Union Pacific

by Zane Grey

  Neale saw the growth of the great railroad with its great problems in the face and voice of the old engineer. “Listen,” he said swiftly. “A half mile down from where you struck your snag, we’ll change the course of that stream! We’ll change the line . . . set a compound curve by intersections . . . and we’ll get much less than a ninety-foot grade to the mile.” Then he turned to General Lodge. “Chief, Baxter had so many problems . . . so much on his mind that he couldn’t think . . . The work will go on tomorrow.”

  “But, Neale, you went out without any instrument,” protested the chief.

  “I didn’t need one.”

  “Son, are you sure? This has been a stumper. What you say . . . seems too good . . . too . . .”

  “Am I sure?” cried Neale gaily. “Look at Baxter’s face!”

  Indeed one look at the old engineer was confirmation enough.

  * * * * *

  Neale was made much of that night. The chief and his engineers, the officers and their wives, all vied with one another in their efforts to celebrate Neale’s return to work. The dinner party was merry, yet earnest, too. Baxter made a speech, his fine old face alight with gladness as he extolled youth and genius, and the inspiring power of bright eyes. Neale had to answer. His voice was deep and full as he said that Providence had returned him to his work and to a happiness he had believed lost. He denied the genius attributed to him, but not the inspiring power of bright eyes, and he paid as fine a tribute to Baxter.

  Through all this gaiety and earnestness Allie’s lips were mute, and her cheeks flushed and pale by turns. It was an ordeal for her, both confusing and poignant. At last she and Neale got away alone to the cabin room where they had met earlier in the day.

  They leaned at the open window, close together, hands locked, gazing out over the quiet valley. The moon was full, and broad belts of silver light lay in strong contrast to black shadows. The hour was late. The sentries paced their beats.

  Allie stirred and lifted her face to Neale’s. “What they said about you makes me al-almost as happy as to see you again,” she said.

  “They said! Who? What?” asked Neale dreamily.

  “Oh, I heard, I remember! For instance, Mister Baxter said you had genius.”

  “He was just eulogizing me,” replied Neale. “What he said about your bright eyes was more to the point, I think.”

  “It’s sweet to believe I could inspire you. But I know . . . and you know . . . that if I had not been here, you would have seen through the engineering problem just the same . . . Now, be honest.”

  “Yes, I would,” replied Neale frankly. “Though, perhaps, not so swiftly. I could see through stone today.”

  “And that proves your worth, your duty it always has been . . . to stand by your chief. Oh, I love him! He seems so much younger today. You have encouraged them all . . . Oh, dear Neale, there is something noble in what you can do for him. Can’t you see it?”

  “Yes, Allie, indeed I do.”

  “Promise me . . . never to fail him again.”

  “I promise.”

  “No matter what happens to me! I am alive, safe, well . . . and I’m yours. But something might happen . . . you can never tell. I don’t refer particularly to Durade and his gang. I mean life and everything is uncertain out here. So promise me . . . no matter what happens, that you’ll stand by your work.”

  “I promise that, too,” replied Neale huskily. “But you frighten me. You fear . . . for yourself?”

  “No, I don’t,” she protested.

  “Fate could not be so brutal—to take you from me. Anyway, I’ll not think of it.”

  “Do not. Nor will I . . . I wouldn’t have asked you . . . why this night has shown me your opportunity. I’m so proud . . . so proud. You’ll be great someday.”

  “Well, if you’re so proud . . . if you think I’m so wonderful, why haven’t you rewarded me for that little job today?”

  “Reward you? How?”

  “How do you suppose?”

  She was pale, eloquent, grave. But he was low-voiced, gay, intense.

  “Dear Neale . . . what . . . what can I do? I have nothing . . . So big a thing as you did today!”

  “Child! You can kiss me.”

  Allie’s secret gravity changed. She smiled. “I shore can, as Reddy used to say. That’s my privilege. But you spoke of a reward. My kisses . . . they are yours . . . and as many as the . . . the grains of sand out there . . . they are not reward.”

