The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, November 8, 1903, Page 13

Cepyright, 168, by F. K. Bpearman.) 'S rather & bad lot, I guess” “ wrote Bucks to Callahan, “but I am satisfied of one thing— you can’t run that yard with s Bunday-school superinten- ezt He wor't make you any trouble un- Jess he gets to drinking. If that happens, dex't have any words with him. Bimply crawl inte & cycione cellar and wire me.” It was getting dark and Cellaban sat in that part of the Benkieton depot he called fashes. He took the pipe and Jooked at the bowl res: if there could be powder in tobacco F The he eyed s a desperate m Rubedo’s mouthpiece might ponder & final & neers crosseyed. The after Number and they were dlstri ean out of his ; the lamps uld be drawn the signals off owboys faster than req for new onea They the swi of moving trains. Whenever a b showed & fiicker two cOWbOYS 8toc ing to snuff it. If they they winged the brakeman Bucks after & wh le to v k showing ever a li whom the wor The next night without visible reasons for ed and headed for ced only his light, “What's your name “Shockley.” *“Step upstalrs. ha ing at 7 thé new yardmaster had intimat be better wheeze out of new yardmaster e engineer and swing But the swing—it s heart warm to him. It sallor into the nto the saddle, nto the wind. It was like falling up or falling on— mas of gravitation ittered Call g of th It bt,” m ed Callahan to himself, “if the cuss only doesn’t He watched apprehen- sively, dr he first time he should see him entering Pat Barlie’s place, but Shockley didn’t pear to know Pat had a place. The cowboys, too, watched him, waiting for his lamp to gleam at night down in the but Shockley got all his work done by daylight. The whole winter went without a brush between Shockley and the cowboys. Even Peg Leg Reynolds let him alone. “He's the luckiest fellow on earth,” remarked Callahan one day at McCloud, in reply to & question from Bucks. lucky,” commented “He came from Chicago. He was the ‘Q’ at the time of “He wasn't a Bucks. sts. Shockley used to I never knew just erstand it was a led 2 man there; ad to get away in a hurry. nmaster. Shockley was a but I'd always found him decent, his wife came to me about it elped her out a little; she's dead since. record fsn't just right back there yst. There's something about the shooting hanging over him. I never set eyes on the fellow again till he struck me for a fob at McCloud; then I sent him up to aimed he'd quit drinking— Long as he's behaving himself I belleve in giving him a chance S nmr t really wasn't any longer a case of him a chance; rather of whether When the when Shockle stened, and or E (‘..f}. One stormy night, when Chris though it was perfectly safe to ventuse up to Rubedo’s after groceries, the cowboys 7 when they caught him had put lzation cou begun to sizzle when the front door y walked in. ambling, burried way t the deserted througt whoys at the rear to ( the stove a began c Through every knot that e sent a very loud and very and sooner had he freed s than he jerked him by the collar, reling with him, toward the which was handy, and before s got wind he had shoved him on there!"” ecried Peg Leg Rey- w n it was just too late. Chris t and Shockley turned alone partner; what is it he 2 ripping nerve.” r name?” Can you dance?” Peg Leg’s opportunity. He drew “I reckon maybe you can. Try he added. And a bullet from the 1 splintered the baseboard at Bhockley's feet Peg Leg was a rough dancing master, and bef he sald enough an ordinary man would have dropped exhausted. Shockley, breathing a good bit guicker, y steadied himself against the bar. ‘Take off your hat before gentlemen,” cried the cowboy. Shockley hesitated, but be 4id pull off his cap. “That's more like it. What's your exchoed Reynolds, with a burst of range amenities. “Well, Shock- ley, you can't help your name. Drink for once in your life with & man of breeding —my name’s Reynolds. Pat, set out the good bottle—this guy pays,” exclaimed Peg Leg, wheeling to the bar. “What'll it be?’ asked Pat Barlle of Bhockley, as he deftly siid a row of glasses in front of the men of breeding. “Ginger ale for me,” suggested Shock- ley mildly. The cowboys put up a single vell. Ginger ale! It was too funny. Reynolds, choking with contempt. point- ed to the yardmaster's gl “Fil it with whisky!” he shouted. The yard- master held out the glass and the bar- keeper began to pour. Shockley looked at the liquor a moment; then he looked at Reynolds, who fronted him gun in one band and red water in the other. rink!"” Shockley paused, looked again at the whisky and drew the glass