Of ever getting an
other. If there weren't tears in his
eyes, there was storm water certainly
But after the relief engine had pulled
what was left Of us back six miles to
a siding I made it my first business to
explain to Neighbor, nearly beside him
self, that Bartholomew was not only
not at fault, but that he had actually
saved the train by his nerve.
''I'll tell you, Neighbour" I suggest
ed when we got Strengthened around,
"give us the 100 to go ahead as pilot
and run the stuff around the river
division with Foley and the PIG"
EWhat'll you do with No 6?'' growl-
ed Neighbour Six was the local pas
senger west.
'Annul it west Of McCloud," said |
instantly. "We've got this silk Oh our
hands now, and I'd move it if it tied
up every passenger train on the di-
vision. If we can get the Internal
stuff through, it will practically beat
the strike; if we fail, it will beat the
company"
By the time we backed to Newhall
Junction Neighbor had made up his
mind my way. Mullen and I climbed
into the 100, and Foley with the 216
and none too good grace coupled on
to the silk, and, flying red signals, we
started again for GAINESVILLE over the
river division.
Foley was always full Of mischief.
He had better engine than ours, any
way, and he took satisfaction the rest
Of the afternoon in crowding us. Ey-
cry mile Of the way he was on our
heels. I was throwing the coal and
distinctly remember.
It was after dark when we reached
the Beverly hill, and we took it at a
lively pace The strikers were not on
our minds then. It was Foley who
bothered.
When the long parallel steel lines
of the upper yards spread before us,
flashing under the arc lights, we were
away above yard speed. Running a
locomotive into one of those big
yards is like shooting rapid in a
canoe. There is bewildering maze
of tracks lighted by red and green
lamps to be watched the closest. The
hazards are multiplied the minute you
pass the throat, and a yard wreck Is a
dreadful tangle. 1t makes everybody,
from roadmaster to fagmen, furious,
and not even Bartholomew wanted to
face an inquiry on yard wreck. On
the other hand, he couldn't afford to
be caught by Foley, who was chasing
him out of pure caprice.
saw the boy holding the throttle at
half and lingering the air anxiously
as we jumped through the frogs, but
the toughest riding on track so far
beats the ties as cushion that when
the 100 suddenly stuck her paws
through an open switch we bounced
against the roof of the cab like foot
balls. I grabbed a brace with one
hand and with the other reached in
stinctively across to Bartholomew
side to seize the throttle he held, but
as I tried to shut him off he jerked it
wide open in spite Of me and turned
with lightning in his eye.
'No.' he cried, and his voice rang
hard. The 100 took the tremendous
shove at her back and leaped like a
frightened horse. Away we went
across the yard, through the cinders
and over the ties. My teeth have new
er been the same since. I don't be-
long on an engine anyway, and since
then I have, kept off. At the moment
I was convinced that the strain had
been too much, that Bartholomew was
stark crazy. He sat bouncing clear to
the roof and clinging to his levers like
a lobster.
But his strategy was dawning on