Argosy All-Story Weekly, July 11, 1925 — page 145: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE CALL OF SHINING STEEL. Night fell and still the Eastern Mail roared along. The lights of Junction City flashed into view around the curve. Zeb shut off and for the first time since leaving the terminal, the beat of the exhaust was stilled. His left hand jammed the throttle shut, his right shot-the air into a hard service stop. With fire streaking from squealing brake shoes, the train slowed down to a chattering halt. Before the engine had stopped, Zeb flung himself off.. Stiff legged, leaning far back- ward, holding the grab irons with both hands, his right leg stretched out, his left angled on to the engine step, he swung slowly forward. One hand left the grab iron and with a heave and a leap, he swung back and let go. His feet pattered on the crossing boards, and still running, he turned and headed for the stone house that lay across. the wide field. But a few feet behind, Jim followed. The doctor met him at the door. Breathless, Zeb gasped out: she, doctor? How is she?” “ Fine, doing nicely. The danger is all over and she’s resting easily,” were the com- forting words. ‘“ Just dozed off, probably will awaken in a few minutes.” “Can I see her?” was Zeb’s next ques- tion, relief and gladness lighting up his face. “ Not right away. In a short while.” Annie came up while the three men stood impatient outside the door. Hurrying past them, she entered. Zeb and Jim were ill at ease, anxious, waiting for a long five min- utes that seemed an eternity until she came out with the joyous news. “Come in and see her, Zeb. She’s ask- ing for you.” He went in and closed the door. Ten minutes passed, five more and yet Zeb stayed in the room. . Over on the engine, the fireman looked at his watch. Two min- utes more, and the Mail was scheduled to leave. Nervously, he glanced toward the lighted house across the fields. One minute “ How is more till leaving time and Zeb had not yet shown up. He blew a short hoot on the whistle. It echoed across to the room where Zeb sat “on one side of the bed, holding Itchy- Witchy’s hand. 299 He jumped up and leaning down, kissed her. “ Girly, I have to go. They’re calling for me. I can’t delay the Mail.” “Zeb, won’t you stay!” came her weakly worded request. “Td like to. I want to, but Bud, the Mail’s waiting. I have to go,” sorrowfully. ““Good-by. Ill be home to-morrow,” and he raced out of the house. Hurrying down the path, he almost stopped once, half turned back, His heart lay back there, back with the wan, weak woman whom he loved. The field through: which he passed was quiet and placid. Life out here without thrills or danger seemed bereft of strife, a very desirable thing to Zeb at that instant. Then as another toot from the whistle sounded, he jumped and looked at his train. The long string of lighted coaches headed by the big engine, his engine, gave him a feeling of pride. Her headlight was lit, a hard cold beam of glaring white light that bored a hole through the darkness ahead. His steps unconsciously grew faster and he began to run. His heart lay back there but his duty lay up ahead. When he arrived at his engine as he swung on to her, it was in time to hear the *‘ All aboard!” signal. He opened her up and regretfully looking back, saw the lights of his home disappear. But his job held him in a grip that had been years in the forming. The firemen spoke: White?”’ “ Fine, fine,” was Zeb’s reply. ‘‘ Couldn’t be better. Had a hell of a time, though. And he—he—say! He’s got a chest on him like a spike keg, a back like a wrestler, and lungs! You ought to hear him. Sounds like an eight-hundred running away down Red Marble mountain squalling for hand brakes,” “Who?” asked the fireman puzzled. ~ “ Who! Why, my son! He’s a husky little tyke. He'll make a crackerjack engi- neer some day.” Zeb reached up his hand for the whistle cord to blow a road crossing. A grin spread over his face and he broke a third company rule that night—first time when he had “‘ How is she, Mr. EComicboo S. com eas ag a aia br 4 4a