Part 17 (1/2)

Then for a time a series of remarkable scenes took place along the right of way of the Paradise Southern. Men by the hundred, all seemingly bent on destruction, swarmed over the line and tore it to pieces. Trains ran north and west laden with rusty old rails, switches, ancient cross-ties of questionable durability, with everything, as Carhart had ordered, excepting the sand and clay ballast.

”Some poor devils lost their little fortunes in the old P. S.” said Tiffany, on the first morning, as the two engineers stood looking at the work of ruin. ”I sort of hate to see it go.”

Carhart himself went West on the first train, leaving Tiffany to carry the work through. He was satisfied that everything would from now on work smoothly at Paradise and Sherman, and he knew that not a man of those on the work would slip through Tiffany's fingers to bear tales back to civilization of the wild doings on the frontier. At Sherman they said that owing to insufficient business the P. S. trains would be discontinued for a time, and no one was surprised at the news. Far off in New York, in the Broad Street office of Daniel De Reamer, it was some time before they knew anything about it. The little world was rolling on. Men were clasping hands, buying and selling, knifing and shooting. Durfee's plans were marching forward, as his plans had a way of doing. De Reamer's mind was coiling and uncoiling in its subterranean depths. General Carrington was talking about a hunting trip into the mountains with pack-animals and good company and many, many bottles.

Yes, the world was rolling on about as usual; but the Paradise Southern was no more. Forty-five miles of grade, trampled, tie-marked; a few dismantled sheds which had once been known as stations; a lonely row of telegraph poles stretching from one bleak horizon to another; a rickety roundhouse or two: this was all that was left of a railroad: this, and a long memory of disaster, and an excited ranchman at Total Wreck who was telegraphing hotly to his lawyer.

CHAPTER VII

THE SPIRIT OF THE JOB

In order to make plain what was taking place at the main camp during Carhart's absence, we must go back to that evening during which so many things had come up to be disposed of before the chief could leave for Sherman and Crockett and Paradise. To begin with, Dimond came riding in at dusk with a canteen of clear water which he laid on the table about which the engineers were sitting. To Carhart, when he had unscrewed the cap and taken a deep draught, it tasted like Apollinaris. ”First rate!” he exclaimed; ”first rate!” Then he pa.s.sed it to Old Van, who smacked his lips over it.

”Where did he find this?” Carhart asked.

”Eighteen or twenty miles ahead.”

”Plenty of it?”

”He thinks so,” he says, ”but he's gone on to find more.”

”Are the Apaches bothering him?”

”We've had a pop at 'em now and then. He says he hopes to have some beadwork for you when he sees you again. There was one fellow came too near one night, and Mr. Scribner hit him, but the others carried him off before we could get the beads. He sent me back to guide the wagons to the well if you want to send 'em.”

”Well,” said Carhart, when Dimond had gone, ”we have water now, anyway. The next question is about these thieves. You say that five animals were stolen while I was away. When the first roads went through, they had regular troops to guard the work, and I don't know that we can improve on the plan. I'll look the matter up when I get to Sherman.”

But an hour later, when he left his division engineer and stepped outside for a last look at ”Texas,” he found Charlie hanging about near the stable tent. The cook approached him, and made it awkwardly but firmly plain that he had heard a rumor to the effect that Mr.

Carhart was going to Sherman for regular troops, and that, if the rumor were true, he, Charlie, would leave.

No questions were necessary, for Carhart had never thought Jack Flagg the only deserter in camp. He mused a moment; then he looked up thoughtfully at the tall, loose-jointed, but well-set-up figure of the cook. ”Do you know anything about military drill and sentry duties?”

he asked abruptly.

Charlie, taken aback, hesitated.

”Never mind answering. We'll say that you do. Now, if I were to put you in charge of the business, give you all the men and rifles you need, could you guarantee to guard this camp?”

Charlie's face wore a curious mixture of expressions.

”Well, speak up.”

”I rather guess I could.”

”I can depend on you, can I?”

”You won't get the regulars, then?”

”No, I won't get them.”