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Telephone. f .
SYLVANIA 1 {
fc? .
VOL XXVII.
Our buyers, who are still in the
• markets, have bought liberally ot
the newest. Prettiest line of
DRESS GOODS
FOR THE SPRING.
New Goods Arriving Every Day.
An Effort to Make Room for the Immense Stock of Merchandise Which is Now Coming In.
The Wise Will Take Advantage of This Opportunity.
50 pieces new prints in grays,
blues, Sheppard plaids, and
many other beautiful designs,
worth 7 l=2c. FOR THIS WEEK
ONLY, the yard, .... 5c.
PER GENT. DISCOUNT MEN BOVS. 1
335 ON ALL CLOTHING FOR Si
(
One lot of lace curtains, $1.75
kind, for this week only . 98 c
Just received a big Jot of black
and white long silk gloves.
I
Bucks S
By FRANK K. SPEARMAN
CopyiiaHt, 1900, by Frank H. Spearman
SEE a good deal
mi of stuff in print
about the engi
i . neef,” said Cal
lahan dejected
ly. “What’s the
matter with the
S d What’s 1 s p a the tcher mat- ?
ter with the
man who tells the engineer what to do—
and just what to do; how to do It, and
exactly,how to do it; with the man
who sits shut in brick walls and hung
In Chinese puzzles, his ear glued to a
receiver and his finger fast to a key
and his eye riveted on a train chart—
the man who orders and annuls and
stops and starts everything within 500
miles of him and holds under his
thumb more lives every minute than
a brigadier does in a lifetime? For in
stance," askeff Callahan, in his tired
way, “what’s the matter with Bucks?”
Now, I myself never knew Bucks. He
left the West End before I went on.
Bucks Is second vice president—which
means the boss—of a transcontinental
line now and a very great swell. But
no man from the West End who calls
on Bucks has to wait for an audience,
though bigger men do. They talk of
him out there yet. Not of General Su
perintendent Bucks, which he came to
be, nor of General Manager Bucks.
On the West End he is just plain
Bucks, but Bucks on the West End
means a whole lot.
“He saved the company $300,000 that
night the Ogalalla train ran away,”
mused Callahan. Callahan himself is
assistant superintendent now.
“Three hundred thousand dollars is a
good deal of money, Callahan,” I ob
jected.
“Figure It out yourself. To begin
with, fifty passengers’ lives — that’s
$5,000 apiece, isn’t it?” Callahan bad
a cold blooded way of figuring a pas
senger’s life from the company stand
point. “It would have killed over fifty
passengers If the runaway had ever
struck 59. There wouldn’t have been
enough left of 59 to make a decent fu
neral. Then the equipment, at least
$50,000. But there was a whole lot
more than $300,000 In It for Bucks."
“How so?”
“He told me once that If he hadn’t
saved 59 that night he would never
have signed another order anywhere
op apy road.”
“Why?”
"Why? Because after it was all over
he found out that his own mother was
aboard 59. Didn’t you ever hear that?
Well, sir, it was Christmas eve, and
the year was 1884.”
Christmas eve everywhere, but on
the West End It was just plain Dec.
24.
ISAAC SILVER – BROTHER.
Bargain Offerings For This Week Only.
One lot of Dress and Apron
Ginghams, best-quality, worth
12 1=2 cts. FOR THIS WEEK
ONLY, 10 yards for . . 79c.
Impossible to advertise all we have for you this
week. A visit to our store will reveal many things
that will interest you.
"High winds will prevail for ensuing
twenty-four hours. Station agents will
use extra cure to secure cars ou sid
ings. Brakemen must use care to
avoid being blown from moving
trains.”
That is about all Bucks said in Ills
bulletin that evening—not a word
abou Christinas or Merry Christmas.
In fact, if Christmas had come to Mc
Cloud that night they couldn’t have
held it twenty-four minutes, much less
twenty-four hours—the wind was too
high. AH the week, all the day, all
the night, it had blown—a December
wind, dry ns an August noon, hitter
as powdered ice. It was in the early
days of our western railroading, when
we had only one fast train on the
schedule — the St. Louis-Callfornia
express—and only one fast engine on
the division—the 101 —and only one
man on the whole West End—Bucks.
