ine was cut loose, and started after them
like a scared collie. Three miles east of Davis they were overhauled by
the light engine. The fireman, Donahue, crawled out of the cab window,
along the foot-rail, and down on the pilot, caught the ladder of the
first car, and, running up, crept along to the leader and began setting
brakes. Ten minutes later they were brought back in triumph to Davis.

When the multitude of orders was out of the way, Bucks wired Ed Banks to
bring his cowboys down to McCloud on 60. 60 was the east-bound passenger
due at McCloud at 5.30 A.M. It turned out that the cowboys had been
arrested for lassoing a Norwegian homesteader who had cut their wire. It
was not a heinous offence, and after it was straightened out by the
intervention of Bucks--who was the whole thing then--they were given
jobs lassoing sugar barrels in the train service. One of them, the tall
fellow, is a passenger conductor on the high line yet.

It was three o'clock that morning--the twenty-fifth of December in small
letters, on the West End--before they got things decently straightened
out: there was so much to do--orders to make and reports to take. Bucks,
still on the key in his flowing robes and tumbling hair, sent and took
them all. Then he turned the seat over to Callahan, and getting up for
the first time in two hours, dropped into another chair.

The very first thing Callahan received was a personal from Pat Francis,
at Ogalalla, conductor of 59. It was for Bucks:

Your mother is aboard 59. She was carried by McCloud in the
Denver sleeper. Sending her back to you on 60. Merry Christmas.

It came off the wire fast. Callahan, taking it, didn't think Bucks
heard; though it's probable he did hear. Anyway, Callahan threw the clip
over towards him with a laugh.

"Look there, old man. There's your mother coming, after all your
kicking--carried by on 59."

As the boy turned he saw the big dispatcher's head sink between his arms
on the table. Callahan sprang to his side; but Bucks had fainted.

Sankey's Double Header

The oldest man in the train service didn't pretend to say how long
Sankey had worked for the company.

Pat Francis was a very old conductor; but old man Sankey was a veteran
when Pat Francis began braking. Sankey ran a passenger-train when Jimmie
Brady was running--and Jimmie afterwards enlisted and was killed in the
Custer fight.

There was an odd tradition about Sankey's name. He was a