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Casey, the old lineman, grinned at him over the familiar short, black pipe. "B'gorra, it's me ould fri'nd Neale." "It sure is. How're you Casey?" "Pritty good fur an ould soldier.... An' it's news I hear of yez, me boy." "What news?" "Shure yez hed a boost. Gineral Lodge hisself wor tellin' Grady, the boss, that yez had been given charge of Number Ten." "Yes, that's correct."
Then came a gun-shot, the snort of a horse, a loud laugh. Neale heard all with sensitive, recording ears. "Mac, yez are so dom' smart now tell me who built the U. P.?" demanded Pat. "Thot's asy. Me fri'nd Casey did, b'gorra," retorted McDermott. "Loike hell he did! It was the Irish." "Shure, thot's phwat I said," McDermott replied. "Wal, thin, phwat built the U. P.? Tell me thot.
It wuz a child in the grasp of a giant. Neale shure looked beautiful, I niver wished so much in me loife fer Casey as thin. He would hev enjoyed thot foight, fer he bragged of his friendship fer Neale. An' " "Go on, man, end your story!" ordered the general, breathlessly. "Wal, b'gorra, there wuz more crackin' of bones, an' sich screams as I niver heerd from a mon.
He rolled from his blankets to get into boots and coat and rush out. The troopers appeared all around him in hurried orderly action. Neale asked a soldier what was up. "Redskins, b'gorra before brikfast!" was the disgusted reply. Neale thought of Allie and his heart contracted. A swift glance on all sides, however, failed to see any evidence of attack on the camp.
"Ah! here comes McDermott!" exclaimed General Lodge. Allie's ears throbbed to a slow, shuffling, heavy tread. Her consciousness received the fact of Neale's injury, but her heart refused to accept it as perilous. God could not mock her faith by a last catastrophe. "Sandy you've seen Neale?" Allie loved this sharp, keen voice for its note of dread. "Shure. B'gorra, yez couldn't hilp seein' him.
I'm a good slob, but folks would be tickled for the chance to say that you had nobody to go with but the likes av me. If I was to let you walk home with me to-night, yuh might be askin' to call next week. Inside half a year, if yuh was lonesome enough, yuh'd ask me to marry yuh. And b'gorra," she said softly, looking down at her unlovely red hands, "I'm dead scared I'd do it.
A bullet knocked Casey's pipe out of his mouth, as he wus runnin', an' b'gorra, Casey sthopped fer it an' wus all shot up." "Is he dead?" inquired Neale. "Not yit. No bullets can't kill Casey." "Was his pipe a short, black one?" "It wus thot." "And did Casey have it everlastingly in his mouth?" "He shlept in it."
"The Irish lived on whisky an' the Chinamons on tay.... Wal, yez is so dom' orful smart, mebbe yez can tell me who got the money for thot worrk." "B'gorra, I know where ivery dollar wint," replied McDermott. And so they argued on, oblivious to the impressive last stage. Neale sensed the rest, the repose in the attitude of all the laborers present. Their hour was done.
Neale stood up to see the Sioux riding away. Their ranks did not seem noticeably depleted. "Drill, ye terriers, drill!" sang Casey, as he wiped his sweaty and begrimed rifle. "Mac, how many Sooz did Shane kill?" "B'gorra, he ain't said yit," replied McDermott. "Say, Shane.... CASEY!" Neale whirled at the sharp change of tone.
Neale dropped back and, reloading his rifle, found a hole from which to shoot. He emptied his magazine before he realized it. But what with his trembling hands, the jerking of the train, and the swift motion of the Indians, he did not do any harm to the foe. Suddenly, with a jolt, the train halted. "Blocked ag'in, b'gorra," said Casey, calmly. "Me pipe's out. Sandy, gimme a motch."
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