No stop-overs
Date: 2025-04-19T00:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Short stories; Male friendship -- Fiction; Railroad stories; Alaska -- Gold discoveries -- Fiction

The Project Gutenberg eBook of No stop-overs

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Title: No stop-overs

Author: John A. Thompson

Release date: April 19, 2025 [eBook #75913]

Language: English

Original publication: New York, NY: Frank A. Munsey Company, 1929

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/75913

Credits: Roger Frank and Sue Clark

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NO STOP-OVERS ***

The doorway was filled by a great mass of brawn and muscle, grinning from ear to ear

NO STOP-OVERS

By John A. Thompson

With the lure of the gold camps taking every able-bodied man from his job, you can’t keep a good man on in Alaska railroading—but Sam Tebbetts and Plapp were exceptional.

Because of the boom out at the gold diggings on the Kougarok, the little railroad that wound its way through brush and over tundra from Nome to the up-country mining camps had an unusually heavy spring traffic to handle. The sudden brisk business was profitable. But it meant more trains. More trains meant more locomotive engineers—engine drivers, they call them nowadays—and men who could drive an old Forney type, or a 4-4-0 American, were scarce in Alaska.

In this emergency, firemen were given regular runs. Every call boy and roundhouse sweeper husky enough to lift a slice bar was set to work firing. Still the road was short-handed.

The new engineers had a disconcerting habit of deserting. The minute they pulled into the terminal yards up on the Kougarok, they would steal a pick and shovel from the maintenance department and duck out for the gold-bearing creeks two miles out of town. One absconding brakeman had the brass to stake out his mining claim with signal flags swiped from the road before he left.

Worried over operating conditions, haggard from loss of sleep, the general superintendent bent over the morning reports in his office down at Nome. Suddenly he looked up as the door opened a few inches. One of the oddest specimens of humanity he had ever cast eyes on sidled through the narrow aperture, and coughed to attract attention.

For ten silent seconds the super stared at the man in amazement. The stranger was less than pint size. Yet he wore overalls that had obviously been made for a man of generous architecture. His trouser legs were rolled into bulky cuffs almost knee-high, and a broad leather belt around his waist gave him more or less indefinite control over the slack in his stern-sheets.

For all the tiny man’s incongruous get-up, however, there was a firm set to his square, pugnacious chin and determination in the large gray eyes that peered out from under his bushy thatch of straw-colored hair.

“Ahem!” The stranger coughed again.

“Well,” snapped the super, “what do you want? Do you work on this road?”

The stranger shuffled toward the super’s desk.

“Not yet,” he said cheerily, answering the last question first. “Hope to soon, sir. Name is Tebbetts, Sam Tebbetts. Glad to meet you. Press the flesh.”

Sam thrust out his hand. Before the super realized what he was doing he had stood up and shaken hands with the man. Almost instantly he sat down again with uncomfortable abruptness, angry at himself and the smiling stranger.

“If it’s a job you’re looking for, I’m not the man you want to see. I don’t hire the bohunks.”

“Sam Tebbetts ain’t no bohunk, mister.” Sam bristled like a fighting cock and there was an unexpected quality in his voice that made the super sit upright. “He’s an engineer.”

It was the first time in three weeks that the super had had a really good laugh for himself. He leaned back in his chair and rocked with merriment.

“A what? An engineer? You? Ho-ho-ho!”

Sam flushed crimson as he dug down deep into a back pocket and pulled forth a packet of thumb-marked credentials which he flung angrily on the desk in front of the super.

“Sam Tebbetts ain’t no liar, either,” he declared.

The super picked up the papers and began studying them with growing interest. Evidently the man was right. He was an engineer; a good one too.

“What did you come up to Nome for?” asked the super, suspicious still of the comic strip character that had walked into his office.

“To go gold minin’,” answered Sam promptly.

“I thought so.” The super sighed. “If it’s just free transportation to the Kougarok that you are looking for, I’ll write you out a pass. It’s easier in the end. I’m through hiring drifters that take a run or two and then jump the train at the other end of the line. Seven engineers have deserted me this week.”

“Sam Tebbetts ain’t that kind.”

The super grunted. He was still doubtful of this shock-headed lad, but he needed men badly. “The crowd up here is pretty rough. Apt to rag hell out of you.”