  “No? Listen. For just one kiss . . . if I had to earn it so . . . I would dig that roadbed out there, carry every tie and rail with my bare hands, drive every spike . . .”

  “Neale, you talk like a boy. Something indeed has gone to your head.”

  “Yes, indeed it has. It’s your face . . . in the moonlight.”

  She hid that for a moment on his breast. “I . . . I want to be serious,” she whispered. “I want to thank God for my good fortune. To think of you and your work! The future! And you . . . you only want kisses.”

  “Well, since your future must be largely made up of kisses, suppose you begin your work . . . right now.”

  “Oh, you are teasing. Yet when you ask of me . . . whatever you ask . . . I have no mind . . . no will. Something drags at me . . . I feel it now . . . as I used to when you made me wade the brook.”

  “Ah! That is my sweetest memory of you. How it haunted me!”

  They stood silent for a while. Now in the moon-blanched space the sentries trod monotonously. A coyote yelped, sharp and wild. The wind moaned low. Suddenly Neale shook himself, as if awakening.

  “Allie, it grows late. We must say good night . . . Today has been blessed! I am grateful to the depths of my heart . . . But I won’t let you go . . . until my reward . . .”

  She raised her face, white and noble in the moonlight.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Neale slept in a tent, and, when he suddenly was awakened, it was bright daylight. His ears vibrated to a piercing blast. For an instant he could not distinguish the sound. But when it ceased, then he knew it had been a ringing bugle call. Following that, came the voices and movements of excited troopers.

  He rolled out of his blankets to get into boots and coat, and rush out. The troopers appeared all around him in hurried orderly action. Neale asked a soldier what was up.

  “Redskins, b’gorra . . . before breakfast,” was the disgusted reply.

  Neale thought of Allie and his heart contracted. A swift glance on all sides, however, failed to see any evidence of attack on the camp. He espied General Lodge and Colonel Dillon among a group before the engineers’ quarters. Neale hurried up.

  “Good morning, Neale,” said the chief grimly. “You’re back on the job all right.”

  And Colonel Dillon added: “A little action to celebrate your return, Neale!”

  “What’s happened?” queried Neale shortly.

  “We just got a telegraph message,” replied Dillon, “or half a message. ‘Big force. Sioux . . .’ That’s all. The operator says the wire was cut in the middle of that message.”

  “Big force . . . Sioux,” repeated Neale. “Between here and Benton?”

  “Of course. We sent a scout on horseback down along the line.”

  “Neale, you’ll find guns inside. Help yourself,” said General Lodge. “You’ll take breakfast with us in the cabin. We don’t know what’s up yet. But it looks bad for us . . . having the women here. This cabin is no fort.”

  “General, we can have all those railroad ties hustled here, and throw up defenses,” suggested the officer.

  “That’s a good idea. But the troopers will have to carry them. That work train won’t get out here today.”

  “It’s not likely. But we can use the graders from the camp up the line . . . Neale, go in and get guns and a bite to eat. I’ll have a horse here ready for you. I want you to ride out after those graders.”

  “All right,” replied Neale rapidly. “Have you told . . . do the women know yet what�
��s up?”

  “Yes. And that girl of yours has nerve. Hurry, Neale.”

  * * * * *

  Neale rode away on his urgent errand without having seen Allie. His orders had been to run the horse. It was some distance to the next grading camp—how far he did not know. And the possibility of his return being cut off by Indians, which possibility was implied by Dillon, had quickened Neale into a realization of the grave nature of the situation.

  He had difficulty climbing down and up the gorge, but once across it, there was the graded roadbed, leading straight to the next camp. This roadbed was soft, and not easy going for a horse. Neale found better ground along the line, on hard ground. And here he urged the fresh horse to a swift and a steady gait.

  The distance was farther than he imagined, and probably exceeded ten miles. He rode at a gallop through a wagon train camp, which, from its quiet looks, was not connected with the work on the railroad, straight on into the midst of two hundred or more graders just about to begin the day’s work. His advent called a halt to everything. Sharply and briefly Neale communicated the orders given him. Then he wheeled his horse on the return trip.

