“He’s on up at Julesburg, sorr; him and Mr. Reed, too. But I’m thinkin’ they’ll both be back in a jiffy.”
General “Jack” Casement was the chief contractor—the head boss of the whole construction. Mr. S. B. Reed was the general superintendent of building. Yes, they doubtless would arrive on the jump.
The two companies of the construction gang were brought in, for the Pawnees had chased the Sioux and Cheyennes out of sight. Before they came in, themselves, General Dodge and Foreman Pat had made their inspection. Three men badly wounded, here; several slightly wounded; one car burned, other cars, and the engine, riddled and scarred.
But within half an hour all the unhurt men had stacked their guns, had resumed their tools, and were out on the grade, ready to start in, just as though there had been no fight.
Jenny the yellow mule had a bullet hole through her ear; Jimmie Muldoon’s white horse was dead; but speedily he and Terry were mounted again, waiting for the construction-train to finish unloading, and for the boarding-train to back out and clear.
That was the system of the U. P., building across the plains into the Far West.
“Hey, Jimmie! Where were you?” hailed Terry.
“I got behind the cook’s stove,” piped little Jimmie, blushing as red as his hair. “But I came out and handed ca’tridges. Weren’t you afraid?”
“I dunno. I guess I was too excited.”
“You done well, anyhow,” praised Jimmie, with disregard of grammar.