olitaire when they bore down on him, and got them
interested in it. That led to a parley, which ended by Porter's hiring
the whole band to brake on freight trains. Old man Sankey was said to
have been one of that original war party.

Now this is merely a caboose story, told on winter nights when trainmen
get stalled in the snow that drifts down from the Sioux country. But
what follows is better attested.

Sankey, to start with, had a peculiar name--an unpronounceable,
unspellable, unmanageable name. I never heard it, so I can't give it to
you; but it was as hard to catch as an Indian pony, and that name made
more trouble on the payrolls than all the other names put together.
Nobody at headquarters could handle it; it was never turned in twice
alike, and they were always writing Tom Porter about the thing. Tom
explained several times that it was Sitting Bull's ambassador who was
drawing that money, and that he usually signed the pay-roll with a
tomahawk. But nobody at Omaha ever knew how to take a joke. The first
time Tom went down, he was called in very solemnly to explain again
about the name, and being in a hurry and very tired of the whole
business, Tom spluttered: "Hang it, don't bother me any more about that
name! If you can't read it make it Sankey, and be done with it."

They took Tom at his word. They actually did make it Sankey; and that's
how our oldest conductor came to bear the name of the famous singer. And
more I may tell you: good name as it was--and is--the Sioux never
disgraced it.

I suppose every old traveler on the system knew Sankey. He was not only
always ready to answer questions; but, what is more, ready to answer the
same question twice. It is that which makes conductors gray-headed and
spoils their chances for heaven--answering the same questions over and
over again. Children were apt to be startled a bit at first sight of
Sankey, he was so dark. But Sankey had a very quiet smile that always
made them friends after the first trip through the sleepers, and they
sometimes ran about asking for him after he had left the train. Of late
years--and this hurts a bit--these very same children, grown ever so
much bigger, and riding again to or from California or Japan or
Australia, will ask, when they reach the West End, about the Indian
conductor. But the conductors who now run the overland trains pause at
the question, checking over the date limits on the margins of the coupon
tickets, and handing