Part 3 (2/2)

”You still think I'm not grimy enough,” said Geordie, with a grin. ”I can lay on a coat of coal-dust--”

”'Tisn't that,” came the murmured answer, with a shake of the head.

”It's the back and shoulders, sir. You couldn't turn yourself hindside-foremost, could you, and get your chest between your shoulder-blades?”

”I can cultivate a stoop,” said Geordie, with a forward hunch of the shoulders. ”But there you go with that 'sir' again. We're in uniform, but not that of the cavalry. You'll betray me yet, Toomey, if you're not careful. Now, about the stoop--”

”It might do, s--, if you could keep it, but from the time you came to Reynolds you were the straightest boy in the garrison, and now, with four years at West Point, you've got a back on you flat as a board.

That's what's going to queer us in pa.s.sing you off for a kid fireman.

It was hard enough going through before it was fairly light. Now, unless No. 4 gets in in five minutes, the sun will be lighting the length of the shed at Argenta, and we've got cars to cut out there, too. Confound No. 4!”

And then a certain superfluous lantern, bleary with a night of service, came dawdling up the side of the train, and the conductor hove in sight, watch in hand. ”Four left Argenta on time,” said he to the engineer. ”What the mischief keeps her? She ought to have gone by five minutes ago. Who's yonder with Toomey?”

”Friend of his; young feller from Chimney, learning firing. Old man's orders,” he added, at sight of rebuke in the conductor's eyes. ”Told me himself to take him along and give him a show.”

The conductor set his lantern down near the fore truck of the tender.

He did not half like it that a superior should give orders to his engineer that did not come through him. He had been a soldier in his day and accustomed to military ways of doing things. He was already chafing over a delay that would bring him behind time to Argenta. Now he was nettled at this apparent slight. ”When did he tell you, and where?” was the demand. ”He was at Denver the last I saw of him.”

”He ran out to the Springs on No. 5; pa.s.sed you at Monument, probably; spoke to me at the round-house about ten o'clock.” And having thus summarily settled the matter, Big Ben clambered sulkily once more into the cab.

The conductor made a grimace expressive of much disgust. Presently he turned, left his lantern by the side of the engine, and then came angering on to the switch. He decided to see for himself what the stranger was like.

In the gray light of the dawn the two young men, one of them stockily, strongly built, the other very slender and erect, were absorbed in eager talk. Not until the conductor was within five yards of them did Graham note his coming and signal ”Hush.” Abruptly came the challenge:

”'Ain't you heard her whistle yet, Toomey?” and the tone implied that sheer neglect could be the only explanation for Toomey's failure in case no whistle had been heard.

”Nary whistle,” was the indifferent answer.

”Well, how could you expect to hear it? You were talking a blue streak.” And while the conductor's rebuke was levelled at Toomey, his sombre eyes were on Graham.

”Doing that to keep awake,” was the blunt reply. ”Haven't been to bed for thirty hours.”

”That's nothing. In my day a-soldiering we didn't get to bed once a week. That's when we was after Morgan. You regulars couldn't stand that, I s'pose.”

”In my day we didn't get to bed once a month,” answered Toomey, with equal truth. ”That was when we was after Sittin' Bull. The volunteers that started on _that_ chase petered out at Powder River.”

The conductor sniffed. It had been give and take 'twixt him and Toomey ever since the discovery that each had served in the cavalry. Beaten thus far in the battle of chaff, the conductor tried another as he studied Geordie with unfriendly eyes.

”Got a kid fireman here--'nother of y'r officers' dog-robbers?” he demanded.

Toomey whirled on him in an instant, in spite of Geordie's quick-gripping hand. ”You're boss on this train, Cullin,” said he, savagely, ”and you know I can't jaw back as you deserve, but if Bob Anthony happens to be where he can hear of _that_ remark, you'll get your time or _I'm_ a liar.”

For a moment Cullin stood and glared, wrath and humiliation commingling. Graham it was who quickly stepped forward and interposed.

”Yes, I'm playing kid fireman, Mr. Cullin,” said he, quietly, ”and I was told by the division superintendent if any trouble arose to give this to the conductor,” whereat he held forth a card on the back of which dimly appeared some written words. Over these Cullin glanced, unappeased, until he came to the last line and signature. Then a curious change swept slowly over his face. He looked Graham carefully, doubtfully from head to foot, slowly thrust the card in a waistcoat-pocket, and was turning silently away when Geordie hailed him, a ready smile on his young face.

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