"Not—you're not going down there to-night?" stammered Bucks.
"Yes. Now. Right off. Peeto! Get out your crew!"
The foreman jumped for the door; Bucks hesitated barely an instant, then turning where he sat cut a telephone plug into the roundhouse; Callahan saw him act and leaning forward spoke low to Duffy. The despatcher snatching the train sheet began instantly clearing track for a bridge special.
In twenty minutes twenty men were running twenty ways through the storm and a live engine boomed under the Wickiup windows.
"Phil, I want you to be careful!" It was Bucks standing by the roadmaster's side at the window as they looked out into the storm. "It's a bad night." Hailey made no answer. "A wicked night," muttered Bucks as the lightning shot the yards in a blaze and a crash rolled down the gorge. But wicked as it was he could not bring himself to countermand; something forbade it. Evans the conductor of the special ran in.
"Here's your orders!" exclaimed Duffy. Evans pulling down his storm cap nodded as he took the tissue. Hailey buttoned his leather jacket and turned to Bucks.
"Good-by."
"Mind your track," said Bucks, warningly to Evans as he took Hailey's hand. "What's your permit?"
"Forty miles an hour."
"Don't stretch it. Good-bye, Phil," he added, speaking to Hailey. "I'll see you in the morning."