“Get aup! ye critters.” And off we go, leaving poor Tommy John to pursue his lonely route.
“That thar Tommy,” said George, “is one of the kind-heartedest, good-naturedest fellows as travels this road. An’ he’s churful, too; always in for a joke and a laugh. He’s drove team—ox and mule—on this line for nigh on to four year. He never carries no arms, and always travels alone. He’s had some mighty close shaves has Tommy, but I shouldn’t wonder if they got him yet. He takes too big risks.”
“Does it often happen that you have no passengers, George?” I asked.
“Once in a while,” said George.
“It seems to me that on those occasions you take as big a risk as your friend Tommy.”
“Not by a durned sight,” replied George. “I have a good team, and can give a party of Indians a lively run at any time. I have generally a conductor or express-messenger with me, and a good rifle well handled will keep off a power of Indians for awhile. While he amuses them, I keep lightin’ out for the next station. Before the company got stingy—when there was a swing-station every dozen miles where you got a fresh team—I could have got away from Injuns all the time, either by runnin’ back to the station I had left or pushin’ out for the one ahead of me, accordin’ to whichever was the nearest. I takes no risk that I ain’t obliged to.”
“What do you call a ‘swing-station’?” I asked.
George looked at me with an expression of mixed pity and contempt, and replied:
“A swing-station is where you changes teams; a home-station is the end of a route, where you gits meals.”
It was after midnight when we reached the Artesian Wells. I had found the Sandy Hollow of the Great Alamos a pretty warm place, but after I got out of it I felt cold again, and when I reached the wells I was chilled through. Notwithstanding George’s warning cry, everybody was asleep at the station. It took some time to wake the people up, to get a fire kindled, and a meal prepared. I took advantage of the delay to get at my trunk, whence I took my revolver and some woollen clothing. The latter, with the consent of the cook (a male specimen of the culinary tribe), I put on in the kitchen.