  When he galloped through the wagon train camp, several rough-appearing men hailed him curiously.

  “Indians!” yelled Neale as he swept on. He glanced back once to see a tall, dark-faced man wearing a frock coat speak to the others, and then wildly fling his arms.

  It was downhill this way. And the horse, now thoroughly heated and excited, ran his swiftest. Far down the line Neale saw columns of smoke rolling upward. They appeared farther on than his camp, yet they caused him apprehension. His cheek blanched at the thought that the camp containing Allie Lee might be surrounded by Indians. His fears, however, were groundless, for soon he saw the white tents and the cabins, with the smoke columns rising far below.

  Neale rode into camp from the west in time to see Dillon’s scout galloping hard up from the east. Neale dismounted before the waiting officers to give his report.

  “Good,” replied Dillon. “You certainly made time. We can figure on those graders in an hour or so?”

  “Yes. There were horses enough for half the gang,” answered Neale.

  “Now for Anderson’s report,” muttered the officer.

  Anderson was the scout. He rode up on a foam-lashed mustang, and got off, dark and grimy with dust. His report was that he had been unable to get in touch with any soldiers or laborers along the line, but he had seen enough with his own eyes. Halfway between the camp and Benton a large force of Sioux had torn up the track—halted and fired the work train. A desperate battle was being fought, with the odds against the workmen, for the reason that the train of boxcars was burning. Troops must be rushed to the rescue.

  Colonel Dillon sent a trooper with orders to saddle horses.

  This sent a cold chill through Neale. “General, if the Sioux rounded us up here in this camp, we’d be hard put to it,” he said forcibly.

  “Right you are, Neale. The high slopes, rocks, and trees would afford cover . . . whoever picked out this location for a camp wasn’t thinking of Indians . . . But we need scarcely expect an attack here.”

  “Suppose we got the women away . . . in the hills,” suggested Neale.

  Anderson shook his head. “They might be worse off. Here you’ve shelter, water, food, and men coming. That’s a big force of Sioux. They’ll have look-outs on all the hills.”

  It was decided to leave a detachment of soldiers under Lieutenant Brady, who was to remain in camp until the arrival of the graders, and then follow hard on Colonel Dillon’s trail.

  Besides Allie Lee there were five other women in camp, and they all came out to see the troops ride away. Neale heard Colonel Dillon assure his wife that he did not think there was any danger. But the color failed to return to her face. The other women, excepting Allie, were plainly frightened. Neale found new pride in Allie. She had little fear of the Sioux.

  General Lodge rode beside Colonel Dillon at the head of the troops. They left camp on a trot, raising a cloud of dust, and quickly disappeared around the curve of the hill. The troopers who were left behind stacked their guns and sallied out after railroad ties with which to build defenses. Anderson, the scout, rode up the slope to a secluded point from which he was to keep watch. The women were instructed to stay inside the log cabin adjoining the flimsy quarters of the engineers. Baxter, with his assistants, overhauled the guns and ammunition left, and Neale gathered up all the maps and plans and drawings, and put them in a bag to keep close at hand.

  Time passed swiftly, and in another half hour the graders began to arrive. They came riding on bareback, sometimes two on one horse, flourishing their guns—a hundred or more red-faced Irishmen spoiling for a fight. Their advent eased Neale’s dread. Still, a strange feeling weighed upon him, and he could not understand it or shake it. He had no optimism for the moment. He judged it to be over-emotion, a selfish and rather exaggerated fear for Allie’s safety.

  Lieutenant Brady then departed with his soldiers, leaving the noisy laborers to carry ties and erect bulwarks. The Irish, as ever, growled and voiced their complaints at finding work, instead of fighting.

  “Hurry an’ fetch us, yez domn’ Sooz!” was the cry sent after Brady, and that voiced the spirit of the gang.

  In an hour they had piled a fence of railroad ties, six feet high, around the engineers’ quarters. This task had scarcely been done when Anderson was discovered riding recklessly down the slope.

  Baxter threw up his hands. “We’re going to have it,” he said. “Neale, I’m not so young as I was.”

