And you," this
to the engineer, "shove that reverse lever over and pull out."
"But, my God, lieutenant," expostulated the engineer, "this is my home
and if I pull you fellers out of here they'll kill me on sight--besides
look at the track ahead. I'd run over and kill a lot of those people."
"There's no 'buts' about it. This train is going in or I'll lose my
commission in the army; besides if these people haven't sense enough to
get out of the way let 'em die."
Mr. Engineer started to expostulate farther but the ominous click of a
.38 Colt's was incentive enough to make him stop and then he shoved her
over and gave her a little steam--just a coaxer.
"Here, you blasted chump, that won't do," and with that Brainerd reached
over and yanked the throttle so that she bounded away like a hare; at
the same time he gave her sand. It's a great wonder every draw head in
the train didn't pull out, but fortunately they held on. The crowd on
the track melted away like the mists before the summer's sun, and beyond
a few taunting jeers no overt act was committed. The engineer didn't
relish the idea of a soldier running his engine and became somewhat
obstreperous.
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