“Guess I can take care of myself.” Sam stuck out his jaw and clenched his fists, following which demonstration of belligerency he shadow-boxed around the super’s desk for a few seconds. He wound up the demonstration with a vicious uppercut to the empty air.

“When do I start?”

“Mr. Tebbetts,” said the super calmly, “I’ll start you right now—but only if you’ll agree to stick with the road all season. Your wages will be paid when we close down for the winter. In the meantime I’ll see that your food and board bills are taken care of.”

“Suits me,” said Sam. “Press the flesh.”

This time the super declined the proffered hand. With a wave of his hand he indicated that he considered the matter closed.

“Ahem!” Sam coughed again.

“Well! It’s all right ahead. Go ahead down to the roundhouse. You’re hired, Mr. Tebbetts.”

“Yes, sir. But I’d like a job for my pal too. He’s a fireman. Fired for me eight years, sir. Good man. Dutch. Steady worker. Name’s Plapp. Suydam Plapp.”

“Well, where is he?” The super looked about the office in astonishment.

“He’s here,” said Sam. “Plapp! Hey, Plapp! Come on in. Meet the super. He’s regular. We got a job, Plapp.”

Again the office door opened quietly and this time the doorway was filled by a great mass of brawn and muscle, grinning from ear to ear.

“Is that Plapp?” asked the super.

“Yes, sir. And, mister, if all firemen was as good as him, the people that makes mechanical stokers would go out of business in a week.”

“Hmm. He looks like Zbysko. Remember, he goes to work under the same conditions that you do, Tebbetts.”

“Suits us.” Tebbetts pushed his big companion toward the door. “Let’s go down to the roundhouse, Plapp, and meet the gang.”

When they had closed the door after them, the super pulled out a handkerchief and mopped his face. “Phew,” he muttered, “if the road don’t go plumb to pot with that team o’ galoots workin’ on it, I’m crazy. Lucky for them they hit me when I was short-handed.”

The super had barely settled down to resumption of his morning’s work when the roundhouse foreman and a man from the dispatcher’s office rushed into this sanctum within ten seconds of each other, each with the same breathless request.

“Any more medical stores up here? Liniment, gauze bandages, sticking plaster?”

“What’s the matter?” exclaimed the super. “An accident?”

“No, sir.” It was the roundhouse foreman who found his tongue first. “Jest them two circus freaks you sent down this mornin’. One of the boys started kidding the little fellow.”

“I warned him it was a rough crowd,” said the super.

“Warned him!” The foreman’s voice rose. “He don’t need no warnin’. Swung right at the lad that was kiddin’ him, and then he yells, ‘Plapp! Hey, Plapp!’ and the big Dutchman comes a runnin’. ‘Hold him, Sam!’ roars the big fellow, ‘Don’t let him get away, the bully. Pickin’ on a little runt like you.’”

“Hmm,” muttered the superintendent. “We’ve got enough trouble without a lot of senseless scrapping among the men. Tell those two I don’t want any more of it. And take them some first aid stuff. It’s in the cabinet there.”

“It ain’t them that wants it, sir. It’s my man. You can pour most of what’s left of him in a coal oil can.” The foreman shook his head sadly. He walked toward the cabinet at the open end of the office and the super turned on the clerk from the dispatcher’s office.

“Well, what’s your trouble?” he demanded.

“It’s those two new fellows.” The clerk spoke timidly.

“What about them? Speak up.”

“T-T-Tebbetts came in for his orders and we all started to laugh. He looked so funny in those big pants, and Thonet was at his key and he turned around and said to Tebbetts—”

“Never mind what he said. What happened?”

“Well, they exchanged words and then Tebbetts made a pass at Thonet and caught him behind the ear with a fist like a mallet and when we tried to pull him away he yelled for Plapp.”

The super smiled in spite of himself. “Then what?”

“The boys downstairs want some gauze and some liniment and some—”

“Get out of here!” thundered the super. “It looks as if you fellows were picking on the wrong dog this time.”

“Yes, sir,” agreed the retreating clerk. “Anyhow, we’ve got most of the broken chairs picked up and we’re straightening up the office, while Thonet is getting his wires in order again. Plapp ripped them out.”

As the clerk left, the super called to the foreman, whose arms were laden with bottles and bandages.

“What’s the matter with those two, Jim? Just quarrelsome?”

“No. I wouldn’t say that,” replied the foreman. “They wait for the other fellows to start something, but they sure do love a scrap.”

