“Right you h’are,” he answered. “We’ll go h’on to Willow an’ find out if h’anybody there knows h’anything. An’ when we’re at Willow we’re ’alf way to North Platte, aye? Might as well go on to North Platte, aye? H’are you game? North Platte’s a proper kind o’ place. ’Bout time this line was inspected clear through, h’anyway. Climb a pole, one o’ you, an’ test out. We’re liable to pass that break unbeknown.”
With a torch, one of the men climbed a pole.
“I can raise ’em east, but I can’t get ’em, west,” he called down. “The break’s on ahead still. I see a light, ’way up track.”
“What kind o’ light?”
“First I thought it was a train a-comin’. Doesn’t seem to move, though. It’s ’round a curve. You fellers on the ground can’t see it.”
“Trampers, maybe.”
“Or the h’operator from Willow is tryin’ to fix that break ’imself,” added Bill. “Come down an’ we’ll go h’up.”
So the man came down from the pole, and the handcar moved on, pump-pump, clank-clank, with everybody peering ahead.
Yes, after a time they could glimpse the light, before, where the track led. It flickered ruddily, but did not move. Looked to be a bonfire.
“I don’t see any figgers at it,” said one of the men.