Part 13 (1/2)

”What's the matter?” demanded Bucks, as Baggs, well in the lead, came within hailing distance.

”Matter!” panted Baggs, not slackening his pace. ”Matter! Look at my engine! Indians!”

”Indians, your grandmother!” retorted Bob Scott mildly. ”There's not an Indian within forty miles--what's the matter with you?”

”They wrecked us, Bob,” declared Baggs, pointing to his roaring engine; ”see for yourself, man. Them cotton-woods are full of Indians right now.”

”Full of rabbits!” snorted Bob Scott. ”You wrecked yourself by running too fast.”

”Delaroo,” demanded Dan Baggs, pointing dramatically at his taciturn fireman, who had now overtaken him, ”how fast was I running?”

Peter Delaroo, an Indian half-blood himself, returned a disconcerting answer. ”As fast as you could, I reckon.” He understood at once that Baggs had raised a false alarm to protect himself from blame for the accident, 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 a.s.serted, addressing Bob Scott with indignation, ”you can have my pay check.”

”Yes,” returned Bob, meditatively. ”I reckon an Indian did it, but you are the Indian.”

”Come, stop your gabble, you boys!” bl.u.s.tered the doughty engineman, speaking to everybody and with a show of authority. ”Bucks, notify the despatcher I'm in the river.”

”Get back to your engine, then,” said Scott. ”Don't ask Bucks to send in 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 from Scott disconcerted him, but after Bucks reported the catastrophe to Medicine Bend the wires grew warm. Baxter was very angry. A crew was got together at Medicine Bend, and a wrecking-train made up with a gang of bridge and track men and despatched to the scene of the disaster. The operating department was so ill equipped to cope with any kind of a wreck that it was after midnight before the train got under way.

The sun had hardly risen next morning, when Bob Scott, without any words of explanation, ran into Bucks's room, woke him hurriedly, and, bidding him dress quickly, ran out. It took only a minute for Bucks to spring from his cot and get into his clothes and he hastened out of doors to learn what the excitement was about. Scott was walking fast down 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 heard of Indians stealing pretty nearly everything on earth--but not this.

No Indian in this country, not even Turkey Leg, ever stole a locomotive.”

”What do you mean?”

”I mean Dan Baggs's engine is gone.”

Bucks's face turned blank with amazement. ”Gone?” he echoed incredulously. He looked at Scott with reproach. ”You are joking me.”

”See if you can find it,” returned Scott tersely.

As they hastened on, Bucks looked to the spot where the engine had lain the night before. It was no longer there.

He was too stunned to ask further questions. The two strode along the ties in silence. Eagerly Bucks ran to the creek bank and scanned more closely the sandy bed. It was there that the wrecked engine and tender had lain the night before. The sand showed no disturbance whatever. It was as smooth as a table. But nothing was to be seen of the engine or tender. These had disappeared as completely as if an Aladdin's slave, at his master's bidding, had picked them from their resting place and set 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 he was not dreaming. ”Where is the engine?”