“Outside of that, do they know their business? What is that big fellow Plapp? He seems to do most of the damage. Is he a fireman, a ruffian, or only another disappointed white hope?”

“He’s a fireman all right. In fact both of ’em seems to know their jobs.”

“Where are they now?”

“Plapp and the runt are out with No. 57.”

“Hmm. Get her out all right? Gave the big boy a tough engine to fire on his first run, didn’t they?”

The foreman smiled. “Break ’em in right. On account o’ bein’ short o’ yard help, Plapp gets No. 57 cold. By about the time an ordinary cuss would have them boilers warm, I heard a crack and a sizzle and when I look out there’s No. 57 poppin’ off like she’s goin’ to blow herself apart. Plapp, grimy and smilin’, is standin’ in the cab. He has his sleeves rolled up and he looks like he was goin’ to pick his teeth with the slice bar he’s playin’ with.” He paused.

“Go ahead,” said the super, “I want to know how No. 57 got away on time for the first time in three weeks.”

“Well, I see little Sam Tebbetts come runnin’ acrost the tracks, chipper as hell, ’cept when he comes near trippin’ on his nose and his shoes get caught in those sea-goin’ pants. He swings into the cab, talks to Plapp for a few seconds. Then he looks at his watch and the two shake hands. The next minute Tebbetts is on the engineer’s seat box. I see he can hardly stretch up to some o’ the valves without standin’ up. But he tries the air, opens the cylinder cocks, eases open on his throttle and old No. 57 wheezes down the rails as pretty as you please.”

The super, palms outstretched on the top of his desk, tapped his index fingers thoughtfully. “Well, I’d advise you fellows against trying to kid Tebbetts. It doesn’t seem to pay.”

“No, sir, it don’t.”

“And,” added the super, “when you go past the dispatcher’s office tell them I want them to keep me posted on No. 57’s run till she lands up at the Kougarok terminus.”

By evening the superintendent began to think he had done a clever stroke of business in hiring Tebbetts and Plapp. In front of him was a long train sheet and he gazed in quiet satisfaction at the run of fast freight No. 57. She was checked off “on time” all down the line and at every meet and was reported as pulling into Kougarok yards twenty-six seconds ahead of schedule.

The run from Nome to the Kougarok is only about a hundred miles. In the morning, after three scraps and one minor riot with a gang of prospectors, Sam Tebbetts and Plapp marked up for a trip back to town. They were given No. 12, with a string of empties to be rolled into the freight yards at Nome.

Sam was delayed by a brief passage of arms with the Kougarok dispatcher, whom he advised to let somebody wash his ears and make a good job of it. Then turning a deaf ear to an impassioned request for a lock of his hair to patch the station doormat with, he bolted for his engine, stuffing his orders into his pocket as he ran.

He stumbled up into the cab, tripped over a coal shovel, and would have pitched himself through the open firebox door, had not Plapp reached out a strong hand and jerked him back by the seat of his pants.

“It’s a wonder to me, Sam,” said Plapp, talking like a father to an errant offspring, “that you wouldn’t buy yourself a set o’ overalls o’ your own, instead of wearin’ mine.”

Sam made a face like a man with a mouthful of hair and started down the tracks with a jerk. “If you’d keep them shovels and truck off the floor plates, an engineer could come aboard his own cab without breakin’ his neck,” he snorted.

Tebbetts rattled across the yard switches and out onto the single track main line. There was a down grade with a few curves in it for the first few miles and Sam let his empties breeze along at a fast clip.

For awhile he and Plapp said nothing to each other. Sam pulled his train-order flimsy from his pocket and reread it for certainty’s sake. “I see,” he said, turning to Plapp who was staring idly out the left-hand window, “where we got a lot o’ meets this run. Ptarmigan Gulch, Moonglow, the turn-out by Cooley’s Bend. Mostly passenger trains comin’ up, too. Them miners sure are pilin’ into the Kougarok country.”

“Yeh,” assented Plapp truculently. “an’ I thought we come up here to find us a gold mine. The first thing you do like a bone-dome is get us a job with a contract where we can’t quit to go prospectin’. What a fine bowl o’ tripe your brains turned out to be!”

“We’ll get our prospectin’ in. Trust Sam Tebbetts an’ don’t act like a sorehead.” Sam was going to say more. But his body suddenly stiffened and in his excitement he yelled for Plapp. The fireman came over to the engineer’s side of the cab. “Look! What does that look like to you? Gold, ain’t it?” Tebbetts was pointing to several bowlders lying on the hillside. Bright specks in the rocks glistened beneath the rays of the morning sun.

