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Updated: June 29, 2025
The engineer resisted, but Guerin, who is something of an athlete, held him down and in a few moments the man collapsed." "How fast were they going?" "Well, that is a question to be settled by experts. How fast will Blackwings go with four cars empty?" "Ninety miles an hour." "How fast would she go, working 'wide open in the first notch, as you people say, down Zero Hill?"
If you will report for duty to-morrow morning you can go out on Blackwings to-morrow night, with the Denver Limited, the finest train in the West, behind you. The best run on the road will be the meanest position you will ever be asked to fill. But I must say no more, for I don't want to persuade you to take a step which you might regret in after years.
Moran said good-night, and disappeared behind the silken curtain of "lower six," where her little girl was already sound asleep. Only a few men remained in the smoking-rooms, and they were mostly English. Steam began to flutter from the dome above the back of Blackwings.
He remembered how the old engineer had said, an hundred times perhaps: "George, an express train should never be late; she should be on time or in the ditch." It was the first time Blackwings had ever been an hour late anywhere, and with all his greater sorrows this grieved the young engineer.
The detective, the first witness for the prosecution, testified that he had followed the prisoner into the yards from among the freight cars, watched him approach the engine Blackwings and talk with the engineer. He could not make out all that passed, but knew that the men had quarrelled. He had seen the prisoner stoop down and fumble about the air-pump on the engineer's side of the engine.
"Tell us who put the dynamite on Blackwings." "I shall try," he said, "only let me have time to think what is best to do." "What is right is what is best to do," said Mrs. Cowels, holding out her hand "Good-night." "Good-night," said the prisoner, "come again when you can, both of you."
"Yes," he said at length, "I'm going back to the 'Q. It's not Blackwings, to be sure, and the Denver Limited, but it's work, and that's something, for it seems to me that I can bear this idleness no longer. It's the hardest work in the world, just to have nothing to do, month in and month out, and to be compelled to do it.
Moran glanced at the faces of all the incoming engineers as he met and passed them, but with one exception they were all strangers to him. He recognized young Guerin, who had been fireman on Blackwings the night George Cowels was killed, and he was now running a passenger engine.
While Bennie talked with his mother and sister, Moran chatted with the engineer. "I want to thank you," said Guerin, "for helping me to this run during your absence, and I shall try to take good care of both Bennie and Blackwings." "It isn't worth mentioning," said Moran with a wave of his hand, "they do these things to suit themselves."
True, he had asked the master-mechanic to put Guerin on the run, but only because he disliked the Reading man who was next in line. Mrs. Moran came from the car now, and asked to be taken to the engine where she and her daughter might say good-bye to Bennie who was now the regular fireman on Blackwings. "Bennie," said his stepfather, "see that your sand-pipes are open."
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