“We didn’t see it,” said the brakeman. “I was in the cab.”
“Anyway, he went back,” declared the freight conductor. “It’s no fault of mine if you fellows can’t see.”
“Any chance of putting the fire out?” asked the passenger conductor.
“Not a chance. One whole span on fire and this wind is like a blow-torch. Looks like a complete tie-up for this division. There’s a section crew at Pinnacle City, but this will be a job for bridge builders.”
Hashknife went back in the caboose where Sleepy was lying on a seat, still caressing a sore jaw.
“Stuck completely,” said Hashknife. “No dentist for you tonight, cowboy.”
The brakeman came in to light a cigaret, and Hashknife questioned him about Pinnacle City.
“South of here is the wagon-bridge,” said the brakeman. “I ain’t familiar with this country, so I can’t tell yuh how far it is, but it can’t be a mile—not over that, anyway.”
He went out, and Hashknife turned to Sleepy.
“How about yuh, cowboy? It ain’t over three miles to town. Suppose we walk over and find a dentist?”