“Mebbe them shiny bits is gold,” agreed Plapp. “They’re yellow.”

“Yea, Plapp! We’re millionaires!” shouted Sam, closing his throttle. There was an ear-rending bangety-clank as the engineer jammed on his air brakes. The empties rocked and cascaded to an abrupt stop. Sam leaped from the cab and, with one hand holding his trousers up, sprinted for the nearest bowlder. Plapp followed, a fair imitation of an elephant in full flight.

Back in the caboose a startled conductor and a brakeman found their quiet game of casino rudely interrupted. They dashed for the rear platform together, wondering what was up. No. 12 was as still as an empty tomb, motionless as the hills themselves. And there was no signal set against her, nor could another train be heard thundering toward her on the single track. The brakeman tilted his cap on the back of his head.

“What the hell!” he muttered.

“There they are!” The conductor spotted the running pair first. “Look! The big fella’ is chasin’ the little one down the hill. Wonder what happened.” He beckoned to the brakeman. “Take the flags and go on back along the track in case somethin’ may be comin’ along. I’ll go down and see what the trouble is.”

The conductor caught up with Sam and Plapp when they stopped beside one of the bowlders. The two were in the midst of an argument when he arrived.

“Well, it’s yellow, ain’t it? And it shines, don’t it? How do you know it ain’t gold?” said Sam.

“Yeh,” said Plapp, still unconvinced, “but—”

“But, me eye! Hey, conductor, look what we found. Gold! Plapp and me are rich. We’re all rich. Press the flesh.” Sam put forth his hand, but the conductor remained unreceptive to the suggestion.

“What’s the matter with you guys? Crazy? That ain’t gold, it’s yellow mica. See?” The conductor pried some of the glittering mineral from the rock and split it into small, thin leaves with his thumb nail.

“Yep. It’s mica,” said Sam crestfallen. “Sorry, boys, my mistake.”

However, the conductor wasn’t through. He turned on Sam angrily. “What’s the idea of stopping your train like that?”

“Who wants to know?” Sam thrust forth his chin temptingly and the conductor landed one on the button that sent the little man reeling to the ground.

“Plapp! Hey, Plapp!” moaned Sam. “You seen him hit me. Where are you? Lettin’ that guy hit a little fella like me.”

Plapp studied the situation for a solemn moment. “You told me that stuff was gold,” he said slowly to Sam. “You had it comin’ for lyin’ to me thataways.” Then he turned toward the conductor and the light of battle suddenly blazed in his eyes. “Still an’ all, it’s a hell of a thing to hit a little runt like Sam so hard as you did, you big bum.” He stepped up close to the conductor.

Still rubbing his chin, Sam sat up to watch the fray and give some unnecessary advice to Plapp. In spite of his size, Plapp, once he was aroused, swung his fists as fast as greased lightning. He could handle his dukes like a professional. And he believed in making his battles as brief as possible.

Sam helped Plapp drag the wilted form of the conductor back to the train. They called in the brakeman, stowed the conductor in the caboose, and having suggested that a little raw beef would take the swelling out of his fast closing left eye, went forward and climbed into the engine cab together.

That was the beginning of Sam’s wayside prospecting. Seven times on the trip to Nome he pulled up his train with a jerk and cut wildly across the scenery, followed by the faithful Plapp. Five times investigation proved that it was mica that had misled him. Twice chunks of the brassy iron pyrites caught his eye.

Sam rocked into his destination two hours late. Moreover, his loitering had made him late at several meets and as a result the northbound schedule of trains to the Kougarok had been seriously disturbed. All along the line, the road cursed No. 12.

“Great stuff, prospectin’, hey, Plapp?” Sam slapped the fireman on the back. It was like slapping a barn door made of solid oak. “Of course you can’t expect to strike it rich the first day. But I’m goin’ to buy me a gold pan to-night. We’ll do the country proper to-morrow.”

“But the train?”

“We ain’t quittin’, are we? Just pausin’ on our way. No harm in that, is there? Say, I been held up for hours at a time, lots o’ times, by the operating department. Anyhow, we come to Alaska to go prospectin’, and we’re goin’ to do it, ain’t we?”

