CHAPTER III
AT MR. CARHART'S CAMP
"It takes an Irishman, a nigger, and a mule to build a railroad," saidTiffany.
With Young Van, he was standing in front of the headquarters tent,which, together with the office tent for the first division, where OldVan would hold forth, and the living and mess tents for the engineers,was pitched on a knoll at a little distance from the track.
"The mule," he continued, "will do the work, the nigger will drive themule, and the Irishman'll boss 'em both."
Young Van, keyed up by this sudden plunge into frontier work, was onlyhalf listening to the flow of good-natured comment and reminiscencefrom the chief engineer at his elbow. He was looking at thesteam-shrouded locomotive, and at the long line of cars stringing offin perspective behind it. Wagons were backed in against this and thefew other trains which had come in during the day; other wagons werecrawling about the track almost as far as he could see through thesteam and the dust. Men on horseback--picturesque figures inwide-brimmed hats and blue shirts and snug-fitting boots laced to theknee--were riding in and out among the teams. The old track ended inthe immediate foreground, and here old Van was at work with his youngsurveyors, looking up the old stakes and driving new ones to a lineset by a solemn youngster with skinny hands and a long nose.Everywhere was noise--a babel of it--and toil and a hearty sort ofchaos. One line of wagons--laden with scrapers, "slips" and"wheelers," tents and camp equipage, the timbers and machinery of apile-driver, and a thousand and one other things--was little by littleextricating itself from the tangle, winding slowly past head-quarters,and on toward the low-lying, blood-red sun. This was the outfit of thesecond division, and Harry Scribner, riding a wiry black pony, wasleading it into corral on "mile two," preparatory to a start in theearly morning.
From the headquarters cook tent, behind the "office," came savoryodors. Farther down the knoll, near the big "boarding house" tents,the giant Flagg and the equally sturdy Charlie could be seen movingabout a row of iron kettles which were swinging over an open fire. Thechaos about the trains was straightening out, and the men werecorralling the wagons, and unharnessing the mules and horses. The sunslipped down behind the low western hills, leaving a luminous memoryin the far sky. In groups, and singly, the laborers--Mexicans,Italians, Louisiana French, broken plainsmen from everywhere, andnegroes--came straggling by, their faces streaked with dust and sweat,the negroes laughing and singing as they lounged and shuffled along.
Carhart, who had been dividing his attention between the unloading ofthe trains and the preparations of his division engineers, cameriding up the knoll on "Texas," his compact little roan, a horse hehad ridden and boasted about in a quiet way for nearly four years.John Flint, thin and stooping of body, with a scrawny red mustache andhigh-pitched voice, soon rode in over the grade from the farther sideof the right of way, where he was packing up his outfit for the longhaul to the La Paz River. The instrument men and their assistantsfollowed, one by one, and fell in line at the tin wash-basin, allexuberant with banter and laughter and high-spirited play. And at lastthe headquarters cook, a stout negro, came out in front of the messtent and beat his gong with mighty strokes; and Harry Scribner, whowas jogging back to camp from his corral, heard it, dug in his spurs,and came up the long knoll on the gallop.
There was no escaping the joviality of this first evening meal incamp. In the morning the party would break up. Scribner would rideahead a dozen miles to make a division camp of his own; John Flintwould be pushing out there into the sunset for the better part of aweek, across the desert, through the gray hills, and down to theyellow La Paz. The youngsters were shy at first; but after Tiffany hadwinked and said, "It'll never do to start this dry, boys," and hadproduced a bottle from some mysterious corner, they felt easier. EvenCarhart, for the time, laid aside the burden which, like Christian, hemust carry for many days. A good many stories were told, most of themby Tiffany, who had run the gamut of railroading, north, south, east,and west.
"That was a great time we had up at Pittsburgh," said he, "when Istole the gondola cars,"--he placed the accent on the _do_,--"bestthing I ever did. That was when I was on the Almighty and Great Windythat used to run from Pittsburg up to the New York State line. I wasacting as a sort of traffic superintendent, among other things,--wehad to do all sorts of work then; no picking and choosing and nowatching the clock for us." He turned on the long-nosed instrumentman. "That was when you were just about a promising candidate for longpants, my friend."
