“Injuns did it, huh?”
“Naw, don’t think so. Ever since that buck tore a wire out and tried to ride off with it, and lightning struck the line a mile or so beyond and killed him and his pony both, the Injuns have let the Talking Spirit alone. ’Cept of course they shoot the insulators off, now and then. And the Overlanders chop the poles for firewood and use a piece of wire when they want to fix their wagons. At least, they do that on the other side the river, and I reckon they reach over and do it on this side. And the poles make mighty fine scratch sticks for the buffalo to rub against.”
The Overland Telegraph Company’s line across continent followed the stage road, south of the Platte; the Union Pacific Railroad line followed the rails on this side of the river. But when the railroad was finished, there would likely be only the one line.
“What are you going to do?” Terry asked.
“Find Bill Thompson. The break’s between here and Willow.”
“Who’s Bill Thompson?”
“Head lineman. He’ll have to get out and fix it. You stay here and keep shop while I hunt Bill.”
“Supposing the freight comes along,” queried Terry. “Do I jump it?”
“Nary a jump,” Harry answered, from the door. “Let her come. She dassn’t run through without orders from the boss, and that’s Harry Revere, chief lightning-shooter, station-agent, ticket-seller, express-toter, freight-slinger, baggage-wrecker and baby-tender. I’ll be back and tell ’em what to do.”
He was gone about twenty minutes, and returned considerably flustered.