Plapp nodded. Sam stuck out his hand. “Press the flesh, kid.” The little man and his big companion struck out across the tracks for a lunch wagon with the sign “Eat” displayed in large letters over the center sliding door.

For a week Sam prospected on the fly and ran his trains late. Only the road’s extreme need of men enabled him to hold his job. He was called in and bawled out by everybody from the old man himself on down. He was threatened. He was pleaded with. It was no use. Sam had set his heart on prospecting.

The general superintendent sent for Tebbetts one morning. Aside from his loitering by the wayside to go gold hunting, Sam was a good engineer. The super could ill afford to lose him. “Tebbetts,” he said sharply, “this independent prospecting of yours is throwing the operation of the line all out of plumb. I won’t have it. I want you to stop it.”

“Well, I ain’t quit and left you stranded with a train up at the Kougarok, like Bennett did last night, have I?” said Sam defensively. “Me and Plapp has got a claim staked just off the switch at Cooley’s Bend. A good one too. But we ain’t quit you. Tebbetts’ll stick by his word.”

The super’s face brightened. He decided to play up to Sam’s hair-trigger sense of honor.

“Yes. I believe you will, Tebbetts. You’re a man of your word. I can trust you. I’m going to take you off the freight runs and give you passengers. The responsibility for the lives of many men.”

“Yes, sir.”

“The accident hazard isn’t any greater. But a freight smash-up and a passenger wreck are two entirely different things. You understand that, of course.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. I’m putting you on your honor now, Tebbetts. This is a personal matter between you and me. I want you to promise that you won’t make a single stop that isn’t on your orders. Remember, Tebbetts, you’re going to carry passengers. No stop-overs to go prospecting, or daisy-picking, or anything else.”

The super’s system worked. Sam was as good as his word. He ran his passengers to and from the Kougarok regularly. They kept him busy.

Plenty of overtime, but no time off. It wasn’t easy for Sam to work faithfully with the gold fever burning his heart out. Day or night, the moment he climbed out of his cab, the only thing he thought about was the claim he and Plapp had staked not far from the switch at Cooley’s Bend.

There were times when he regretted his promise to the superintendent. However, having given his word, his word held him to his duty.

“Aw, Sam, what’s the use?” suggested Plapp one morning as they were running down the grades to Nome. “You’re gettin’ into a fog broodin’. Let’s quit and try out our claim.”

“Can’t,” said Tebbetts quietly. “Told the super I wouldn’t run out on him. You and me are about the only regulars left now.”

“Don’t I know it,” went on Plapp. “The others are all quittin’ and gettin’ rich. Smith and McDobbs and Koebel and—”

“Mebbe they are,” snapped Sam. “But Tebbetts ain’t. You go ahead if you want to quit.”

“Naw. Guess I’ll stick, if you do,” replied Plapp.

A few days later Sam marked up for the Nome express as usual. He was up at the Kougarok end of the line and he felt nervous. The proximity of the boom diggings always made him feel worse at the Kougarok. The strain of his continued loyalty was beginning to show in dark crow’s feet under his eyes and the taut lines about his mouth.

He started out of the station without waiting for the conductor’s highball. The latter dashed out of the depot and caught the last coach. Two sharp yanks on the whistle cord brought Sam to a quick stop three hundred feet down the track. The conductor ran along the roadbed till he was opposite the engine cab, and for the first time in his life Sam took a calling down without making a single comeback.

“What’s the matter, Sam,” asked Plapp as the Nome express gathered headway again, “sick? Or just thinkin’ that mebbe we’re a couple o’ potential millionaires and don’t know it, workin’ our hearts out on a railroad?”

“Aw hell, if there’s gold in that ground of ours, it’ll stay there till we get it. It ain’t goin’ to fly away,” said Sam, trying to fight down his desire to go back on his word and quit.

He was still debating the question within his mind when he pulled into Ptarmigan Gulch and he almost forgot that he had a meet there with a northbound freight. He ran past a signal set dead against him and only pulled up to a short stop when Plapp yelled at him. When the freight had gone by, he rattled out of the Gulch in the same nervous hurry that marked his departure from the Kougarok depot.

As he approached the switch at Cooley’s Bend, he took a last good look down the track ahead of him and then closed his eyes going by the gravel-bottomed gully in which lay the little stretch of auriferous earth that held his fondest dreams of wealth and fortune.