"We had a new general manager--named MacBayne. He didn't know anythingabout railroading,--had been a telegraph operator and Durfee'snephew,--yes, the same old Commodore, it was,--and, getting boosted upquick, that way, he got into that frame of mind where he wouldn't everhave contradicted you if you'd said he _was_ the Almighty and GreatWindy. First thing he did was to put in a system of bells to call usto his office,--but I didn't care such a heap. He enjoyed it so. He'dlean back and pull a little handle, and then be too busy to talk whenone of us came running in--loved to make us stand around a spell.Hadn't but one eye, MacBayne hadn't, and you never could tell fordownright certain who he was swearing at.
"The company had bought a little railroad, the P. G.--Pittsburg andGulf,--for four hundred and fifty thousand. Just about such a line asour Paradise spur, only instead of the directors buying it personal,they'd bought it for the company.
"One day my little bell tinkled, and I got up and went into the oldman's office. He was smoking a cigar and trying to look through atwo-foot wall into Herb Williams's pickle factory. Pretty soon heswung his one good eye around on me and looked at me sharp. 'Hen,' hesaid, 'we're in a fix. We haven't paid but two hundred thousand on theP.G.--and what's more, that's all we can pay.'
"'Well, sir,' said I, 'what's the trouble?' It's funny--he's alwayscalled me Hen, and I've always called him sir and Mister MacBayne. Heain't anybody to-day, but if I went back to Pittsburg to-morrow andmet him in Morrison's place, he'd say, 'Well, Hen, how're you makingit?' and I'd say, 'Pretty well, Mister MacBayne.'--Ain't it funny?Can't break away from it.
"I've just had a wire from Black,' said he,--Black was our attorneyup at Buffalo,--'saying that the sheriff of Erie County,' over theline in New York State, 'has attached all our gon_do_la cars up there,and won't release 'em until we pay up. What'll we do?'
"'Hum!' said I. 'We've got just a hundred and twenty gon_do_las inBuffalo to-day.' A hundred and twenty cars was a lot to us, youunderstand--just like it would be to the S. & W. Imagine what wouldhappen to you fellows out here if Peet had that many cars taken awayfrom him. So I thought a minute, and then I said, 'Has the sheriffchained 'em to the track, Mister MacBayne?'
"'I don't know about that,' said he.
"'Well,' said I, 'don't you think it would be a good plan to find thatout first thing?'
"He looked at me sharp, then he sort o' grinned. 'What're you thinkingabout, Hen?' he asked.
"I didn't answer direct. 'You find that out,' I told him, 'and let meknow what he says.'
"About an hour later the bell tinkle-winkled again. 'No,' he said,when I went in his office, 'they ain't chained down--not yet, anyway.Now, what'll we do?'
"'Why don't you go up there?' said I. 'Hook your car on to No. 5'--thatwas our night express for Buffalo, a long string of oil andcoal cars with a baggage car, coach, and sleeper on the end of it. Itran over our line and into Buffalo over the Southeastern.
"'All right, Hen,' said he. 'Will you go along?'
"'Sure,' I told him.
"On our way out we picked up Charlie Greenman too. He wassuperintendent of the State Line Division--tall, thin man, verynervous, Charlie was.
"Next morning, when we were sitting over our breakfast in the SwiftHouse, the old man turned his good eye on me and said, 'Well, Hen,what next?' I'd brought him up there, you see, and now he was lookingfor results.
"'Well,' said I, speaking slow and sort of thinking it over, 'lookhere, Mister MacBayne, why don't you get a horse and buggy and lookaround the city?
They say it's a pretty place. Or you could pick up aboat, you and Charlie, and go sailing on Lake Erie. Or you might runover and see the falls--Ever been there?'
"The old man was looking on both sides of me with those two eyes ofhis. 'What are you up to, Hen?' he said.