toward him with the curying hand of a drinker. “You want me to drink this? he half laughed, turning on his balg e “I didn’t say so, did I? I sald DRINK1I" roared Peg Leg. Everybody looked at Shockley. He stood fingering the glass quietly. Other guns were creeping from thelr holsters. He pushed the glass back, smiling.. don’t drink whisky,’ partner,” sall Shockley, gently, “You'll drink that whisky, or I'lliput & little hole into you!" Shockley reached good-naturedly for the glass, threw the liquor on the floor and set it back on the bar. “Go on!” sald Shockley. It confused Reynolds. “A man that'll waste good whisky oughtn't to live, anyhow,” he mutte: fingering his revolver nervously. “You've spoiled my aim. Throw up your hat,” he yelled. “I'll put a hole through that to begin with.” Instead, Shockley put his cap back on his heed. “Put a hole through it there,” said he. Reynolds et down his glass, and Shock walted; it was the cowboy who Lesi- tated. “Where's your nerve?’ asked the rall- road man. The gun covered him with a flash and a roar. Reynolds, whatever his faults, was a shot. His bullet cut clear!y through the crown, and the powder al- most burned Shockley's face. The switchman recovered himself almost in- stantly, and taking off his cap laughed as he examined the hole, “Done with me?" he asked evenly, cap in hand Peg Leg drained his glass before he spoke. “‘Get out! he snapped e switchman started on the word for the front door. Maybe an hour later Reynolds was sit- ting b: of the stove in a card game, 1 a v nd into a pi Shockley, Nobody ere he was, and with an absolutely 1 tile gun, a mere baby gun, ght, but it shone like lds with visible embarrassment Throw vour cannon into the stove, Reynolds, vou won't need it,” suggested Shockl nolds looked around; not a cowbc Under convoy, Rey- nolds stumped over to the stove and threw in his gun, but the grace of the do- i was bad. on the bar and dance; Shockley. They had to 1 cowboy up; and when looking down on tant triumphs, and a painful single foot, marking -ime with his peg, the cowboys, who had stood roared. their own share of his bullying, Shockley didn’t roar; only stood with busy eyes where he could cover any maa ing even Pat Bar- on demand, not forg lie. Peg Leg's 10! g gun sputtered an ac- comp ment from the stove; but ‘as Shockley, who stood in front of it, paid no attention to the fusillade of bullets, good form prevented others from dodging. atll do; get down. Come here, s, called Shockiey. Chris Oxen, atly distured, issued from an ob- scure corner. “Get down on your knees,” exclaimed the yardmaster, jerking Reynolds with a ! in front of the frightened et on your knees; right I threw your whisky,” and Shock- down to his hu- the first time into crowding Reynol tion, dropped for civilities himself, and the shame ment of it were very great. sald the yardmaster, with one restless cye Reynolds and one on ody clse, as he pointed at Chris, man's was burnt up.. He's a devil, s nd his money comes hard. Chip ih for a new coat. I've nothing against any man that don't want to give, but Reynolds must pass the hat. Take mine, you coyote Jearly everybody contributed as Rey- went round. Shockley made no com- . *“Count it,” he commanded, when fallen monarch had finished; and the when the tale was made Shockley told Pat Barlie to put in as much more as the cap held, and he aid so. “There, Chris; go home. I don't like you,” added Shockley insolently, turning on Reynolds. “You don’t know what fun is. This town won't hold you and me after to-night. You can take it or you can leave {t, but the first time I ever put eyes on you again one of us will cash im" He backed directly toward the front door .and out. Peg Leg Reynolds took only the night to decide; next day he hit the trail. The nervy yardmaster he might have wiped out if he had stayed, but the disgrace of kneeling before thé dog of a Russian was something never to be wiped out in the annals of Benkleton. Peg Leg moved on, and thereafter cowboys took occasion to stop Shockley on the street and jolly him on the way he did the one-legged bully, and the lights were shot no more. The rallroad men swore by the new yardmaster; the Russians took their cig- arettes from their mouths and touched their caps when Shockley passed; Calla- han blessed his name, but little Chris worshiped him, One day Alfabet Smith dropped off at Benkleton from Omaha headquarters, Al- fabet was the west end spotter. “Who Is that slim fellow?” he asked of Callahan as Shockley flew by on the pilot board of an engine. ““That’s Shockley.” “Oh, that's Shockley, is it But he could say little