CHAPTER XIII
With Bob Scott to lead an occasional hunting trip, Bucks found thetime go fast at Goose Creek and no excitement came again until laterin the summer.
Where Goose Creek breaks through the sand-hills the country is flat,and, when swollen with spring rains, the stream itself has the forceand fury of a mountain river. Then summer comes; the rain clouds hangno longer over the Black Hills, continuing sunshine parches the faceof the great plains, and the rushing and turbulent Goose Creekignominiously evaporates--either ascending to the skies in vapor orburrowing obscurely under the sprawling sands that lie within itscourse. Only stagnant pools and feeble rivulets running in widelyseparated channels--hiding under osiers or lurking within shadystretches of a friendly bank--remain to show where in April the noisyGoose engulfs everything within reach of its foaming wings. The creekbed becomes in midsummer a mere sandy ford that may be crossed by achild--a dry map that prints the running feet of snipe and plover, thecreeping tread of the mink and the muskrat, and the slouching trail ofthe coyote and the wolf.
Yet there is treachery in the Goose even in its apparent repose, andthe unwary emigrant sometimes comes to grief upon its treacherous bed.The sands of the Goose have swallowed up more than one heedlessbuffalo, and the Indian knows them too well to trust them at all.
When the railroad bridge was put across the creek, the difficulties ofsecuring it were very considerable and Brodie, the chief engineer, wasin the end forced to rely upon temporary foundations. Trainmen andengineers for months carried "slow" orders for Goose Creek bridge, andBucks grew weary with warnings from the despatchers to carelessenginemen about crossing it.
Among the worst offenders in running his engine too fast over GooseCreek bridge was Dan Baggs, who, breathing fire through his bristlingred whiskers and flashing it from his watery blue eyes, feared nobodybut Indians, and obeyed reluctantly everybody connected with therailroad. Moreover, he never hesitated to announce that when "theydidn't like the way he ran his engine they could get somebody else torun it."
Baggs's great failing was that, while he often ran his train too fast,he wasted so much time at stations that he was always late. And it wassaid of him that the only instance in which he ever reached the end ofhis division on time was the day he ran away from Iron Hand's band ofSioux at Goose Creek--on that occasion he had made, without a doubt, arecord run.
But when, one hot afternoon in August, Baggs left Medicine Bend with alight engine for Fort Park, where he was to pick up a train-load ofties, he had no thought of making further pioneer railroad history.His engine had been behaving so well that his usual charges ofinefficiency against it had not for a long time been registered withthe roundhouse foreman, and Dan Baggs, dreaming in the heat andsunshine of nothing worse than losing his scalp to the Indians orwinning a fortune at cards--gambling was another of his failings--waspounding lightly along over the rails when he reached, without heedingit, Goose Creek bridge.
There were those who averred that after his experience with Iron Handhe always ran faster across the forbidden bridge than anywhere else.On this occasion Baggs bowled merrily along the trestle and wasgetting toward the middle of the river when the pony trucks jumped therail and the drivers dropped on the ties. Dan Baggs yelled to hisfireman.
It was unnecessary. Delaroo, the fireman, a quiet but prudent fellow,was already standing in the gangway prepared for an emergency. Hesprang, not a minute too soon, from the engine and lighted in thesand. But Dan Baggs's fixed habit of being behind time chained him tohis seat an instant too long. The bulky engine, with its tremendousimpetus, shot from the trestle and plunged like a leviathan clear ofthe bridge and down into the wet sand of the creek-bed.
The fireman scrambled to his feet and ran forward, expecting to findhis engineman hurt or killed. What was his surprise to behold Baggs,uninjured, on his feet and releasing the safety-valve of his fallenlocomotive to prevent an explosion. The engine lay on its side. Thecrash of the breaking timbers, followed by a deafening blast ofescaping steam, startled Bucks and, with Bob Scott, he ran out of thestation. As he saw the spectacle in the river, he caught his breath.He lived to see other wrecks--some appalling ones--but this was hisfirst, and the shock of seeing Dan Baggs's engine lying prone in theriver, trumpeting forth a cloud of steam, instead of thundering acrossthe bridge as he normally saw it every day, was an extraordinary one.
