“Two hundred and eighty-eight,” the general corrected. “That will take us to Fort Sanders in the Laramie Plains. But I think you ought to inspect what’s been done in the two other years. It’s up to the Union Pacific to treat you as well as the Overland treated you. Did you ever ride on a railroad?”
“I guess I did when I was little, before we came out to Kansas. We drove out to Kansas from Ohio in 1858; but after that Harry Revere and I drove across to Denver.”
“Who’s Harry Revere?”
“He’s a friend of George and me. He was an Overland man, too—he was station-keeper at Beaver Creek station while George and I were hostlers. Then he rode Pony Express for a while, between Bijou Junction and Denver. He’s a dandy; as spunky as a badger. He’s back east somewhere, on the railroad, doing telegraphing.”
“You build railroads, but you don’t travel on them, eh?” laughed General Blair.
“Yes, sir. All I do is haul rails and watch ’em being laid—but the graders don’t even see the rails. They just shovel dirt.”
“You’ll be out of sight of the rails and the dirt, too, if you go on that western trip with me,” General Dodge said, grimly. “So first, you’d better get acquainted with the finished end and see what those rails that you’ve helped lay are being used for. Suppose you stay right aboard this car and take a trip back, of a couple of hundred miles, if General Casement will spare you.”
“I’ll spare him if you’ll spare some of that 288 miles,” General Casement retorted. “You’re breaking up my army.”
Evidently even a boy was important, these days.
“Jimmie Muldoon’s brother will spell me, while I’m gone,” Terry proffered. “He can ride my mule. Her name’s Jenny. She’s smart. She’d do the hauling without anybody on her.”