Billy put up his seat and filled his pipe, and I sat down and absorbed a sandwich as I urged my engine ahead to make up for lost time; we took up our routine of work just where we had left it, and—life was the same old song. It was past midnight now, and as I never did a great deal of talking on an engine, I settled down to watching the rails ahead, and wondering if the knuckle-joints would pound the rods off the pins before we got to the end of the division.
Billy, with his eyes on the track ahead, was smoking his second pipe and humming a tune, and the "Mary Ann" was making about forty miles an hour, but doing more rolling and pitching and jumping up and down than an eight-wheeler would at sixty. All at once I discerned something away down the track where the rails seemed to meet. The moon had gone behind a cloud, and the headlight gave a better view and penetrated further. Billy saw it, too, for he took his pipe out of his mouth, and with his eyes still upon it, said laconically, as was his wont: "Cow."
"Yes," said I, closing the throttle and dropping the lever ahead.
"Man," said Billy, as the shape seemed to assume a perpendicular position.
"Yes," said I, reaching for the three-way cock, and applying the tender brake, without thinking what I did.
"Woman," said Billy, as the shape was seen to wear skirts, or at least drapery.
"Mexican," said I, as I noted the mantilla over the head. We were fast nearing the object.
