Argosy and Railroad Man's Magazine, Vol. 107 No. 3 — page 26: what you’re looking at

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

368 that seven years had passed him, making him over completely, indeed, since then. His face was thin, browned and weathered, his body sinewy, its leanness aggravated by its length. He was as light in the saddle as a leaf on the wind. He was quite a barbaric figure as he waited to mount and ride against the train, which could be heard whistling far down the road. Coatless, in flannel shirt, a bright silk handkerchief round his neck; calfskin vest, tanned with the hair on, its color red and white; dressed leather chaps, a pair of boots that had cost him two-thirds of a month’s pay. His hat was like forty others in the crowd, doe-colored, worn with the high crown full-standing, a leather thong at the back of the head, the brim drooping a bit from the weather, so broad that his face looked narrower and sharper in its shadow. Nothing like the full-blooded young aggie who had come into the Bad Lands to found his fortune a little less than a year before, and about as widely different from him in thought and outlook upon life as in. physical appearance. The psychology of environ- ment is a powerful force. ‘ A score or more of horsemen were strung out along the course, where they had sta- tioned themselves to watch the race at its successive stages. At the starting-point the duke waited alone; at the station a crowd of cowboys lolled in their saddles, not caring to make a run to see the finish. It was customary for the horsemen who raced the flier to wait on the ground until the engine rounded the curve, then mount and settle to the race. It was counted fair, ‘ also, owing to the headway the train already had, to start a hundred yards or so before the engine came abreast, in order to \mber up to the horses’ best speed. mo For two miles or more the track ran straight after that curve, Misery about the middle of the stretch. In that long, straight reach the builders of the road had begun the easement of the stiff grade through the hills beyond. It was the beginning of a hard climb, a stretch in-which west-bound trains gathered headway to carry them over the top. Engines came panting round that curve, laboring with the strain of their load, ARGOSY AND RAILROAD MAN’S MAGAZINE. speed reduced half, and dropping a bit lower as they proceeded up the grade. This Sunday, as usual, train crew and passengers were on the lookout for the game sportsmen of Misery. Already the engineer was leaning out of his window, arm ex- tended, ready to give the derisive challenge to come on as he swept by. The duke was in the saddle, holding in Whetstone with stiff rein, for the animal was trembling with eagerness to spring away, knowing very well from the prepa- rations which had been going forward that some big event ih the lives of his master and himself was pending. The duke held him, looking back over his shoulder, meas- uring the distance as the train came sweep- ing grandly round the curve. He waited until the engine was within a hundred feet of him before he loosed rein and let old Whetstone go. : A yell ran up the line of spectators as th pale yellow horse reached out his long neck, chin level against the wind like a swimmer, and ran as no horse ever had run on that race-course before. Every horseman there knew that the duke was still holding him in, allowing the train to creep up on him as if he scored to take advantage of the handi- cap. The engineer saw that this was going to be a different kind of race from the yelling, clattering troop of wild riders which he had been outrunning with unbroken regularity. In that yellow streak of horse, that low- bending, bony rider, he saw a possibility of defeat and disgrace. His head disap- peared out of the window, his derisive hand vanished. He was turning valves and pull- ing levers, trying to coax a little more power into his piston-strokes. The duke held Whetstone back until his ‘wind had set to the labor, his muscles flexed, his sinews stretched to the race. A third of the race was covered when the engine came neck and neck with the horse, and the engineer, confident now, leaned far out, swinging his hand like the oar of @. boat, and shouted: ‘“ Come on, come on!”’ Just a moment too soon this confidence, a moment too soon this defiance. It was the duke’s program to run this thing neck and € COMICEDOO© C)) S (C(O) mM