Filled with alarm, he ran toward the bridge expecting that the worsthad happened to the engineman and fireman. But his amazement grewrather than lessened when he saw Delaroo and Baggs running for theirlives toward him. He awaited them uneasily.
"What's the matter?" demanded Bucks, as Baggs, well in the lead, camewithin hailing distance.
"Matter!" panted Baggs, not slackening his pace. "Matter! Look at myengine! Indians!"
"Indians, your grandmother!" retorted Bob Scott mildly. "There's notan Indian within forty miles--what's the matter with you?"
"They wrecked us, Bob," declared Baggs, pointing to his roaringengine; "see for yourself, man. Them cotton-woods are full of Indiansright now."
"Full of rabbits!" snorted Bob Scott. "You wrecked yourself by runningtoo fast."
"Delaroo," demanded Dan Baggs, pointing dramatically at his taciturnfireman, who had now overtaken him, "how fast was I running?"
Peter Delaroo, an Indian half-blood himself, returned a disconcertinganswer. "As fast as you could, I reckon." He understood at once thatBaggs had raised a false alarm to protect himself from blame for theaccident, and resented being called upon to support an absurd story.
Baggs stood his ground. "If you don't find an Indian has done this,"he asserted, addressing Bob Scott with indignation, "you can have mypay check."
"Yes," returned Bob, meditatively. "I reckon an Indian did it, but youare the Indian."
"Come, stop your gabble, you boys!" blustered the doughty engineman,speaking to everybody and with a show of authority. "Bucks, notify thedespatcher I'm in the river."
"Get back to your engine, then," said Scott. "Don't ask Bucks to sendin a false report. And afterward," suggested Scott, "you and I, Dan,can go over and clean the Indians out of the cotton-woods."
Baggs took umbrage at the suggestion, and no amount of chaffing fromScott disconcerted him, but after Bucks reported the catastrophe toMedicine Bend the wires grew warm. Baxter was very angry. A crew wasgot together at Medicine Bend, and a wrecking-train made up with agang of bridge and track men and despatched to the scene of thedisaster. The operating department was so ill equipped to cope withany kind of a wreck that it was after midnight before the train gotunder way.
The sun had hardly risen next morning, when Bob Scott, without anywords of explanation, ran into Bucks's room, woke him hurriedly, and,bidding him dress quickly, ran out. It took only a minute for Bucks tospring from his cot and get into his clothes and he hastened out ofdoors to learn what the excitement was about. Scott was walking fastdown toward the bridge. Bucks joined him.
"What is it, Bob?" he asked hastily. "Indians?"
"Indians?" echoed Bob scornfully. "I guess not this time. I've heardof Indians stealing pretty nearly everything on earth--but not this.No Indian in this country, not even Turkey Leg, ever stole alocomotive."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean Dan Baggs's engine is gone."
Bucks's face turned blank with amazement. "Gone?" he echoedincredulously. He looked at Scott with reproach. "You are jokingme."
"See if you can find it," returned Scott tersely.
As they hastened on, Bucks looked to the spot where the engine hadlain the night before. It was no longer there.
He was too stunned to ask further questions. The two strode along theties in silence. Eagerly Bucks ran to the creek bank and scanned moreclosely the sandy bed. It was there that the wrecked engine and tenderhad lain the night before. The sand showed no disturbance whatever. Itwas as smooth as a table. But nothing was to be seen of the engine ortender. These had disappeared as completely as if an Aladdin's slave,at
his master's bidding, had picked them from their resting place andset them on top of some distant sand-hill.
"Bob," demanded Bucks, breathless, "what does it mean?"
"It means the company is out one brand-new locomotive."
"But what has happened?" asked Bucks, rubbing his eyes to make sure hewas not dreaming. "Where is the engine?"
Scott pointed to the spot where the engine had lain. "It is in thatquicksand," said he.
The engine, during the night, had, in fact, sunk completely into thesand. No trace was left of it or of its tender. Not a wheel or cabcorner remained to explain; all had mysteriously and completelydisappeared.
"Great Heavens, Bob!" exclaimed Bucks. "How will they _ever_ get itout?"
