The Bridgeport evening farmer., 1911-07-08
The Tanninq of Red Butte
By FRANCIS LYNDE
aSontinued.)

God have mercyv' he mumbled and then in c voice which the rising fires had scorched to a hoarse whisper, If l drink I'm damned to all eternity. and if I don't take just one swallow I'll never be able to talk so as to make Goodloe understand me.' '
 It was the supreme test of the man. Somewhere deep down in the soul abyss of the tempted one thing stir red, took shape and arose to help him to fight the devil of appetite. Slowly the fierce thirst burned itself out, the invisible hand at his throat relaxed it's cruel grip, and fine dew of perspira- ton broke out thickly on his forehead. At the sweating instant the newly arisen soul captain within him whis- pered, "Now, John Judson, once for allr' and, staggering to the open win dow. he flung the tempting bottle afar among, the scattered powders, wait ing until he had heard the tinkling crash of broken glass before he turn ed back to his appointed task. ,
 His hands were no longer trembling when he once more wound the crank of the telephone and held the receiver to his ear. There was an answering skirl of the bell. and then voice said: 'sHello! This is Goodloe. Whats wantedr"
 Judson wasted no time in explana- tions. This is Judson-John Judson. Get Timanyoni on your wire, quick, and catch MT. Lidgerwood's special Tell Bradford and Williams to run slow. looking for trouble. Do you get that?''
 A confused medley of rumblings and clankings crashed in over the wire, and in the midst of the interruption Judson heard Goodloe put down the re- ceiver. Tn a flash he knew what was happening at Little Butte station. The delayed passenger train from the west had arrived, and the agent was obliged to break off and attend to his duties. :
 Anxiously Judson twirled the crank again and yet again. Since Goodloe had not cut off the connection the min- gled clamor of the station came to the listening ear, the incessant clicking of the telegraph instruments of Goodloe's table, the ulndling roar of a baggage truck on the station platform, the cacophonous screech of the passenger engines pop valve. Then came the conductors cry of "All aboardv and then the long drawn sobs of the big engine as Cranford started the train. Judson knew that in all human proba- bility the superintendents special had already passed Timanyoni, the last chance for a telegraphic warning, and here was the passenger slipping away, also without warning.
 Goodloe came back to the telephone when the train chatter had died away and took up the broken conversation.
 Are you there yet, John?' he called. And when Judson's yelp answered him: "All right. Now, what was it you were trying to tell me about the special?"
 Judson did not swear. The seconds were too vitalIy precious. He merely repeated his warning, with a hoarse prayer for haste.
 There was another pause, break in the clicking of Goodloe's telegraph instruments, and then the agents voice came back over the wire: Cant reach the special. It passed Timanyoni ten minutes ago."
 Judson's heart was in his mouth, and he had to swallow twice before he could go on.
 Where does it meet the passenger?'' he demanded zs-SNss
 You can search me-" replied the Little Butte agent, who was not of those who 90 out of their way to bor- row trouble. Then suddenly: Hold the phone a minute. The dispatcher's calling me right nowi.
 There was third trying interval of waiting for the man in the darkened room at the Wire Silver headquarters; then Goodloe called again.
 Trouble" he said shortly. Angels didn't know that Cranford had made up so much time. Now he tries to give me an order to hold the passenger after it's gone by. So long. I'm going to take a lantern and go along up the track to see where they come to- gether."
 Judson hung up the receiver, reset the wire switch to leave it as he had found it, climbed out through the open window and replaced the sash. Then he stumbled down tre hill to the guleh bottom and started out to walk along the new spur toward Little Butte sta t;ru.