The Challis messenger. (Challis, Idaho) 1912-current, 1919-11-05
The Cinnamon
Creek Trick
(Copyright.)
By N. h. CROWELL

blgsS was the greeneSt-lOOking man
that ever faced old Bill Williams, and
did not finch. On the occasion when
ne fOated into the stuffy little Rock
Gulch station and draped his spir-
1tuelle form across one end of BilPs
desk, that gentleman removed his WIS.,
ual hardware and snorted in his wrath
And who in Trophet may you be?'
howled old Bill, his whiskers twitching
like an angry cats.
Biggs smiled cherubic smile and
picked up one of Bills letters with a
casual air OF interest.
You don't know me, grandpa?" he
remarked quizzically, as If in doubt.
"Pht! Pit! YOu-darn yOu-who
say, are you Biggs?" exploded the
wrathy Bill.
"Biggs and me are the same gent,
SIR" responded the smiling visitor.
Williams surveyed the elongated fig
ure with contempt rampant on his fea-
lures
swell, you are looloo, amt you?
You don't look able to sling hash-let
alone lightning. Know what you're
up against, don't your"
NO. and what's more, 1 don't give
a dang"
swell, my ducky-my little insult
to civilized sOciety-yOu are billed to
handle that Cinnamon Creek trick, ard
If you're not scalped by them blood
drinkfn' dagOes inside Of a week you
can draw your pay. You hearY"
II amt at all hard of hearing, pa !"
said Biggs.
Williams grew red, then purple and
looked about to explode. At last he
dashed fiercely from the room ana
slammed the door with a bang.
For month Biggs had kept strict
tab on the gOings and comings Of six
sand trains and six hundred Italians.
His office. dismantled box car, was
by no means prepossessing, but small
defects were lost on Biggs.
Back of him stretched the huge pit.
down into whose shifting depths loco
motives Jerked long strings of flats,
which, passing beneath the magic Of
row of furious steam shOvels,
emerged freighted with sand Two
hundred yards to the west was the
Cinnamon trestle and beyond that the
track melted away upward toward
Peak City. dozen miles as the crow
flies, up the shoulder of the divide.
Biggs regarded the swarthy sons Of
the South with distrust, but he was
too wise to tell them of the fact.
One cheerful incident had broken
his monOtony mercifully. That was
when lengthy and fervent repri-
mand, direct from a real roll-top desk,
and covering the Williams incident ar
rived. Biggs sighed, folded the sheet
neatly, and stored it away in a secret
pocket aft. Then he picked up the
"Sleuth Library" opened to the chapter
headed "The Plot Thickens" and got
down to business.
1t was now the third day that he
had distracted the reprimand and
carefully perused it's contents Biggs
was enjoying 1t to the full. He sat in
the car, heels cooked up, holding the
missive at arms length before his eyes.
Then he started up, listening. He
heard sound like the vigorous putting
OF locomotive, but yet unlike it.
Dropping down from the car, Biggs
set Off toward the trestle and presently
came In sight of an engine, three cars,
and a steam driver calmly settling
down to work on big pile as though
dropped from fairyland.
Biggs recalled wiring down concern.
ing the condition of that east end, but
had never expected more than n visit
from a red-shirted Irishman with
sledge and wedges. Here was a pile
driver in full blast.
Biggs strolled back to his car, sat
down and resumed reading the thriller
He had made stirring progress and was
within lap or two of the bloody
handed villain when piercing veil
arose from the direction of the trestle.
Biggs dropped the book and leaped
to the car door.
AS he rushed around the curve that
hid the trestle from view he saw q
strange sight.
Running, crawling, scrambling
across the trestle were the Italians.
each armed with pick or shovel and
making desperate efforts to close the
distance that interviewed between them
and group of seven men in blue
jumpers who fled for dear life up the
sinuous grade toward Peak City.
Wholly unable to grasp the meaning
Of 1t all Biggs instinct turned him
about and he sped for his instrument.
He flung himself inside the car and
reached for the key. But someone
was calling him. He stabbed at the
lever and answered.
"Runaway-sixteen loaded flats
clear away!"
That came from Peak City. Biggs
jumped up and glanced at his watch
by habit. The next he knew he was
racing up the track toward the desert
ed driver train.
"Fools! towards! Knavesw he
grOaned.
With Horoo pOupdirU ot hiS uoCly