"The only way they'll ever get it out, I reckon, is by keeping DanBaggs digging there till he digs it out."
"Dan Baggs never could dig that out--how long would it take him?"
"About a hundred and seventy-five years."
As Scott spoke, the two heard footsteps behind them. Baggs andDelaroo, who had slept at the section-house, were coming down thetrack. "Baggs," said Scott ironically, as the sleepy-lookingengineman approached, "you were right about the Indians being in thecotton-woods last night."
"I knew I was right," exclaimed Baggs, nodding rapidly and brusquely."Next time you'll take a railroad man's word, I guess. Where arethey?" he added, looking apprehensively around. "What have theydone?"
"They have stolen your engine," answered Scott calmly. He pointed tothe river bed. Baggs stared; then running along the bank he lookedup-stream and down and came back sputtering.
"Why--what--how--what in time! Where's the engine?"
"Indians," remarked Scott sententiously, looking wisely down upon thesphinx-like quicksand. "Indians, Dan. They must have loaded the engineon their ponies during the night--did you hear anything?" he demanded,turning to Bucks. Bucks shook his head. "I thought I did," continuedScott. "Thought I heard something--what's that?"
Baggs jumped. All were ready to be startled at anything--for evenScott, in spite of his irony, had been as much astounded as any one atthe first sight of the empty bed of sand. It was enough to make anyone feel queerish. The noise they heard was the distant rumble of thewrecking-train.
In the east the sun was bursting over the sand-hills into a clear sky.Bucks ran to the station to report the train and the disappearance ofthe engine. When he had done this he ran back to the bridge. Thewrecking-train had pulled up near at hand and the greater part of themen, congregated in curious groups on the bridge, were talkingexcitedly and watching several men down on the sand, who with spadeswere digging vigorously about the spot which Baggs and Delarooindicated as the place where the engine had fallen. Others from timeto time joined them, as they scraped out wells and trenches in themoist sand. These filled with water almost as rapidly as they wereopened.
Urged by their foreman, a dozen additional men joined the toilers.They dug in lines and in circles, singly and in squads, broadeningtheir field of prospecting as the laughter and jeers of theircompanions watching from the bridge spurred them to further toil. Butnot the most diligent of their efforts brought to light a singletrace of the missing engine.
The wrecking crew was mystified. Many refused to believe the enginehad ever fallen off the bridge. But there was the broken track! Theycould not escape the evidence of their eyes, even if they did scoff atthe united testimony of the two men that had been on the engine whenit leaped from the bridge and the two that had afterward seen it lyingin the sand.
The track and bridge men without more ado set to work to repair thedamage done the track and bridge. A volley of messages came fromhead-quarters. At noon a special car, with Colonel Stanley and thedivision heads arrived to investigate.
The digging was planned and directed on a larger scale and resumedwith renewed vigor. Sheet piling was attempted. Every expedient wasresorted to that Stanley's scientific training could suggest to bringto light the buried treasure--for an engine in those days, and so farfrom locomotive works, was very literally a treasure to the railroadcompany. Stanley himself was greatly upset. He paced the ties abovewhere the men were digging, directing and encouraging them doggedly,but very red in the face and contemplating the situation withincreasing vexation. He stuck persistently to the work till darknessset in. Meantime, the track had been opened and the wrecking-traincrossed the bridge and took the passing track. The moon rose full overthe broad valley and the silent plains. Men still moved with lanternsunder the bridge. Bucks, after a hard day's work at the key, wasinvited for supper to Stanley's car, where the foremen had assembledto lay new plans for the morrow. But Bob Scott, when Bucks told him,shook his head.
"They are wasting their work," he murmured. "The company is 'out.'That engine is half-way to China by this time."
It might, at least, as well have been, as far as the railroad companywas concerned. The digging and sounding and scraping proved equallyuseless. The men dug down almost as deep as the piling that supportedthe bridge itself--it was in vain. In the morning the sun smiled attheir efforts and again at night the moon rose mysteriously upon them,and in the distant sand-hills a thousand coyotes yelped a requiem forthe lost locomotive. But no human eye ever saw so much as a bolt ofthe great machine again.
The Mountain Divide Page 13
