Argosy All-Story Weekly, June 27, 1925 — page 20: what you’re looking at

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

84 trickled out gradually as the mists creep wp fren the creek bottoms, Zeb felt a curious sense of self pity; for the first time in his life lonesameness, deep and soul stir- ring, welled up within bim. He was homesick. The coming of dawn here was a depressing thing unlike the dawn in the mountains, There the gloom of night slowly lifted. The day unveiled itself with the song of. birds, the gentle rustle of the wind in the trees and the faint pink smear of daylight across the eastern sky. At home he awoke, went out into the cool morning, refreshed and clear headed. Here the break of day seemed a sodden thing, murky and heavy. They finished the meal, walked across the street, black and wet, shining with dew, passed through the employees’ gate and entered the yards. From far down the tracks a switch engine broke into the still- ness with a sharp yet dull rattle of the exhaust followed by the clang of rolling cars stopping suddenly. “ Making up the Local,” explained Jim as they walked along the cinder path be- tween the tracks. ‘Wonder what mill they'll give us to-day?” The roundhouse with its open doors, the back ends of a score of engines sticking out, protruded out of the drifting mists of steam before them across the big gaping hole of the tumtable pit. A torch wavered, moved erratically in swinging arcs, approaching the two. A face smeared with splotches of grease became plainer as a machinist, ham- mer and chisel in hand, drew near. “What's chalked up for the West End Local to-day?” asked Jim. “Oh, we'll have to run the 817. She’s the only extra in the house,” was the reply. Jim turned to Zeb as the machmist passed by the two in the direction of the coal chute. “Say, boy, we’re-in luck. We get a eight hundred class. Watch us wheel ’em. The eights are fine steamers, superheaters. We'll take a bunch of box cars out for a real ride to-day,” Jim laughed. A voice called behind and Johnny Deer- ing, the engineer, overtook them. “817 to-day, Jim. A hot fire and a quick run is the order. Hello, kid!” He ad- ARGOSY-ALLSTORY WEEKLY, dressed Zeb. ‘‘ Coming along, are you? We'll twist the monkey’s tail to-day. A good jack and three good men.” Three short hoots of a deep-toned whis- tle, the turntable with a jerk and grind- of gears, gra-ump, gra-ump, rolled in its circle. The 817, a sleepy looking hostler at the throttle, moved out of the round.. house, and with jarring thumps, as tender trucks and engine drivers passed the break between the house track and table rails, she rolled on to the turntable. A deeper rumble of clattering gears and the table swung a quarter turn, lined up on the coal track, and with a short blast of the whistle the 817 again bumped off the table. She stopped, the hostler climbed down and addressed John Deering. “She’s all yourn,” he said. ‘ Sanded, air tested. I filled the lubricator for you. All you gotta do is take on a little ceal and run her till the wheels drop off.” “Thanks, old dusty,” the engmeer re- plied. “I'll take you out and get you drunk some pay day for that.” Then tur- ing to Zeb: “ All right, kid. Climb aboard.” Through the narrow gangway between engine and tank, up the three cast iron tender steps, holding on to the bent pipe grab irons, Zeb wormed his way on to the deck of the cab. Sitting down on the left hand seat box that Jim motioned out to him, he watched the process of putting m a‘fire. With the long slice bar, an iron rod, twelve feet over all, one end bent into a handle, the other turned into a two-tined hook, Jim broke up the bed of glowing clinker. Throwmg his weight on the bar pivoted half its length across the fire door, he tugged and twisted, and raked out a red hot lump of fused metallic slag as large as a half bushel. ‘Gotta have a clean bed,” he explained to Zeb, “ or you’d never keep her hot. Not only that, if you let your fire ball up, first thing you know, you’ve burned out a set of grates.” He sprinkled a layer of coal, shovel after shovelful, over his fire. While Johnny Deering drove the engine down the yard track, Jim was talking. “Lay the coal on light, keep a light fire @ going all the time. Cover up the bright CONMUC NOO SS Co