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Updated: June 1, 2025
The "sweat-box" was Lidgerwood's private office in the Crow's Nest, and Benson happened to be present when the reckless trainmen were told to go and sin no more. "I'm not running your job, Lidgerwood, and you may fire the inkstand at me if the spirit moves you to, but I've got to butt in. You can't handle the Red Desert with kid gloves on.
"I'm not going to quarrel with you over the word," he returned. "Possibly the proceeding was a little informal, if you measure it by some of the more highly civilized standards." "I don't care to go into that," was Lidgerwood's comment, "but I cannot evade my responsibility for the one member of your official staff who is still on my pay-roll. How far was Hallock implicated?"
"He said that the '16 had never gone out through the Copah yards; that it couldn't get anywhere if it had without everybody knowing about it." Lidgerwood's abstracted gaze out of the office window became a frown of concentration. "But the object, McCloskey what possible profit could there be in the theft of a locomotive that can neither be carried away nor converted into salable junk?"
"I shall be only too glad to keep him, if he knows his business and will stay," was Lidgerwood's reply. Then, with another glance at his watch, "Shall we go up-town and get dinner? Afterward you can give me your notion in the large about the future extension of the road across the second Timanyoni, and I'll order out the service-car and an engine and go to my place.
Judson was a red-headed man, effusively good-natured when he was in liquor, and a quick-tempered fighter of battles when he was not. "Don't you make any such mistake!" he snapped. "That's what McCloskey said when he handed me the 'good-by. 'You'll be one more to go round feelin' for Mr. Lidgerwood's throat, I suppose, says he. By cripes! what I said to Mac I'm sayin' to you, Bob Lester.
Miss Brewster laughed derisively. "Don't let him discourage you, Herbert," she mocked. "Bitter Creek is in Wyoming or is it in Montana?" this with a quick little eye-stab for Lidgerwood, "and the name of Mr. Lidgerwood's refuge is Angels. Also, papa says there is a hotel there called the 'Celestial. Do you live at the Celestial, Howard?" "No, I never properly lived there.
That little cuss is shore a mighty good railroad man. And when you ain't rubbin' his fur the wrong way, he treats you white." "For instance?" snapped Hodges, a freight engineer who had been thrice "on the carpet" in Lidgerwood's office for over-running his orders. "Oh, they ain't so blame' hard to find," Clay retorted.
The jocosely spectacular arrest of Barton Rufford, with its appeal to the grim humor of the desert, was responsible for a brief lull in the storm of antagonism evoked by Lidgerwood's attempt to bring order out of the chaos reigning in his small kingdom.
"You won't mind if I say that I beat you to it, this time, will you? I got Orton, a little while ago, on the Copah wire and pumped him. He says there was a code message, and that Dix sent it. But when I asked him to repeat it back here, he said he couldn't that Mr. Leckhard had taken it with him somewhere down the main line." Lidgerwood's exclamation was profane.
And I haven't time, because that is Williams's whistle for the Angels yard." He had risen and was helping his companion to her feet when Mrs. Brewster came to the car door to say: "Oh, you are out here, are you, Howard? I was looking for you to let you know that we dine in the Nadia at seven. If your duties will permit " Lidgerwood's refusal was apologetic but firm.
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