The Topeka state journal. [volume] (Topeka, Kansas) 1892-1980, 1915-10-01
The EDening Story
Operator No. 10.
CIV lola FORESTER. }

demands and dangers. 1t was not only
black by name, but it held the black
balled place of honor with every
| operator in Wisconsin.
The first day he leaned out of the
tower window, cycling the landscape
Timber stretches along the hill line to
the north and west, then the river.
black and turbulent, winding restless
| ly through the valley, then the en-
bankment and railroad tracks and his
| lone eyrie perched near the water tow
er-that was Black Creek station.
| There was a freight platform and
shed. Back in the Mills, if you fol-
lowed the corduroy road, you came to
a few houses. Bellamy boarded a.
one the first week, but tired of it, and
he heard of Ma Appley's from Oper-
ator No. 10.
She was stationed down at Sweet
water, eight miles below Black Creek.
When the 6:10 freight dropped down
the line, he had to to call her and re-
ceive her time on the up express from
Red Wing. After the first week she
would answer questions, and when he
| complained of the food and lodging up
at the halfbreed's house. she told him
| to hang on to the 1920 local and drop
| off at Sweetwater and she'd take him
over to Ma Appley'S.
That was the beginning for Bellamy.
All his life he remembered the pic
| ture she made waiting for him on the
platform with the sunset red backing
| up the timber line behind her and
the glow of it Unfolding her for. him.
| 1t wasn't that she was SO beautiful.
Bellamy only knew that she was in
finitely tender and yvomanly, full of
sympathy and understanding, full of
humor and happiness. He found him
self telling her all his hopes and plans
the third night, after he had become
a regular down at Ma Appley's. And
when he had finished she had nodded
her head.
"I know. 1 think every one should
set something ahead of him and then
run for it. I'd rather be anything than
a gutter"
The thought of that had made him
hang on to his nerve through the six
months of Black Creek, with it's lone
Illness and hard work. All through
the hot summer and into the fall he
stood it until the autumn rains
swelled the river and it was ques-
ton every day whether the station
would hold out turn into a handy
route to the great unknown. After
the third month he was put on night
duty. There came hours toward
dawn when he would have given any
thing for even the cold friendly nose
of dog for company, with the dense
silence of the forest closing down on
him and only the reflection of his
own face looking back at him from
the window pane for company. The
conductor on 459 told him jocularly
one day, that two operators had killed
Creek Then he would set his teeth
and remember. She had said she
would rather be anything than a quit
ter.
The river had been high all day
When he took the station over at g.
Tucker, the day operator, told him he
had tried for an hour to get an answer
from Packers Grove. twenty-five
miles north alcng the river.
keep up the call. Tom, till you get
! I -, h. PC -e-1,
there we'n get it here during the
night, and Sweetwater and you'll have
to hold back the trains
Sweetwater and he. He called her
as soon IS he was alone, his Sweetwa-
ter sweetheart, as he 1aughingly
on the companys payroll. Yes, she
tapped back. She would stay on till
midnight Crosby, the night man, was
sick. Danger? Perhaps. She rather
enough to stand the river rush, even
if there should be a washout.
Keep at the key anyway" she
called. mo matter what happens,
senger trains besides the express, and
it's up to US, because we're at the top
of the valley and will get the first
alarm
1t was a quarter of eleven when
he heard the roar up the valley. He
leaned out of the little side window
and saw the river dashing below. 1t
was over the siding ira Cks now and
rising. Swirling, foaming, racing
along it seemed some demon of the
darkness bent on destruction. Pack
er's Grove was dead so far as any
wires went, but he called Sweetwater
and told her the flood was booming
down the valley and the tracks were
going under. And in five minutes
she called back that the express had
left Chippewa Junction already, but
she was signaling it from her sta
ton. If it passed he must call for
help.
How can it pass your"
The river may get me fl ST
Then he understood. He was in
tower, but her little shack was on a
level with the tracks, few pine
boards with water tank on one side
and a semaphore on the other. The
river would pick it up like a chip.
Bellamy sat forward staring at his
instrument She was trying to cheer
him up. Out of the night, eight miles
away, she told him he must stick
even if the river beat them And he
begged her to go away-to leave the
there wasn't time The express was
on the way up. And then Bellamy
tried to make the key carry his mes
| sage to her, all that he had meant to
say, all that she was to him. And she
called back just this:
81 know, dear. Here comes the ex-
press The waters up to my door.
Good by"
He staggered to the window and
hung out, listening as If he could
have made the night tell him what
was happening out in the heart of it.
There came the call of the express as
it swung around the curve below her;
above the roar of the waters it came
family, a far-off, broken shrek it
seemed to him, for help Then silence
He called Sweetheart doggedly, but no
answer came. His wire was still alive
though. and he caught the first big town
south. asking help for Sweetwater and the
exnress When they asked who was on