The Brookings register. [volume] (Brookings, Brookings County, S.D.) 1903-1971, 1921-12-01
p v.
The Magic Triad.

To be stopped before / could reach
my goal was no part Of my plan, so I
opened things up and gave the little
three-wheeled dinky all the gas 1t
could use, keeping a sharp lookout
ahead, and meaning to pull up a little
way short of the graveyard city, aban-
doning the car and making the actual
approach on foot.
Judging from the way the scenery
was racing backward. l estimated that
the little car must be doing at least
thirty miles to the hour; which meant
forty minutes or such a matter, to
cover the twenty-One miles. II OppOs-
Ing train or trains, whatever they
might be, would only keep out Of my
way for those precious forty min
minutes . .
I pushed the small motor to Its limit
and vas getting along beautifully until
suddenly, on a grade that was a bit
sleeper than usual, the popping ex-
haust quit short or, the engine slowed
down, and the car, squeaking and
grinding, came to a stand on a low
ernbankment between two Of the hill
cuttings.
There wasn't anything very compli-
Gated about the little motor, and I soon
discovered that a broken ignition wire
was what had killed 1t. Happily,
there was a sinall toolbox under the
seat, and In the kit there was a pair
Of pliers. But sometimes-and this
was one Of theT-a bit of material Is
as important as the tools to work with.
The broken wire was too short to cou-
pie up again, and there wasn't an inch
OF spare wire to be found In the
kit.
They say that necessity Is the moth
or OF invention but I'll defy anybody
TO Invent a piece Of wire In the middle
OF Inc Great Sahara desert. Every
minute ! was expecting to hear the
rumble and roar Of a train.
In this extremity 1t wal. q little
desert zephyr that gave me the great
IDEA. A gentle breeze came signing up
the draw from some overheated area
out beyond, and finding no trees on
tne barren hills, 1t sang Its little song
In the thickly clustering telegraph
wires on the poles. Why, surel I
SAID to myself; here was my wire
miles and miles of 1t. All I had TO do
was to climb up and get 1t.
Gentle reader, / wonder II you've
ever tried to climb a telegraph pole
without Che c0ntrivances that a line
man buckles upon his feet? II you
haven't. the advice Of this amateur is
Half a dozen times I shinnied
up to perhaps the height of a mans
mead, only to come sliding down again
on a run. At last, by a series Of inch
ings l contrived to get within arms.
Ieacn OF the lowest c~rosspiece. Pliers
In hand, l strained for the nearest
wire. progged 1t, and began to twist Il
back and forth to break II.
Not to let me miss any Of the thrills.
IL was at the precise instant of the
Wire-breaking that my straining ears
caught the sound they had been lis
tening for; a far-away, drumming rum
Die that seemed to come from nowhere
AhCu, OuL VI the same
indefinite circumambience came a
warning that was still more unmistak-
able-the long-drawn blast of a loco
motive whistle.
didn't climb down that pole: I
came down like the time-ball on the
nagstaff In Washington at high noon.
Moreover, I struck the ground run
ming. as d might say All thoughts
Of ~tinkering that COMPOUNDED motor
had vanished and my one great object
In life was to get the car or the track
before Q worse thing should happen.
I was doing fairly well with the lifting
and Juggling when the enemy hove in
sight less than Eve hundred yards
away. And that wasn't all, either. At
precisely the same instant. asaf It had
been timed by the same mechanism
thar had brought the freight train,
here came q wild engine around the
CURVE - the opposits direction. With