cCloud's. The cuspidor had been restored to one corner of the large
room, and to this corner Rooney, like a man with a jaw full of
birdshot, always walked first. When he turned back to face his chief
his face had lost its haunted expression, and he answered with solemn
cheer, "On time," or "Fourteen minutes late," as the case might be.
This night his face showed something out of the ordinary, and he faced
McCloud with evident uneasiness. "Holy smoke, Mr. McCloud, here's a
ripper! We've lost Smoky Creek Bridge."

"Lost Smoky Creek Bridge?" echoed McCloud, rising in amazement.

"Burned to-night. Seventy-seven was flagged by the man at the pump
station."

"That's a tie-up for your life!" exclaimed McCloud, reaching for the
message. "How could it catch fire? Is it burned up?"

"I can't get anything on that yet; this came from Canby. I'll have a
good wire in a few minutes and get it all for you."

"Have Phil Hailey and Hyde notified, Rooney, and Reed and Brill Young,
and get up a train. Smoky Creek Bridge! By heavens, we are ripped up
the back now! What can we do there, Rooney?" He was talking to
himself. "There isn't a thing for it on God's earth but switchbacks
and five-per-cent. grades down to the bottom of the creek and cribbing
across it till the new line is ready. Wire Callahan and Morris Blood,
and get everything you can for me before we start."

Ten hours later and many hundreds of miles from the mountain division,
President Bucks and a companion were riding in the peace of a June
morning down the beautiful Mohawk Valley with an earlier and
illustrious railroad man, William C. Brown. The three men were at
breakfast in Brown's car. A message was brought in for Bucks. He read
it and passed it to his companion, Whispering Smith, who sat at
Brown's left hand. The message was from Callahan with the news of the
burning of Smoky Creek Bridge. Details were few, because no one on the
West End could suggest a plausible cause for the fire.

"What do you think of it, Gordon?" demanded Bucks bluntly.

Whispering Smith seemed at all times bordering on good-natured
surprise, and in that normal condition he read Callahan's message.
Everything surprised Whispering Smith, even his salary; but an
important consequence was that nothing excited him. He seemed to
accommodate himself to the unexpected through habitual surprise. It
showed markedly in his eyes, which were bright and quite wide open,
and, save for his eyes, no featur