But presently even the anxious superintendent was forced to admit they were moving. Telegraph-poles, that had appeared and disappeared with majestic deliberation, began to flit by the windows with a frequency and abruptness very unusual in those stately objects; quicker and less rhythmic came the click of the wheels as each rail was passed, and the leaps of the engine at each revolution of the driving-wheels were merged into a continuous, convulsive shudder. The passengers no longer experienced the sensation of being drawn along, but felt as though projected through space, and the more timid clung to their seats to avoid soaring off through the roof. Trainmen who could traverse undisturbed the reeling roofs of a fast freight, made their way through the swaying cars with difficulty.
Old Hard Luck was evidently “getting there,” and the superintendent prayed silently that he might maintain the speed to the end.
At the first stop he went forward to congratulate the engineer. The fireman was under the engine “hoeing out,” and Hosselkus, sooty but triumphant, was “oiling ’round.”
“How’d’s that suit you, colonel?” he cried, as his superior approached; “the old girl’s a-crawlin’, ain’t she?”
“You’re doing fine, Hosselkus—fine, but keep it up—pound her on the back, for the porter tells me the wine is getting low and they’re liable to see something to beef about. Keep ’em a-rollin’, and the passenger run is yours.” The colonel had risen from the ranks, and at times, unconsciously, lapsed into the old dialect.
“Don’t you worry none, we’ll git there. Gimme this mill, colonel, an’ none of the other boys on the division ’ud ever get a smell of my smoke. An’ she does it so easy, reminds of your maw’s old rocker—just handle her right, don’t crowd her, that’s the main point. Now my theory’s like this, we’ll say the cylinder receives so much——”
But the colonel had fled. Hard Luck carried his theory with him, for he never succeeded in obtaining a listener to whom he could expound it.
No accident occurred, however; the speed was maintained, and the special reached Oleson’s Siding so far in advance of the train-dispatcher’s calculations that quite a wait was necessary while Number Three, the east-bound express, toiled up the grade.
Hosselkus lit the headlight, for the sun was impaled upon one of the peaks of the distant Sierras, whose eastern slopes were already purpling with shades of evening.
It was the last stop. Below him wound the tortuous Goose-Neck Grade, with the division terminus at its foot. The run was nearly ended.