"'Nothing,' I answered, 'not a thing. But say, Mister MacBayne, Iforgot to bring any money. Let me have a little, will you,--about ahundred and fifty?'
"When I said that, the old man gulped, and looked almost scared. I sawthen, just what I'd suspected, that he wouldn't be the least use tome. I'd 'a' done better to have left him behind. 'Why, yes, Hen,' saidhe, 'I can let you have that!' He went out, and pretty soon he cameback with the money in a big roll of small bills.
"'Well, good morning, gentlemen,' said I. 'I'll see you at fiveo'clock this afternoon.'
"I went right out to the Erie yards, where they were unloadingtwenty-two of our coal cars. Jim Harvey was standing near by, and hegave me a queer look, and asked me what I was doing in Buffalo.
"'Doing?' said I, 'I'm looking after my cars. What did you suppose?And see here, Jim, while you were about it, don't you think you mighthave put 'em together. Here you've got twenty-two of 'em, and there'sforty over at the Lake Shore, and a lot more in Chaplin's yards? Thereain't but one of me--however do you suppose I'm going to watch 'emall, even see that the boys keep oil in the boxes?' 'I don't knowanything about that,' said he.
"'Well now, look here, Jim,' said I, 'how many more of these cars haveyou got to unload?' 'Twelve,' said he. 'How soon can you get itdone--that's my question?' 'Oh, I'll finish it up to-morrow morning.''Well, now, Jim,' said I, 'I want you to put on a couple of extrawagons and get these cars emptied by five o'clock this afternoon. ThenI want you to get all our cars together over there in Chaplin's yards,where I can keep an eye on 'em!' 'Oh, see here,' said he, 'I can't dothat, Hen. The sheriff--'
"'Damn the sheriff,' said I. 'I ain't going to hurt the sheriff. WhatI want is to get my cars together where I can know what's being doneto 'em.'
"Well, he didn't want to do it, but some of the long green passed andthen he thought maybe he could fix me up. There was a lot of otherthings I had to do that day--and a lot of other men to see. Thedespatcher for the Buffalo and Southwestern was one of 'em. Then atfive o'clock, or a little before, I floated into the Swift Houseoffice and there were MacBayne and Charlie Greenman sitting aroundwaiting for me. The old man had his watch in his hand. Charlie waswalking up and down, very nervous. I came up sort of offhand andsaid:--
"'Charlie, I want two of your biggest and strongest engines, and Iwant 'em up in Chaplin's yard as soon as you can get 'em there.'
"'What,' said he, 'on a foreign road?' 'Yes,' said I, offhand like.Then I turned to the old man. 'Now, Mister MacBayne,' said I, 'I wantyou to tell Charlie here that when those engines pass out of hisdivision, they come absolutely under my control.'
"'Oh, that's all right, Hen,' said Charlie, speaking up breathless.
"'Yes, I know it is,' said I, 'but I want you to hear Mister MacBaynesay it. Remember, when those engines leave your division, they belongto me until I see fit to bring 'em back.'
"The old man was looking queerer than ever. 'See here, Hen,' said he,'what devilment are you up to, anyway?'
"'Nothing at all,' said I. 'I just want two engines. You can't run arailroad without engines, Mister MacBayne.'
"'Well,' said he, then, 'how about me--what do you want of me?'
"'Why, I'll tell you,' said I. 'Why don't you hook your car on to No.6 and go back to Pittsburg to-night?' You should have seen his goodeye light up at that. Getting out of the state suited him about aswell as anything just then, and he didn't lose any time about it. Whenhe had gone, Charlie said:--
"'Now, Hen, for heaven's sake, tell me what you're up to?'
"'Not a bit of it,' said I. 'I don't see what business it is of yours.You belong back on your division.'
"'Well, I ain't going,' said he. 'I'm going wherever you go to-night.'
"'All right,' said I; 'I'm going to Shelby's vaudeville.'
"That surprised him. But he didn't say anything more. You remember oldShelby's show there. I always used to go when I was in Buffalo of anevening.
