In the lower yard at Sleepy Cat the pilot train was being made ready
and the clatter of switching came into the cañon. From still further
came the barking exhaust of the first-train engine waiting for orders
for the cañon run.
Glover pacing the narrow bench below the camp returned again to the
operator's table, and in the light of the lantern wrote a message to
Medicine Bend. When it had been sent he upended an empty spike keg,
and sitting down before the fire, got his back against a rock and gave
himself to his thoughts. Men straggled back and forth, but none
disturbed him. Some, in turn, fed the fire, some rolled themselves in
their blankets and lay down to sleep, but his eyes were lost all the
while in the leaping blaze.
A volleying signal of the locomotive whistles roused him. He looked at
his watch and stepped to the verge of the ledge. Toward Sleepy Cat a
headlight was slowly rounding the first curve. The pilot train was
coming and below where he stood he could see green lights swinging.
The locomotive of the work-train was at the hind end and the
roadmasters standing on the first flat car were signalling. Mauls were
ringing at the last spikes when the head flat car moved cautiously out
on the new track. Car after car approached, every second one bearing a
flagman re-signalling to the cab as the train took the short curves of
the cañon and entering the gorge rolled slowly beneath the Cat's Paw
over the prostrate granite.
The trackmen parted only long enough to give way to the advancing cars.
The locomotive steamed gingerly along. In the gangway stood a small,
broad-hatted man, Morris Blood. He waved his lantern at Glover, and
Glover caught up a hand-torch to swing an answering greeting.
Down the uncertain track could be seen at reassuring intervals the
slow, green lights of the track foremen swinging all's well. The
deepening drum of the steaming engine as it entered the gorge walls,
the straining of the injectors, and the frequent hissing check of the
air as the powerful machine restrained its moving load, was music to
the tired listener above. Then, looming darkly behind the tender,
surprising the onlookers, even Glover himself, came the real train.
Not till the roadbuilders heard the heavy drop of the big cars on the
new rail joints did they realize that the first train of fruit was
already crossing the break.
Ten minutes afterward Bucks, who was with Mr. Brock in the directors'
car, had the news in a message. The manager had agreed to have Glover
present for the supper which was now waiting, and for some time
messengers and telegrams passed from the Brock Special to the cañon.
It was not until twelve o'clock that they learned definitely through
word from Morris Blood that Glover had torn his hand slightly in
handling powder and had gone to Medicine Bend to have it dressed.