Bucks was assistant superintendent
and master mechanic and trainmaster
and chief dispatcher and storekeeper—
and a bully good fellow. There were
some boys in the service, among them
Callahan. Callahan was seventeen,
with hair like a sunset and a mind
quick as au air brake. It was his
first year at the key, and he had a
night trick under Bucks.
u,s““ ~ „ , , . ,___„„ 5 rs ,_____, .
out of his hair. Sod houses had sprung
up like dog “ towns in the buffalo grass
. . „ . .. . „
1 UI I s _1 ¥
steaders < crept f into • t dugouts . 1 .. and srnoth- + ,
ered over buffalo chip fires. Horses
and cattle huddled into friendly pock
ets a little out of the worst of it or
froze mutely in pitiless fence corners
on the divides. Sand drove gritting
down from the Cheyenne hills like a
storm of snow Streets of the raw
prairie towns stared deserted at the
sky. Even cowboys kept their ranches,
and through the gloom of noon the sun
cast a coward shadow. It was a
wretched day and the sun went down
with the wind tuning into a gale and
all the boys In bad humor, except
Bucks. Not that Bucks couldn t get
mad, hut it took more than a cyclone
to start him.
No. 59, the California express, was
late that night. All the way up the
valley the wind caught her quarter
ing. Really, the marvel is that out
there ou the plains such storms didn t
blow our toy engines clear off the
rails. For that matter, they might as
well have taken the rails, too, for none
of them went over sixty pounds. Fifty
nine was due at 11 o’clock. It was
half past 12 when she pulled in and on
Callahan’s trick. But Bucks hung
around the office until she staggered
up under the streaked moonlight, as
frowsy a looking train as ever choked
on alkali.
There was always a crowd down at
the station to meet 59. She was the
big arrival of the day at McCloud even
if she didn’t get In until 11 o’clock at
night. She brought the mail apd the
express and the landseekers and the
traveling men and the strangers gen
erally, so the McCloud livery men and
hotel runners and prominent citizens
and prominent loafers aud the city
SYLVANIA, SCREVEN C9 IIARY 22, 1907.
marshal usuairy came down ro meet
her. But it was not so that night.
The platform was bare. Not even the
hardy chief of police, who was town
watch and city marshal all combined,
ventured out.
The engineer swung out of his cab
with the silence of an abused man.
His eyes were full of soda, his ears
full of sand, his mustache full of burs
and his whiskers full of tumbleweeds.
The conductor aud the brakemen
climbed sullenly down, and the bag
gageman shoved open his door and
slammed a trunk out on the platform
without a pretense of sympathy. Then
the outgoing crew climbed aboard
and in a hurry. The conductor elect
ran downstairs from the register and
pulled his cap down hard before he
pushed ahead against the wind to give
the engineer his copy of the orders as
the new engine was coupled up. The
fireman pulled the canvas jealously
around the cab end. The brakeman
ran hurriedly hack to examine the air
connections and gave his signal to the
conductor. The conductor gave his to
the engineer. There were two short,
choppy snorts from the 101, and 59
moved out stealthily, evenly, resist
lessly into the teeth of the night. In
another minute only her red lamps
gleamed up the yard. One man still on
•>» »rr»>» — -
uc s ’
. . ,
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fice and , sat , down, Callahan „ „ , wondered „. . ,
why he didn’t go home and to bed,
Callahan was too good a railroad !
(mentions ^ of a J superior
Buckg mjght 8tood ou llead
Qn th(J stove alld it redbo t without he
Jng pm . gue(J w|th ln(luiries from C alla
han jf Bucks chose to sit up out there
frozen ^ prairies in a flimsy / barn
q( a gtation wjth the win howl .
lng murder at !2 o’clock past and that
Qn chri _ the 2 4tli of December, it
wag Buckg , 0WI1 busiliesg .
(<I kjn(J Qf Iooked for my mo t bo r to
nigbt „ said be aftcr Callahan got his
or( j erg out of tbe way f or a niinute.
sbe j out pretty ’
„ Wrote was com ng
B00U f or n 5 ;ttle visit.” |
.. Where does mother live?” 1
your
“Chicago. I sent her transportation ,
wceks a g 0 Reckon she thought
gbe ^ d be tter stay home for Christinas. 1
Back j u God’s country they have ■
Christmas just about this time of year. J
yy a t cb ou t tonight, Jim. I’m going
home It > 8 „ wind for your iif -rxlB e .’’ —
Callahan was making a
, )0 [ ld f 0L . freights whcn^MflH mKM
closed behlnd Bucks. He
giug out - Good uigb t>'
Merry chri-well, that had no pH
on tbe -\y es (- G n d anyhow,
,. D ., ^ d . b d .|» canl e clicking into
tbe room Callahan wasn’t asleep.
q ucg be d ; d g j ee p over the key. When
be told Bucks, he made sure of his
time, only he thought Bucks ought to
know.
Bucks shook his head pretty hard
that time. “It’s awful business, Jim.
it’s murder, you know. It’s the peni
tentiary if they should convict you.
