“Dog-gone, why don’t our trains come?” he complained, to himself. “Where’s that George?”
The U. P. boarding-train had backed out and entered upon the siding, to clear the track. Now a prolonged whistle sounded, from the east. Hurrah! Terry recognized it; no one of the end o’ track force on the U. P. line could mistake that whistle. Old Number 119, the veteran construction-train engine, of course! And here it came, hauling the first U. P. excursion-train decorated from stem to stern with the red, white and blue. He ran down track.
The train was loaded to the guards. Engineer Richards and Fireman Bill Sweeny were in the cab; George was hanging out from the cab steps, and Virgie was riding on the pilot!
George made a flying leap, and a rush for Terry.
“Did many C. P. folks get here first? Who are they all? We brought the whole U. P. gang in that scrumptious patent Pullman—Vice-President Durant, Colonel Seymour, Mr. Dillon and Mr. John Duff of the directors, the Casements and General Dodge and Mr. Reed and Major Hurd, and two silver spikes, and a heap of people from New York and Chicago and Boston and Omaha and I don’t know where else. Your mother and my mother, too. There’s another train right behind us, fetching Ogden’s mayor, and a raft of other Mormons, from Salt Lake City, and soldiers and a band from Fort Douglas down there. Bet we have more people than the C. P. Is that their only train?”
“Come on!” Terry bade. “I’ve found a place for us, if we can make it before somebody else grabs it.”
“Where?”
“I’ll show you.”
Away they ran, Terry leading. They had to zigzag through among the carriages and wagons and horses and jostling spectators.
“We can get atop that telegraph pole, and see everything.”