“Wires down,” he said shortly.
“What’ll that do to us?” queried Hashknife.
“Not much. We’re late and we ought to lay out here and let Number 4 pass us, goin’ north; but we can’t get any orders, and the sidin’ is blocked with a freight that broke an axle. We’ll go on to Pinnacle City, and the passenger will have to foller us on a slow order.”
“Quite a storm, eh?” remarked a crapshooter.
“⸺ of a storm ahead of us,” declared the brakeman, going out again.
Finally the engine sent out its shrill blasts, calling in the flagman, and in a few moments the draw-bars jerked shudderingly. The cattle-train was on its way again, picking up the conductor at the station.
Sleepy groaned and hunched down in his chair. The tooth had been thumping for eight hours. And there was a question in Sleepy’s mind about finding a dentist in Pinnacle City. Few of the old cow-towns boasted a dentist, and the local doctor was usually more or less of a failure with forceps.
The long cattle-train moved slowly. There was considerable of a grade between Kelo and Pinnacle City, and the terrific head wind held them back. The conductor and brakeman got into the crap game, trying to kill time over the dreary eighteen-mile stretch.
The train rumbled and clanked along, unable to make much headway.
“Likely blow all the hair off them cow critters,” observed one of the cowboys.