things in & way to make a man prick all over, “Yes, that's Shockley. Why?" Callahan, with a dash of acld. “Nothing, only he’s a valuable man. He's wanted, Shockley is,” smiled Alfabet Smith. Callahan took it up short. “Look here, Alfabet. Keep off Shockley.” “Why? ¥ “Why? Because you and I will touch, head on, 1t you don't.” The next time Bucks was up, his as- sistant told him of the Incident. “If he bothers Shockley,” Bucks sald, asked THE SUNDAY CALL. “we’ll get nis scalp, that's all. He'd bet- ter look after his conductors and leave our men alone.” “I notice Shockley 1isn’t keeping his frogs blocked,” continued Bucks, revert- ing to other matters. “That won't do. I want every frog In the yard blocked and kept blocked, and tell him 1 sald so.” But the frog-blocking was not what worried Shockley; his push was to keep the yard clean, for the month of Decem- ber brought more stuft twice over than was ever poured into the front-end yard before. Chris, though, had developed into a great switchman, and the two never let the work get ahead. ‘When the Russian holidays came, down below, Chris concluded that the celebra- tion would be merely hollow without Shockley, for was not the very existence of Little Russia due to him? “Well, what's the racket anyhow, Chris?’ demanded Shockley lazily, after Cross-Eyes trying to get rid of the invi- tation to the festivities had sputtered switch-English five minutes at him. “Ve got Chrismus by us,” explained Chris desperately. “Christmas,” repeated Shockley grimly. “hristmas. Wh¥, man, Christmas don't come nowhere on earth In January. Where'd you get them shoes?” “Dollar sefenty-vife.”” . s “Where?'" “Rubedo. “And don't you know a switchman oughtn't t' put his feet in flatboats? Don't you know some day you'll get your foot stuck'in a tongue or a guard? Then where'll you be, Duteh, with a string of flats rolling down on you, eh?” However, Chris stuck for his request. He wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Well, for God's sake let up, Chris, gald the yardmaster at last. “I'll come down after Twenty-three comes in. Get back early after supper, and we'll make up Fifty-five and let the rest go.” It was a pretty night; pretty enough over the yard for anybody's Christmas, Jullan or Gregorian. No snow, but a moon, and a full one, rising early over the Arikaree bluffs, and a frost that bit and sparkled. Happily for Christmas in Little Russia, Twenty-three pulled in on time; but it was long and heavy that night. The minute the tired engine was ‘Cer on yourR ANEES, RIGHT WHERER S THREW YOUR WIISKY. cut off the long train up ran the little switch engine and snapped at the head- less monster llke a coyote. Out came the coal with a clatter; out came the depot stuff, shot here, shot there, shot yonder —flying down this spur and down that and the other, like stones from a catapuit; and the tough-connected, smut-faced, blear-eyed yard engine coughed and orted and spit a shower of sparks and soot and cinders up into the Christmas alr, until Twenty-three was wrecked clean to the caboose. Then thers was only the westbound freight, Fifty-five, to make up. Shockley and Chris and the goat crew put at it like black ants. There was releasing and set- ting and kicking and splitting, and once in a while a flylng switch, dead against the rubrics; and at last the whole train ot steel was In line and ready to run in on the house track for the caboose. For that run Chris had set the edst house-track switch, crossed the track and swung a great circle with his lamp for the back. In the dark his ankle turned on a lump of coal; he recovered lightly, but the misstep sent his other foot wide and with a bit of a jolt Rubedo’s new shoe slipped into the frog. Up the track he heard a roll of stormy coughs from the engine. They were com- ing toward him, over the spot where he stood, on his signal, and he quietly tried to loosen his heel. Coolly, first like & confident man in quicksand; soon with alarm running into fright. But there was time enough. The head car was four or five lengths above the switch and coming very, very slowly, heavy-like and squeaking stiffly under its load, yet coming; and he wrenched hard- er, but his foot stuck. Then he yelled for Shockley. Shockley had gone over to open the caboose switch. Shockley couldn’t hear, and he knew it. And he velled again, The sweat broke over him as he turned anpd twisted. Half the time was gone; the near truck wheels screeched two car lengths away, and the switchman played his last card. Time and time again Shockley had told him what to do if that moment came In the night; had told him to