McCloskey found a blue-print map of the line and traced the course of the western division among the foot-hills to the base of the Great Timanyonis, and through the Timanyoni Canyon to a park-like valley, shut in by the great range on the east and north, and by the Little Timanyonis and the Hophras on the west and south. At a point midway of the valley his stubby forefinger rested.
"That's Gloria," he said, "and here's Little Butte, twelve miles beyond."
"Good ground?" queried Lidgerwood.
"As pretty a stretch as there is anywhere west of the desert; reminds you of a Missouri bottom, with the river on one side and the hills a mile away on the other. I don't know what excuse those hoboes could find for piling a train in the ditch there."
"We'll hear the excuse later," said Lidgerwood. "Now, tell me what sort of a wrecking-plant we have?"
"The best in the bunch," asserted the trainmaster. "Gridley's is the one department that has been kept up to date and in good fighting trim. We have one wrecking-crane that will pick up any of the big freight-pullers, and a lighter one that isn't half bad."
"Who is your wrecking-boss?"
"Gridley—when he feels like going out. He can clear a main line quicker than any man we've ever had."
"He will go with us to-day?"
"I suppose so. He is in town and he's—sober."