Bud looked back into the room he was leaving. Glover stepped through

the railing gate and caught the boy by the shoulder. "What's the

matter, my lad?"

He shook and questioned, but from the dazed operator he could get only

one word, "O'Neill," and stepping to the hall door Glover called out

"O'Neill!"

It has been said that Glover's voice would carry in a mountain storm

from side to side of the Medicine Bend yard. That night the very last

rafter in the Wickiup gables rang with his cry. He called only once,

for O'Neill came bounding up the long stairs three steps at a time.

"Look to your train sheet, Garry," said Glover, peremptorily. "This

boy is scared to death. There's trouble somewhere."

He supported the operator to a chair, and O'Neill ran to the inner

room. The moment his eye covered the order book he saw what had

happened. "Extra 81 is against a passenger special," exclaimed

O'Neill, huskily, seizing the key. "There's the order--Extra 81 from

Cambridge to meet Number 50 at Sumter and Special 833 has orders to

Cambridge, and nothing against Extra 81. If I can't catch the freight

at Red Desert we're in for it--wake up Morris Blood, quick, he's in

there asleep."

Blood, working late in his office, had rolled himself in a blanket on

the lounge in Callahan's old room, and unfortunately Morris Blood was

the soundest sleeper on the division. Glover called him, shook him,

caught him by the arm, lifted him to a sitting position, talked

hurriedly to him--he knew what resource and power lay under the thick

curling hair if he could only rouse the tired man from his dreamless

sleep. Even Blood's own efforts to rouse himself were almost at once

apparent. His eyes opened, glared helplessly, sank back and closed in

stupor. Glover grew desperate, and lifting Morris to his feet, dragged

him half way across the dark room.

O'Neill, rattling the key, was looking on from the table like a

drowning man. "Leave your key and steady him here against the

door-jamb, Garry," cried Glover; "by the Eternal, I'll wake him." He

sprang to the big water-cooler, cast away the top, seized the tank like

a bucket, and dashed a full stream of ice-water into Morris Blood's

face.

"Great God, what's the matter? Who is this? Glover? What? Give me a

towel, somebody."

The spell was broken. Glover explained, O'Neill ran back to the key,

and Blood in another moment bent dripping over the nervous despatcher.

The superintendent's mind working faster now than the magic current

before him, listened, cast up, recollected, considered, decided for and

against every chance. At that moment Red Desert answered. No breath

interrupted the faint clicks that reported on Extra 81. O'Neill looked

up in agony as the sounder spelled the words: "Extra 81 went by at

3.05." The superintendent and the despatcher looked at the clock; it

read 3.09.




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