throw his lamp in the air like a rocket. But Chris had forgotten all that 11l the flat dropped heavily on the tongue in front of him. Then he threw his lamp. No help came. Desperate at last, he threw himself flat to lie outside the rail, to save all but a foot; but the frog held him, and crying horribly he struggled back to his feet, only to sink again half crazy to the ground. As his senses left him he was hardly aware of & stinging pain in his foot of a wrench at his leg, an instant arm around his back, and his yardmaster's voice in his ear. “Jump!"” screamed Shockley. Chris, scrambling frantically om the deadly ralls, unable to jump, felt him- self picked from the ground, heard & choke in the throat at his ear, and he was flung ltke a drawbar through the dark. Shockley had passed a knife blade from vamp to sole, slit the Russian's clumsy shoe, jerked his foot from it and thrown him bodily into the clear. Chris staggered, panting, to his feet. Already the steel was moving slowly over the switch; a lantern, burning yet, lay on its side near the stand—it was Shockley’s lamp. Chris looked wildly around for his yardmaster; called out; called Shockley’s name; listened. No scream, no groan, no cry, no answer; no sound, but just the steady pounding of the wheels over the contact. The little switchman screamed again in a frenzy, and, turning, raced, stumbling, up the track to the cab. He swung into it, and by signs made the en- gineer shut off. He tried to talk, and only stammered a lingo of switch pidgin and the name of Shockley. They couldn’t understand it at all, but they shut off with faces pinched and sallow, threw open the - furnace door, and, grabbing their lanterns, ran back. The fireman, on his knees, held his lamp out under the flat that spanned the contact; he drew, shrinking, back, and, rising, started on the run for the depot to rouse Callahan. It was Callahan who pulled the pin & moment later, Chris shivering like a rab- bit at his side. It was Callahan who gave the slow pull ahead order that cut the train in two at the frog, and Callahan ‘who stepped, wavering, from the gap that opened behind the receding flat—back from something between the ralls—back to put his hands biindly out for the target rod, and unsteadily upon it. He heard Bhockley breathing. Some carried the headlight back and some tore the door off a boxear and they got him on. They carried him uneven'y stumbling, over to the depot. They laid him on Callahan’s mattress in the wait ing-room and the me ood all about him; but the only nd was his breath- g, and Inside un the lamp the re- celver, clicking, clicking, eclicking, of Bucks and the company surgeon coming on a special ahead of Fifty-nine. They twisted tourniquets into his quiv- ering flesh, and with the light dying in his eyes they put whisky to his lips. Bu he turned his head and spit it from his mouth. Then he looked from face to faca about him—to the engineer and to tna fireman, and to little Chris and to Callo han. and his lips moved. “Block—block—'"" sald Shockley's It And Callahan wiped them slowly and bent close again and put his ear over them. *“Block—block—the—frogs.” And Shockley died. The special pulled in, and with the shoes wringing fire from her heels as she slowed. Bucks and a man following close sprang from the step of the coach. Calla- han met them: shook his head. Twenty minutes later Fifty-nine whis. tled for the yard, but in the yard was dark and still. One man got off Fifty-nine that night Carrying his Utte valise in his hand, he walked in and ont of the depot, hanging on the edges of tha grouping men, who still talked of the ac- cident. After hearing, he walked alcne into the baggage-room, and with his va- lise in his hand drew back the edge of the sheet and, standing, looked. After- ward he paused at the door and spoke to % man that was fixing a lantern. _ “What was his name?"” “Shockley."” “Shockley 1 “Yes.” ‘““Yardmaster here? “Yes. Know him?* “Me? No, I guess not.” He walked away with his valise, and drew his coat collar up in the wind that swept the plat- form. “T guess I don't want him,” he muttered to himself. “I guess they don’t want him; not now.” And he went back to the man and asked when a train left again for Chicago. Fe had a warrant for Shockley; but Shockley’s warrant bad been served. There was no Christmas that night in Little Russia. The Master of Appleby A novel tale concerning itself in part ‘with the great struggle in the two Caro~ linas, but chiefly with the adventures therein of two gentlemen who loved one and the same lady + . .+ . . fiy Francis Lynde BEGINS . «IN NEXT.. Sunday Call