The receiver clicked sharp and fast. Scarcely able to control his voice in his anxiety, Bucks turned to the now excited scout: “The trains met between Bitter Creek and Castle Springs. There was no collision!”
Almost collapsing with the passing of the strain, Bucks faltered in his taking. Asking Dancing again for the story, Bucks took it more coolly and repeated it to his eager listener, as it came.
“Dancing was out with two men on the line to-day, repairing between Bitter Creek and Castle Springs. He didn’t get done and camped beside the track for the night, to finish in the morning.”
“Go on,” exclaimed Scott.
“They shot a jack-rabbit–––”
“Hang the jack-rabbit,” cried Scott. “What about the trains?”
“You can’t hurry Bill Dancing, Bob,” pleaded Bucks. “You know that. Faster, Bill, faster,” he telegraphed urgently.
“You will get it faster,” returned the distant lineman far out in the mountains under the stars, as he talked calmly with the despatcher, “if you will go slower.”
Bucks strangled his impatience. Dancing resumed, and the despatcher again translated for Scott.