But it's worse than that. If anything
happened because you went to sleep
over the key, you’d have them on your
mind .all your life, don’.t you know—
One lot of 200 pieces assorted
Torchons, Vais and Round
thread laces, worth 10 and 12 12c
FOR THIS WEEK ONLY, 5c.
forever. .vieii —- ana — ana cmiuren.
That’s what I always think about—
the children: maimed and scalded
s===
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He poured bullets into the unlucky case
ment -
and bur ned. Jim, if it ever happens
again, quit dispatching. Get into com
mercial work; mistakes don’t cost life
there; don’t try to handle trains. If
it ever happens with you, you’ll kill
yourself.”
That was all he said. It was enough,
And no wonder Callahan loved him.
The wind tore frantically around the
station, but everything else was so
still. It was 1 o’clock now and not a
soul about but Callahan. D-i, D-i, J,
clicked sharp and fast. "Twelve or
fourteen cars passed here—just—now
east-running a-a-a.” Callahan sprang
up like a flash—listened. "What! Run
nlng away?
It was the Jackson operator calling,
Callahan jumped to the key. “What’s
that?” bo asked quick as lightning
could dash it.
“ j fourteen cars coal,
fta^-ty miles .uyflS a.uj
Hoi' Die
track;"■ ySfuiem out frag oT.
on sklo •
| ine 0 , r d(nvn the g -aile.”
wero already past Jackson,
eight miles away, headed east and run
ning ° doWU b ;j k Callahan’s eyes turned
|lke baves to tbe train sheet. Fifty
nin0j ’ go j ng west, was due that minute
to ]o ave callendar. From Callendar to
Griffin is a twenty miles’ run. There
is a g f a ti 0 n between, but in those days
uo uigb t operator. The runaway coal
f ra j u was jess .tjiau^ thirtv miles
■
west ut Griffin, coming down a forty
mile grade like a camion ball. If 59
could be stopped at Callendar. she
could he laid by in five minutes out of
the way of the certain destruction
ahead of her on the main line. Calla
han seized the key and began calling
“Cn.” He pounded until the call burn
ed into his fingers. It was an age be
fore Callendar answered. Then Calla
han's order fled:
“Hold 59. Answer quick.” j
And Callendar answered: “Fifty-nine
just pulling out of upper yard. Too
late to stop her. What’s the matter?” !
Callahan struck the table with his j j
clinched fist, looked wildly about him,
then sprang from the chair, ran to the
window and threw up the sash. The
moon shone a bit through the storm of
sand, hut there was not a soul in sight.
There were lights in the roundhouse a
hundred yards across the track. He ;
pulled a revolver—every railroad man !
out there carried one those days—and,
covering one of the roundhouse win- |
dows, began firing. It was a risk,
There was one chance, maybe, to a
thousand of his killing a night man.
But there were a thousand chances to
one that a whole train load of men and
women would be killed inside of thirty
minutes if be couldn't get help. He
chose a window in the machinists’ sec
tlon, where he knew no one usually j
weut at night. Ho poured bullets into
the unlucky casement as fast as pow
der could carry them. Reloading rap
idly, he watched the roundhouse door,
and, sure enough, almost at once, it
was cautiously opened. Then lie fired
into the air—one, two, three, four, five,
six—aud he saw a man start for the
station on the dead run. He knew, too,
by the tremendous sweep of his legs
that it was Ole Anderson, the night
foreman, the man of all others lie
wanted.
“Ole,” cried the dispatcher, waving
his arms frantically as the giant Swede
leaped across the track and looked up
from the platform below, “go get
Bucks. I’ve got a runaway train go
ing against 59. For your life, Ole,
run!”
The big fellow was into the wind
with tlie word. Bucks boarded four
blocks away, Callahan, slamming
down the window, took the key and
began calling Rowe. Rowe is the first
station east of Jackson. It was now
the first point at which the runaway
■UM^^MflAheadcd. A 1 111
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could talk in- 1,1.1
and gave him orders
agent. he knew,
^^H|H ^M>n<rall 6 own to ties sell they tickets could for gather 59, j
JSoss the
the track to derail the runaway
train. Then lie began thumping for
Koiar, the next station east of Rowe
and the second ahead of tlie runaways.
He pounded’and he pounded, and when
the man at Koiar answered Callahan
could have sworn ho had been asleep
just from the way he talked. Does it
seem strange? There are many strange
things about a dispatcher’s senses.
“Send your night man to west switch
house track and open for runaway
Just received our new stock of
Queen Quality
OXFORDS.
All the newest toes and lasts are
represented in the lot.