"But about 11:30, when the show was over, Charlie began to getnervous again. 'Well, Hen,' he said, 'where next?'
"'I don't know about you,' said I, 'but I'm going to stroll out toChaplin's yard before I turn in, and take a look at our cars. You'dbetter go to bed.'
"'Not a bit of it,' he broke out. 'I'm going with you.'
"'All right,' said I, 'come along. It's a fine night.'
"Well, gentlemen, when we got out to the yards, there were our cars intwo long lines on parallel tracks, seventy on one track and fifty onanother--one thing bothered me, they were broken in four places atstreet crossings--and on the two next tracks beside them wereCharlie's two engines, steam up and headlights lighted. And, say, younever saw anything quite like it! The boys they'd sent with theengines weren't anybody's fools, and they had on about three hundredpounds of steam apiece--blowing off there with a noise you could hearfor a mile, but the boys themselves weren't saying a word; they weresitting around smoking their pipes, quiet as seven Sabbaths.
"When Charlie saw this laid out right before his eyes, he tookfrightened all of a sudden--his knees were going like that. He grabbedmy arm and pulled me back into the shadow.
"'Hen, for heaven's sake, let's get out of here quick. This means thepenitentiary.'
"'You can go,' said I. 'I didn't invite you to the party.'
"Right beside the tracks there was a watch-box, shut up as if therewasn't anybody in it, but I could see the light coming out at the top.It was going to be ticklish business, I knew that. We had to haul outover a drawbridge, for one thing, to get out of the yards, and thenwhistle for the switch over to the southwestern tracks. Had to use thesignals of the other roads, too. But I was in for it.
"'Well, Hen,' said Charlie, 'if you're going to do it, what in ----are you standing around for now?'
"'Got to wait for the Lake Shore Express to go through,' said I.
"Charlie sort of groaned at this and for an hour we sat there andwaited. I tried to talk about the oil explosion down by Titusville,but Charlie, somehow, wasn't interested. All the while those engineswere blowing off tremendous, and the crews were sitting around justsmoking steady.
"Finally, at one o'clock, I went over to the engineer of the firstengine. 'How many men have you got?' said I.
"'Four brakemen,' he said, 'each of us.'
"'All right,' said I. 'I guess I don't need to tell you what to do.'
"They all heard me, and say, you ought to have seen them jump up. Theengineer was up and on his engine before I got through talking; and hejust went a-flying down the yard, whistling for the switch. The fourbrakemen ran back along the fifty-car string. You see they had tocouple up at those four crossings and that was the part I didn't likea bit. But I couldn't help it. The engineer came a-backing down veryrapid, and bumped that front car as if he wanted to telescope it.
"Well, sir, they did it--coupled up, link and pin. The engineer wasleaning 'way out the window, and he didn't wait very long aftergetting the signal, before he was a-hiking it down the yard, tootinghis whistle for the draw. Heaven only knows what might have happened,but nothing did. He got over the draw all right with his fifty carsgoing clickety--clickety--clickety behind him, and then I could seehis rear lights and hear him whistling for the switch over to thesouthwestern tracks. Then I gave the signal for the other engine.Charlie, all this time, was getting worse and worse. He was leaning upagainst me now, just naturally hanging on to me, looking like asomnambulist. You could hear his knees batting each other. And theengineer of that second engine turned out to be in the same fix. Hewas so excited he never waited for the signal that the cars were allcoupled up, and he started up with a terrific toot of his whistle anda yank on the couplings, leaving thirty cars and one brakeman behind.But I knew it would never do to call him back.
/> "Well, now, here is where it happened. That whistle was enough to wakethe sleeping saints. And just as the train got fairly going for thedraw, tooting all the way, the door of that watch-box burst open andthree policemen men came running out, hard as they could run. Ofcourse there was only one thing to do, and that's just the thing thatCharlie Greenman didn't do. He turned and ran in the general directionof the Swift House as fast as those long legs of his could carry him.Two of the officers ran after him and the other came for me. I yelledto Charlie to stop, but he'd got to a point where he couldn't hearanything. The other officer came running with his night-stick in theair, but my Scotch-Irish was rising, and I threw up my guard.
