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Updated: May 4, 2025
During the afternoon a bomb of some kind it was vaguely described as a variation of the red and green light-rays had destroyed one of the trains near Garland. The road was now open only down to Frannie. The town of Byron, I learned, was completely annihilated. It had been swept by the Mercutian Light and destroyed by fire. Garland was as yet unharmed.
The Chicago, Burlington and Quincy Railroad runs down its spur from the Northern Pacific near Billings, passes through the towns of Frannie near the border of Montana and Wyoming and Garland, and terminates at Cody. This line, running special trains throughout the day, had brought up a large number of people.
The C., B. and Q. continued running trains to Frannie which was about fifteen miles from the Mercutian landing place and many of the newspaper men, most of those, in fact, who did not have airplanes, went there.
Finally we decided to rest where we were until daybreak. I would feel better then, and we could start back on foot for Mantua and Frannie. I lay down again my head was going round like a top and Mercer sat beside me. It was pretty cold, but we were warmly dressed and not uncomfortable. The fact that we were so close to the Mercutians not much over seven or eight miles worried us a little.
"It's easily twelve miles up to Frannie," I said, "and I don't believe more than eight to Powell. Let's go that way. We can get down to Cody from there. I guess there are still people left in Powell." We started down the road toward Garland. It seemed the sensible thing to do. We were both famished by now and thirsty also.
There we might find food and water; and, thus refreshed, we could start back north to cover the fifteen miles to Frannie. Garland, a few days before, was a town of about five hundred inhabitants; but I do not suppose that, at the time of its destruction, there were more than a score or two of people remaining in it.
However, the walking would be easier, and when we got to the road we could decide which way to go north to Frannie, or south around Garland to Powell. The sun was just rising when we started again. It took us nearly an hour to reach the road. As far as we could see it was deserted. We stopped here and held another consultation.
Ranchers from the neighboring cattle country thronged its streets. A perfect exodus of people Mormons and oil men from Shoshone country, almost the entire populations of Cody, Powell, Garland, and other towns near the threatened section, the Indians from the Crow Reservation at Frannie all were streaming through Billings.
At Frannie I took on two passengers. There was much curiosity on the part of those I met along here, but I was unwilling to explain, deciding it best to wait and tell my whole story to the military authorities at Billings. It was early afternoon when I got back to Billings. This was March 12. I turned Mercer's body over to the police, who promptly took me in charge.
We started, as I have said, about midnight, rising from the rolling prairie back of Billings. We climbed five hundred feet and, with our searchlight playing upon the ground beneath, started directly for Frannie. We passed over Frannie at about eight hundred feet, and continued on the C., B. and Q. line toward Garland.
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