“How do you like railroading, now?” he asked.
“Fine, sir. We go some, don’t we!”
“Rather beat the stages, or your old yellow mule, that’s a fact,” the general admitted. “But if it wasn’t for you fellows that lay the track in such good shape, we couldn’t go at all.”
“And the men who discover the trail—they count a heap, too, I guess,” Terry added.
“Yes, siree. The surveyors’ job is the most ticklish job, especially out on the desert and in the mountains. Track-layers, graders, and surveyors—they’re all heroes. They do the hard work, but the people who never see them don’t think of them. Well, will you stay aboard into Omaha?”
“Would I be a long time getting back?” Terry queried.
“No, sir; not unless the road is tied up by Indian trouble. I’ll put you on a train and send you right through to North Platte; then you can jump a construction-train, and keep going to end of track again. You’ll have your pass.”
“Where do we stop next, please?” Terry asked.
“At Kearney. We’ll be there in about an hour. You can get off and stretch your legs, and so can the dog.”
“Could I go back from Kearney?” Terry blurted.