"'Don't you touch me,' I yelled; 'don't you touch me!'
"'Well, come along, then,' said he.
"'Not a bit of it,' said I. 'I've nothing to do with you.'
"'Well, you ran,' he yelled; 'you ran!'
"I just looked at him. 'Do you call this running?' said I.
"'Well,' said he, 'the other fellow ran.'
"'All right,' said I, 'we'll run after him.' So we did. Pretty soonthey caught Charlie. And I was a bit nervous, for I didn't know whathe might say. But he was too scared to say anything. So I turned tothe officer.
"'Now,' said I, 'suppose you tell us what it is you want?'
"'We want you,' said one of them.
"'No, you don't,' said I.
"'Yes, we do,' said he.
"It seemed to be getting time for some bluffing, so I hit right out.'Where's your headquarters?' said I.
"'Right over here,' said he.
"'All right,' said I, 'that's where we're going, right now. We'll seeif two railroad men can't walk through Chaplin's yards whenever theyfeel like it.'
"And all the while we were talking I could hear that second traina-whooping it up for the state line--clickety--clickety--whoo-oo-oo!--clickety--clickety--getting fainter and fainter.
"There was a big captain dozing on a bench in the station house. Whenhe saw us come in, he climbed up behind his desk so he could look downon us--they like to look down at you, you know.
"'Well, Captain,' said the officer, 'we've got 'em.'
"'Yes,' the captain answered, looking down with a grin, 'I think youhave.'
"'Well now,' said I, to the captain, 'who have you got?'
"'That'll be all right,' said he, with another grin.
"It was pretty plain that he wasn't going to say anything. There wassomething about the way he looked at us and especially about thatgrin that started me thinking. I decided on bluff number two. I tookout my pass case, opened it, and spread out annual passes on the GreatWindy, the Erie, the South-eastern, and the Lake Shore. My name waswritten on all of them, H. L. Tiffany, Pittsburg. The minute thecaptain saw them he looked queer, and I turned to Charlie and told himto get out his passes, which he did. For a minute the captain couldn'tsay anything; then he turned on those three officers, and you ought tohave heard what he said to them--gave 'em the whole forty-two degreesright there, concentrated.
"'Well, gentlemen,' he said to us, when he'd told the officer all thatwas on his mind, 'this is pretty stupid business. I'm very sorry we'veput you to this trouble, and I can tell you that if there is anythingI can do to make it right, I'll be more than glad to do it.'
"Well, there wasn't anything in particular that I wanted just thenexcept to get out of Buffalo quick. But I did stop to gratify mycuriosity.
"'Would you mind telling me, Captain,' said I, 'who you took us for?'
"The captain looked queer again, then he said, solemn, 'We took youfor body snatchers.'
"'Body snatchers!' I looked at Charlie, and Charlie, who was beginningto recover, looked at me.
"'You see,' the captain went on, 'there's an old building out there bythe yard, and some young surgeons and medical students have been usingit nights to cut up people in, and when the boys saw two well-dressedyoung fellows hanging around there in the middle of the night, theydidn't stop to think twice. I'm very sorry, indeed. I'll send two ofthese men over to escort you to your hotel, with your permission.'
"That didn't please me very much, but I couldn't decline. So westarted out, Charlie and I and the two coppers. But instead of goingto the Swift House I steered them into the Mansion House, anddampened things up a bit. Then I got three boxes of cigars, Havanaimported. I gave one to each of the officers, and on the bottom of thethird I wrote, in pencil, 'To the Captain, with the compliments of H.L. Tiffany, of the A. & G. W., Pittsburg, Pa.' I thought he might havereason to be interested when he got his next morning's paper inknowing just who we were. The coppers went back, tickled to death, andCharlie and I got out into the street.
"'Well, Hen,' said he, very quiet, 'what are you going to do next?'
"'You can do what you like, Charlie,' I said, 'but I'm going to takethe morning three o'clock on the Michigan Central for Toronto.' AndCharlie, he thought maybe he'd go with me."
