La Junta tribune., 1907-08-03


All the while the station agent panic
stricken. raiiIssi gu Sinclair WIS look
ing at lis watch. casting II up. cbhrtlhg
IL all under his thick. gray. grlzzled
wool. fast as thought could compass.
No. l headed for Acton. and her pace
was hustle every mile OF the way
three ears OF coal bowling down on
her. how fas; he dared not think. ana
through II nil he WAS asking himself
what day i, was. Thursday: Up.
Yes. Georyie. his boy. was on the h!er
No !. II was his day up III they met
on n curve
"rncouple herr roared Dad Sinclair
In giant tone.
what are yoa going 10 dog
BURNS" Numbered Dad to his fire
man. give her steam. and quick. boy :
Dump Ia grease, waste. oil. every thing.
Are YOU clear there lie cried. open
ing til. throttle as he looked back.
The old engine. pulling clear Of her
coaches. qulycrei as sh. gathered her
self under the steam. She ieaped ahead
with n swish The drivers churnei In
the sand. bit into II with grittins tires
and forged ahead with suck aud
hiss and a rnar. Before Reynolds had
fairly gathered hi, 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
WIS "A terror. and they had too good
start But the way Soda Water Sal
took the gait when she once felt her
feet under her made the wrlDkled en-
einecr nj her throttle set his mouth
with the grImness Of games'cr II
meant the rtinaways and catch them
or The ditch for Soda Water Sal. and
the throbblny old nachin. seemed 10
know II. for ber nose hung 10 the steel
Ike til. snout Of Il pointer
He was Il man OF "A hundred even
then Burns -bu, nobody knew IL then.
We hadn't thought much about Burns
before He was tail, lank Irish boy.
with an open face and morning
smile Dad Sinclair took him on be-
cause nobody else would iaV. him.
Burns was so green that Foley said
you couldn't se; his name atire. He
would, 50 Foley said. put out a hot box
Just 10y blinking at u.
and IL had come TO Burns. 1t was Dick
Burns chance now To show what man
ner OF stun was bred In his long Irish
bones. II was his task to make the
steam-if lie could-fastsr than Dad
Sinclair could burn 1t. What use TO
grip tile throttle and scheme II Burns
didn't furnish the power. put the life
into her heels as she raced the wind
the mercii.ss. restless gale sweeping
over the prairie faster than horse could
hy before II:
Working smoothly and swiftly into
dizzy whiri. 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 II Into her steel hoofs.
That was the night the West End
knew that a grcenhoru had east his
chrysaIis and stood out man-knew
that the honor roll OF our frontier dl-
vision wanted one more name. and
that it wus big Dick Burns. Sinclair
HUhS silently desperate 10 lhe uFotuc-
his eyes strnlning into the night ahead.
and the face OF the long Irish boy.
streaked with smut and chnnnclcd
with sweat. lit every minute with tile
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,
nurslpely. ceaselessly he pushed the
steam pointer h CHER. higher. higher on
the diul--and that despite the trcmen.
dous drafts OF Dads throttle.
Never glance to the right or the
left, 10 the track or thcengineer From