  Anderson rode in behind the barricade and dismounted. “Sioux!”

  The graders greeted this information with loud hurrahs. But when Anderson pointed out a large band of Sioux filing down from the hilltop the enthusiasm was somewhat checked. It was the largest hostile force of Sioux that Neale had ever seen. Sight of the lean wild figures stirred Neale’s blood, and then again sent that cold chill over him. The Indians rode down the higher slope and turned off at the edge of the timber out of rifle range. Here they got off their mustangs and apparently held a council. Neale plainly saw a befeathered chieftain point with long arms. Then the band moved, disintegrated, and presently seemed to have melted into the ground.

  “Men, we’re in for a siege!” yelled old Baxter.

  At this juncture the women came running out, badly frightened.

  “The Indians! The Indians!” cried Mrs. Dillon. “We saw them . . . behind the cabin . . . creeping down through the rocks.”

  “Get inside . . . stay in the cabin,” ordered Baxter.

  Allie was the last one crowded in. Neale, as he half forced her inside, was struck with a sudden wild change in her expression.

  “There . . . there,” she whispered, trying to point.

  Just then rifle shots and the spattering of bullets made quick work urgent.

  “Go . . . get inside the log walls,” said Neale as he shoved Allie in.

  Excitement prevailed among the graders. They began to run under cover of the enclosure and some began to shoot aimlessly.

  “Anderson, take some men. Go to the back of the cabin!” shouted Baxter.

  The scout called for men to follow him and run out. So many of the graders essayed to follow that they blocked the narrow opening between enclosure and house. Suddenly one of them in the rear sheered around so that he looked at Neale. It was but a momentary glance, but Neale saw recognition there. Then the man was gone. And Neale sustained a strange surprise. That face had been familiar, but he could not recall where he had ever seen it. A red leering evil visage, with prominent hard features, grew more vivid in memory as Neale’s mind revolved closer to discovery.

  “Inside with you, Neale!” yelled Baxter.

  Baxter and Neale, with the four young engineers, took to the several rooms of the log cabin, where each selected an aperture between the logs or a window through which to fire upon the Indians. Neale soon ascertained that there wa
s nothing to shoot at, unless it was at white puffs of smoke rising from behind rocks on the slope. There was absolutely not a sign of an Indian. The graders were firing, but Neale believed they would have done little to save their powder. Bullets pattered against the logs; now and then a leader pellet sung through a window to thud into the wall. Neale shut the heavy door leading from the cabin into the engineers’ quarters. Four bullets ripped through from one side to the other of this canvas and clapboard structure. Then Neale passed from room to room, searching for Allie. Two of the young engineers were kneeling at a chink between the logs, aiming and firing in great excitement. Campbell had sustained a slight wound, and looked white with rage and fear. Baxter was peeping from behind the rude jamb of a window.

  “Nothin’ to shoot at, boy,” he said in exasperation.

  “Wait. Listen to that bunch of Irish shoot. They’re wasting powder.”

  “We’ve plenty of ammunition. Let ’em shoot. They may not hit any redskins, but they’ll scare ’em.”

  “We can hold on here . . . if the troopers hurry back,” said Neale.

  “Sure. But maybe they’re hard at it, too. I’ve no doubt this is the same bunch of Sioux that held up the work train.”

  “Neither have I. And if the troops don’t get here before dark . . .”

  Neale halted, and Baxter shook his gray head.

  “That would be bad,” he said. “But we’ve squeezed out of narrow places before . . . buildin’ this U.P.R.”

  Neale found the women in the large room, between the corner of the walls and a huge stone fireplace. They were quiet. Allie leaped at sight of Neale. Her hands trembled as she grasped him.

  “Neale!” she whispered. “I saw Fresno!”

  “Who’s he?” queried Neale blankly.

  “He’s one of Durade’s gang.”

  “No!” exclaimed Neale. He drew Allie aside. “You’re scared.”

  “I’d never forget Fresno,” she replied positively. “He was one of the ruffians who burned Slingerland’s cabin and made off with me.”