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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Ever occur to you, Thee, that they have to be on time close enough to MAKE TIME? The Dispatcher up there must have a long head." Pleased with his similitude, Ray went back to the lookout. Going into Denver, he had to keep a sharp watch. Giddy came down, cheerful at the prospect of getting into port, and singing a new topical ditty that had come up from the Santa Fe by way of La Junta.
I must look at my clock and "Her Eyes." I went out to the "III" to consult them, lost my chance and was "put in the hole" all over the division by the disgusted dispatcher. Then I got to thinking and moralizing and sitting in judgment on my thraldom. Was I running the "III" or was "Her Eyes?"
The new dispatcher sprang up from the table frantic. Then, racing again to the key, he made the operator at Castle Springs repeat the order and assure him it had been delivered. Of this there could be no question. The freight crew had ignored or forgotten it, and were now past Point of Rocks running head-on against the passenger train.
Donkin, after all, was like all the rest of them. "Well?" prompted the dispatcher. "You go to blazes!" said Toddles bitterly, and started for the door. Donkin halted him. "You're only fooling yourself, Hoogan," he said coolly. "If you wanted what you call a real railroad job as much as you pretend you do, you'd get one." "Eh?" demanded Toddles defiantly; and went back to the table.
The chief dispatcher looked at him steadily a long moment before answering. "I imagine you will find people of various shades all over town, including those allegedly white. Was there anyone in particular you were interested in or are you solely concerned with pigmentation?" "Why, you goddam " I thought it advisable to prevent a possible altercation.
"Fix that up with the train conductor," said the dispatcher. "He can have a siding whenever he wants it." "But he won't gimme one." "Not my business." "Whose business is it?" The dispatcher got busy over his charts. Dave became aware that he was going to get no satisfaction here. He tramped back to the platform. "All aboard," sang out the conductor.
Throw Bob Donkin down! Toddles would have sold his soul for the dispatcher. It wasn't easy, though; and Bob Donkin wasn't an easy-going taskmaster, not by long odds. Donkin had a tongue, and on occasions could use it. Short and quick in his explanations, he expected his pupil to get it short and quick; either that, or Donkin's opinion of him. But Toddles stuck.
I had waited until the last minute before I could make up my mind to do this: because, if the dispatcher had telegraphed an order, he would know by repeating it that Herbert had forgotten to book it and turn the red light facing the station on to the track. Such a grave omission would mean sure dismissal.
Within seconds he had his story. "The Hutchinson Naval Air Station is picking up an unidentified target on their radar," the voice of the dispatcher said, with as much of an excited tone as a police dispatcher can have. "Take a look." Then the dispatcher went on to say that the target was moving in a semi-circular area that reached out from 50 to 75 miles east of Hutchinson.
It seemed as if the first hour never would pass. Then the long silence of the little receiver was broken by a call for the dispatcher. Bucks sprang to answer it. Scott watched his face as he sent his "Ay, ay." Without understanding what the instruments clicked, he read the expressions that followed one after the other across Bucks's countenance, as he would have read a desert trail.
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