The claim lay up the gully a short distance to the right. Plapp had the firebox door open and was about to heave some coal into his glowing furnaces when he chanced to look over toward the property he and Sam had staked. For a half second he held his shovel poised in mid-air. Then he dropped it with a clatter to the floor, and shook Sam excitedly.

“Sam, look! Look! There’s men on our claim. Workin’—diggin’ gold out of it! Sam, they’re robbin’ us.”

Sam opened his eyes with a start. “The dirty buzzards!” he yelled. Just ahead of him, he saw the turn-out. His passengers, his given word, everything seemed of little importance beside the fact that men were on his claim, stealing from him. He shut his throttle on the thread of steam and applied his brakes.

“Jump, Plapp!” he shouted as the speeding train came to a grinding halt. “Run ahead and throw that switch. I’m gonna take the express out on that siding till we clean them lousy crooks off our property.”

Plapp jumped, rolled over in the ditch once, then picked himself up and ran for the switch. He threw the bar over as Sam released his brakes and opened his throttle gently. Once across the switch the engineer shut off steam again and let his train coast to a stop, while he swung out of the cab.

Passengers stuck their heads out of the windows. The conductor came running toward Sam, but before he could get breath enough to open his mouth Sam called to him.

“Hey, throw that switch back on the main line! Me and Plapp will be back in a couple of minutes.”

With that he dashed up the gully after Plapp. There were three men working on the claim.

“Hey!” shouted the big fireman. “What’s the idea, you dirty thieves, stealin’ a man’s gold!”

The biggest of the three men, a great black-bearded fellow, spat contemptuously. “Yuh ain’t referrin’ to me and my pardners, is you, stranger? ’Cause I got a notion to make you eat them words, handsome.”

“The hell we ain’t!” shouted Sam, coming up with the group. “Sock him, Plapp! He’s your size. Bust him on the nose!”

Plapp’s fist shot out at the same time the big claim-jumper reached for his gun. There was the crack of knotted fist on a jawbone and the sharp bang-bang of gunfire.

“He’s tryin’ to shoot you! The yellow skunk!” screamed Sam, jumping for the man with the gun. As he plunged, the other two claim-jumpers swung into the melee. One tripped Sam with his foot and the other dealt his falling body a vicious blow with his fist. Sam rolled to the ground, but he managed to get his arms around a leg of the big miner. He clung like a leech as the man tried to shake himself free.

With a howl of rage and pain the claim-jumper bent over to finish off the engineer. Plapp caught the miner a stomach blow that doubled him up. Unfortunately the force of his follow through took the fireman off his balance. He fell on top of the jumper and Sam on the bottom of the pile felt his head being ground into the dirt and gravel by the weight of the two heavy men on top of him.

“Hey, get offa me, you walruses!” groaned Sam as the two other miners tried to pry Plapp from their comrade. For some minutes the slugging, kicking mass rolled over and over on the ground. Fists flew. Blows were given and taken. The men hardly knew whom they were striking, friend or foe.

Sam felt a hairy hand reach for his throat. He tried to twist out of reach and as he turned someone’s bloody thumb started to gouge his eye out. He sensed rather than saw that Plapp was apparently out of the fight.

“Hey, Plapp!” he shouted, “Where are you, Plapp? They’re killin me, Plapp, pickin’ on a little guy like me!”

For once Plapp’s aid was not forthcoming. Sam fought like a demon, all the while cursing and calling for his fireman. Suddenly it dawned on him that something must have happened to Plapp. “Mebbe they licked him,” he muttered, and redoubled his efforts.

But the gamest fighter in the world couldn’t have held out long against such odds. Three men to one scrapping peewee. They rained blows on him till he ached all over and when he closed his eyes everything spun around and went black. Spitting out teeth, wiping blood from his face, Sam pulled himself together for a last effort.

Suddenly the blows ceased. Shots filled the gully. Two of the claim-jumpers started to run. As the third started to follow them Sam reached out and clutched at a corduroy-trousered leg. He hung on, though he was dragged twenty yards before his prisoner came to a halt at the sharp command, “Stick ’em up.”

Sam lifted his head weakly. “I got him, Plapp!” he murmured. Then he looked around him. Plapp wasn’t there. Just a whole crowd of passengers from his train. He recognized the conductor and some trainmen.

“You done a good job there, little fella,” said one of the miners, coming over and helping Sam to his feet. “These birds have been jumpin’ claims all over the Kougarok. The marshal will be mighty glad to see them.”

