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Updated: June 28, 2025
"I'm needing it, all right," admitted the trainmaster. And then; "Was this passenger wreck another of the 'assisted' ones?" "It was. Two men broke a rail-joint on Little Butte side-cutting for my special and caught the delayed passenger instead. Flemister was one of the two." "And the other?" said McCloskey. Lidgerwood did not name the other.
"Then I'll tell you a fairy tale," said the trainmaster, lowering his voice. "I gave you notice that Mr. Lidgerwood would do something different: he did it, bright and early this morning; went to Jake Schleisinger, who had to try twice before he could remember that he was a justice of the peace, and swore out a warrant for Rufford's arrest, on a charge of assault with intent to kill."
And when the trainmaster returned to his post in the wire office, and Judson had been sent back to Biggs's to renew his search for the hidden ring-leader, it was the memory of the little race tiff that cleared the superintendent's brain for the grapple with the newly defined situation.
"Yes, you will!" was McCloskey's ironical comment, when the draftsman had gone around to the other side of the great crane. "Let him alone," said Lidgerwood. "It lies in my mind that we are developing a genius, Mac." "He'll fall down," grumbled the trainmaster. "That crane won't pick up the '95 clear the way she's lying." "Won't it?" said Lidgerwood. "That's where you are mistaken.
"What is the boss going to do about this flare-up with Bart Rufford?" The trainmaster shrugged. "You've got just as many guesses as anybody, John. What you can bet on is that he will do something different." Judson had slouched to the window. When he spoke, it was without turning his head.
His back was turned upon it, and he was glooming out across the bare hills, with his square jaw set as if the ignoring effort were painful. "I'm going back to Angels with the president," said the superintendent, speaking to both of them. "You can clean up here without me." The trainmaster nodded, but Dawson seemed not to have heard. At all events, he made no sign.
"Gridley's a law to himself," said the trainmaster. "Sometimes I think he's all right, and at other times I catch myself wondering if he wouldn't tread on me like I was a cockroach, if I happened to be in his way." Having had exactly the same feeling, and quite without reason, Lidgerwood generously defended the absent master-mechanic. "That is prejudice, Mac, and you mustn't give it room.
The hind man came back and reported it, and being off duty, I caught up a pocket instrument and some wire, and jumping on a velocipede, was soon at the wreck. I cut in an office in short order, and "DS" soon knew exactly how matters stood. One passenger train south was tied up just beyond the wreck, and in about an hour and a half the wrecker appeared in charge of the trainmaster.
You'll feel better in the morning." Ten weeks later McCloud was sent from Medicine Bend up on the Short Line as trainmaster, and on the Short Line he learned railroading. "That's how I came here," said George McCloud to Farrell Kennedy a long time afterward, at Medicine Bend. "I had shrivelled and starved three years out there in the desert.
Judson's report, made to the trainmaster that evening after the westbound train had left, was short and concise. "He went up and sat in Sammy's game and didn't come out until it was time to make a break for his train. I didn't see him talking to anybody after he left here." This was the wording of the report. "You are sure of that, are you, John?" questioned McCloskey. Judson hung his head.
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