Tiffany leaned back in a glow of reminiscence, and chuckled softly. Ofthe others, some had pushed back their chairs, some were leaningforward on the table. All had been, for half an hour, in the remotestate of New York with this genial railroading pirate of the oldschool. Now, outside, a horse whinnied. Through the desert stillnesscame the clanking and coughing of a distant train. They were back inthe gray Southwest, perhaps facing adventures of their own.
Carhart rose, for he had work to do at the headquarters tent. YoungVan took the hint, and followed his example. But the long-nosedinstrument man, the fire of a pirate soul shining out through hiscountenance, leaned eagerly forward. "What happened then?" he asked.
"Oh, nothing much," Tiffany responded. "What could happen? Charlie andI came back from Toronto a few days later by way of Detroit." Then hiseye lighted up again. "But I like to think," he added, "that nextmorning when that captain read about the theft of ninety gon_do_lacars right out from under the sheriff's nose by H. L. Tiffany, ofPittsburg, Pa., he was smoking one of said H. L. Tiffany's cigars."
* * * * *
The sun was up, hot and bright. The laborers and the men of the tiesquad and the iron squad were straggling back to work. The wagons werebacking in alongside the cars. And halfway down the knoll stoodCarhart and Flint, both in easy western costume, Flint booted andspurred, stroking the neck of his well-kept pony.
"Well, so long, Paul," said the bridge-builder.
"Good-by," said Carhart.
It rested with these two lean men whether an S. & W. train shouldenter Red Hills before October. They both felt it, standing there atthe track-end, their backs to civilization, their faces to the desert.
"All right, sir." Flint got into his saddle. "_All_ right, sir." Heturned toward the waiting wagon train. "Start along, boys!" he shoutedin his thin voice.
Haddon galloped ahead with the order. The drivers took up their reins,and settled themselves for the long journey. Like Carhart's men, theywere a mixed lot--Mexicans, half-breeds, native Americans of acuriously military stamp, and nondescripts--but good-natured enough;and Flint, believing with Carhart in the value of good cooks, meant tokeep them good-natured. One by one the whips cracked; a confusion ofEnglish, Spanish, and French cries went up; the mules plunged; theheavy wagons, laden with derricks, timber, tools, camp supplies, andthe inevitable pile-driver, groaned forward; and the La Paz Bridgeoutfit was off.
There was about the scene a sense of enterprise, of buoyant freedom,of deeds to be done. Flint felt it, as he rode at the head of hismotley cavalcade; for he was an imaginative man. Young Van, standingby the headquarters tent, felt it, for he was young. Tiffany, still atbreakfast, felt it so strongly that he swore most unreasoningly at thecook. Down on the job, the humblest stake man stood motionless untilOld Van, who showed no signs of feeling anything, asked him if hehadn't had about enough of a sy-esta. As for Carhart, he was stirred,but his fancy did not roam far afield. From now on those things whichwould have it in their power to give him the deepest pleasure were thesight of gang after gang liftin
g cross-ties, carrying them to thegrade, and dropping them into place; the sight of that growing line ofstubby yellow timbers, and the sound of the rails clanking down uponthem and of the rapid-fire sledges driving home the spikes.
* * * * *
Young Van poked his head in through the flaps.
"Well?" said the chief, looking up.
"Won't you come down, Mr. Carhart? The boys want you to drive thefirst spike."
Carhart smiled, then pushed back his chair, and strode out and downthe slope to the grade.
"Stand back there, boys!" cried somebody.
Carhart caught up a sledge, swung it easily over his shoulder, andbrought it down with a swing.
"There," he cried, entering into the spirit of the thing, "there,boys! That means Red Hills or bust."
The cheer that followed was led by the instrument man. Then Carhart,still smiling, walked back to his office. Now the work was begun.
But Old Van, the division engineer, was scowling. He wished the chiefwould quit stirring up these skylarking notions--on _his_ division,anyway. It took just that much longer to take it out of the men--breakthem so you could drive them better.