Only a few left===Our $2.00
quality White Lily Bed Spreads
SPECIAL FOR THIS WEEK,
97 cents........
wide, Table Xtra Daftjgl q?H ■’
SSt
18 inch embr(S ijii
75c quality, fo^| '
tram, set oraaes naia on yonr empties !
on skiing to spill runaways if possible, !
Do anything and everything to keep
them from getting by yon. Work
quick.”
Behind IColar’s O. K. came a frantic
call from Rowe. "Runaways passed
here like a streak. Knocked the ties
into toothpicks. Couldn’t head them.”
Callahan didn't wait to hear any
more. He only wiped the sweat from
his face. It seemed forever before
Koiar spoke again. Then it was only
to say, “Runaways went by here be
fore night man could get to switch and
open it.”
Would Bucks never come And if
lie did come, what on earth could stop
the runaway train now They were
heading into the worst grade on the
West End. It averagt per cent
from Koiar to Griffin, and here we get
down off the Cheyenne hills with a long
reverse curve and drop into the canyon
of the Blackwood with a 3 per cent
grade. Callahan, almost beside Win
self, threw open a north window to
look for Bucks. Two men were flying
down Main street toward the station,
He knew them; it was Ole and Bucks.
But Bucks! Never before or since
was seen on a street of McCloud sucli
a figure as Bucks, in bis trousers and.
slippers, with his nightshirt free as he
sailed down the wind. In another In
stapt he was bounding up the stairs.
“What have you done?” he panted,
throwing himself into the chair. Cal
lahan told him. Bucks held his head
in his hands while the boy talked. He
turned to the sheet—asked quick for 59.
“She’s out of Callendar. I tried
hard to stop her. I didn’t lose a sec
ond; she was gone.”
Barely an instant Bucks studied the
sheet. Routed out of a sound sleep
after an eight hour trick and on such
a night by such a message, the mar-j
vel was be could think at all, much
less set a trap which should save
59. In twenty minutes from the time
Bucks took the key the two trains
would be together. Could Ik save the
passenger? Callahan didn’t believe it.
A sharp, quick call brought Griffin.
We had one of the brightest lads-: on
the whole division at Griffin. Calla
han, listening, heard Griffin answer.
Bucks rattled a question. How the
heart hangs ou the faint, uncertain
tick of a sounder when human lives
hang on it!
“Where are your ’section men?” ask
ed Bucks.
“In bed at the section house,”
“Who's with you?” .
“Night agent: sheriff with two cow
boy prisoners waiting to take 59."
Before the last word came Bucks
was hack at him:
p
Ask sker . f£ releaS(J hls prisoners to save
passenger train. Go together to west
switch house traak, open and set it.
Smash In section tool house, get tools.
Go to point of house track curve, cut
the rails and point them to send run
away train from Ogalalla over the bluff
into the river. BUCKS,
Tlie words flew off his fingers like
sparks, and another message crowded
- :bo W ire behind it:
To Agt.:
G*rt to oast, swiich. ..and
NO. 29.
passing track, nag 59 ana run ner on
siding If can’t get 59 into tlie clear,
ditch the runaways. BUCKS.
They 00 k old now. The Ink is faded
and the paper is smoked with the five
of th i fifteen winters and bleached
with the sun of fifteen summers, hut
to this day they bans there in tlieir
walnut frames, the original orders, just
as Bucks scratched tliem off. They
hang there in the dispatchers’ offices in
tne new depot. But in their present
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In a bunch they ran jor the point of
the curve. -
swell surroundings Bucks wouldn't
know them. It was Harvey Reynolds
who took them off the other end of the
wire—a boy in a thousand for that
night and that minute. The instant the
words flashed into the room he in
structed tlie agent, grabbed an ax and
dashed out into the waiting rootli,
where the sheriff, Ed Banks, sat with
his prisoners, the cowboys.
“Ed,” cried Harvey, “there's a run
away train from Ogalalla coming down
the line in the wind. If we can’t trap
it here it’ll knock 59 into kindling
wood. Turn the boys loose, Ed, and
save the passenger train. Boys, show
the man and square yourselves right
now. I don’t know what you’re here
for, but I believe it's to save 59. Will
you help?”
The three men sprang to their feet.
Ed Banks slipped the handcuffs off in
a trice. “Never mind the rest of it.
Save the passenger train first!" he
roared. Everybody from Ogalalla to
* Omaha knew Ed Banks,
| “Which way? How?” cried the cow
Iboys, in a lather of excitement.
Harvey Reynolds, beckoning as he
vi tn. rushed out the door and up the
[Continued on Last Page.]