“Yeh,” said Sam without interest. “Where’s Plapp?”

The man pointed toward another group of people a few yards away. “You mean the fireman? Oh, he’ll pull through. The doc is lookin’ after him.”

“The doc!” Sam screamed, “Plapp! Hey, Plapp!”

While some of the miners marched the claim-jumpers back to the train, Sam dashed over toward those who had gathered around Plapp. “What’s the matter, doc?” he shouted.

“Nothing serious. Three flesh wounds. Various parts of his anatomy. He says he got them when the fight started. When the big fellow pulled the gun on him first.”

“Well, I’ll— Hey, Plapp, you’re aces. Press the flesh, kid.”

The fireman, weak from loss of blood, held out a limp hand and tried to sit up. Willing hands braced his back.

“Them dirty skunks,” mumbled Plapp, “tryin’ to steal a claim from a little runt like you.”

“Yeh,” agreed Sam slowly, “You fixed ’em. But they made a liar out o’ me. Guess my no stop-over record is plumb shot to hell now.”

Suddenly the rumble of a train held everybody spellbound. It was coming north bound, up the tracks towards the Kougarok. With a roar it thundered around the bend and rocked past the deserted Nome express, safe on the siding.

Sam looked up blankly. The conductor was standing beside him. “What in blazes?” he exclaimed, “We ain’t got a meet at this turn-out.” He pulled his orders from his inside pocket and scanned them carefully. “That was a two-car special too.”

“That meet?” Sam said. “Yeah, I got it orally from the operator at Ptarmigan Gulch. Forgot to tell you.”

The conductor grunted skeptically. He remembered distinctly that Sam had not left his engine cab at Ptarmigan Gulch at all. Nor had the operator come out to the train. However, he said nothing.

The doctor looked up. “If a couple of you boys will give me a hand, I think this man can get back to the train now.” Plapp, his head swathed in improvised bandages, hobbled back to the train supported on the willing shoulders of two miners.

Sam climbed into his cab and backed onto the main line carefully. With a trainman firing for him in place of Plapp who was back in one of the passenger coaches, Sam picked his way cautiously down to Moonglow, the next telegraph station. He beat the conductor by half a length to the telegraph operator’s desk, and crashed into a little knot of men who had rushed toward the door upon the arrival of the express. Foremost of these was the general superintendent himself.

“Tebbetts,” he said sternly, “where’s that northbound special? We were just going out to get the wrecker ready.”

“Met her on the turn out at Cooley’s Bend.”

“Hmm,” the super turned to the Moonglow operator. “That man at Ptarmigan Gulch must be drunk. Give me that last wire of his again.” The operator handed over a piece of yellow paper, from which the super read aloud:

“Order to have Nome Express wait for special at C. B. turn-out received too late. Nome express left here six minutes ago. Eleven forty-eight.”

Sam paled slightly as the superintendent looked him squarely in the eye.

“Tebbetts, did you run into that turn-out on instructions, or did you just have a hunch you’d like to go prospecting again?”

“Yes, sir,” said Sam.

“Yes, what? Did you get the orders for that meet with the special?” The super’s eyes seemed to bore through to the back of Sam’s aching head.

“No, sir,” he admitted quietly.

“I thought not. Tebbetts, I told you before about those stop-overs. In this case you happened to be fortunate. Avoided a wreck probably. But you must run according to orders. I’m sorry. I’ll have to punish you as I said I would for that non-scheduled stop-over. You’re fired.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Sam, edging slowly towards the door. “But can I finish the run? I’d like to get Plapp down to Nome first, to the hospital.”

The super relaxed. “You may.” Tebbetts started back to his train.

“Wait a minute,” called the super, “I haven’t finished yet. I told you we couldn’t have a man on this line that persists in prospecting on his runs. Still, you avoided a wreck. You probably saved the lives of many men. We can’t afford to lose a man like you, either. After you get into Nome, come around in the morning. Come into my office. I’ll give you another run. But first you’ll get a two weeks’ vacation with pay, to work on that claim of yours at the bend. Of course you’ll have to cut out stop-overs. No pledge, or promise, or anything like that. Just your word, Tebbetts.”

“Okay. Press the flesh.”

And to Sam’s surprise the superintendent gripped his palm.

Transcriber’s Note: This story appeared in the May 5, 1929 issue of Argosy All-Story Weekly.

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