HOW THE “LIMITED” WAS SAVED.

Cromwell Argus, Volume L, Issue 2645, 20 October 1919, Page 2

HOW THE “LIMITED” WAS SAVED.

It is known to only a few that the narrow escape of the “Overland Limited” train was the final factor in moving former President Horace G. Burt and •Chief Engineer J. B. Berry to recommend the rebuilding of the mountain division of the Union Pacific.

It is a fact, however, that the management of the road had under consideration for many months the project of constructing practically a new railway over >he mountains, but the expense, according to the estimates, was enough to stagger even the most progressive railway manage-* rnent . Both Mr. Burt and his chief engineer, however, knew' that Edward H. Harriman would not stop at expense, provided the ultimate and commensurate good of the property could be foretold with reasonable certainty.

When the matter was wavering in balance along came the awful night of December 23, when the storm, giants of the Rockies seemed to have united to produce widespread and tremendous chaos. Such a night the oldest mountain railwayman had never before experienced, and for 48 hours trains crept along at a snail’s pace, bereft ,of the friendly aid of the despatcher. It was when the chaosproducing revel of the elements was at its height that the “Overland Limited” ran sheer to the brink of the Dale Creek chasm and then stood there as if uncertain whether it were best to take the plunge of more than one thousand feet to the swollen river and the serrated rocks below. The next day President Burt declared that the Dale Creek trestle must go, whatever the cost, and go it did, despite the fact that it took a large amount of the company’s surplus revenues to construct the new line round it. The story of that night and of the almost miraculous escape of the “Limited” has few parallels even in the history of hazardous mountain railroading. Dale creek, usually an inollensive streamlet, wends its way through the Lone Tree Gulch, which is at the very summit of Sherman Pass, more than eight thousand feet above sea level. It was almost impossible to fill it so the company constructed a wooden, and, later, a steel trestle, spanning its yawning depths. The trestle was within a few hundred feet of the Natural Fort near the summit of the pass. This fort was well named, for it resembles the miniature crater of an extinct volcano. Well provisioned within its walls a few could easily defend themselves against an army. And tliis is just what a band of noted bandits once did in the Natural Fort. Driven to bay, four bandits held this fort for nearly a month.

Picturesque in its surroundings, Dale Creek trestle was also in the midst of legendary lore and of early frontier history. Less than half a mile west was Tie Siding, with the reputation of being the toughest town in Wyoming, which was the end of the limit as to reputation in days. Tie Siding was just what its name implied—the place where the ties and other railway supplies for construction and renewal were dumped for use. Nestling in the side of the mountain pass, Tie Siding was as forlorn-looking a collection of board shanties as one would care to see. It had its attractions, however, for those excommunicated by the law and hunted by the authorities. This fact undoubtedly accounted for* the presence of “Red” M’Cann, who had swung himself from the front end of the blind baggage the day previous to the big storm. The less one said about “Red” M’Cann when he was alive the better it was for his anatomy. His record was called bad in a territory where ordinary compound cussedness went unchallenged. The afternoon of M’Cann’s arrival it began to rain gently, then to the south appeared a miniature thunderstorm, which sailed along prettily between heaven and earth and below the level of the summit. It was soon followed by others in other quarters, until the denizens of Tie Siding witnessed the phenomena of eight separate and distinct thunderstorms raging about them, while they themselves remained rainless. Those who have had the pleasure of witnessing such a magnificent display of nature’s forces from the top of a mountain . can never forget the awe which it inspires and the sentiment it creates. Perhaps it was this that may have touched the good and noble which must have lain dormant deep in the heart of “Red” M’Cann, Wyoming’s noted outlaw. Perhaps it was the tear-stained letter which they found in his pocket the next day, written by a heart-broken mother in the east. At any rate, there was something which moved “Red’’ M’Cann to save the “Overland Limited” at the cost of his own worthless life, and thereby expiate so far as possible his many crimes. By sunset the storm had reached the summit of the pass and was raging with a fury almost inconceivable in strength and grandeur. Dale Creek had become a swollen, roaring swirling, maddened torrent during the few short afternoon hours, and the risen waters were undermining the trestle abutments and beating with tremendous force upon the underframing. The east-bound through freight was stopped at Tic Siding by the track-walker who declared that the trestle was unsafe and that it would not stand the hurricane of wind and water more than an hour. “How about the “Limited” ?” asked the conductor of the freight. “She's due at the siding in an hour, and all the wires on the mountain division are down. There ain’t time to go around and stop her. Unless some one will cross the trestle she’s fated.’’ “Will no ono undertake to cross ? The trestle will hold the weight of a man.” “I know, but I don’t believe there’s ft man living could cross there to-

night. The wind would sweep a train from the track, so powerful arc the blasts above the centre of the gulch, where there is nothing to break its fury. I’ve tried it several times* only to be glad to retrace my journey. The best I could do was a third of the way over.” The freight conductor was a powerful man and a brave one. The “Limited” must be warned at any cost. Falling upon his hands and knees, and slinging a red lantern on his arm, he began to creep out upon the swaying trestle. Slowly he went from tic to tie, clinging desperately to the rail when the gusts came. Nearing the middle of the bridge he realised that he could proceed no further, and would be fortunate if his strength lasted until he returned to his starting-point. To the anxious group awaiting him he declared that the task was beyond human effort. The distant rumble of the Overla.nd as she laboured up the mountain grades came faintly to the ears of anxious watchers. Was it possible that nothing could be done to save the four-score lives she was known to be carrying ? “Rod” M’Cann, who had joined the group, suddenly) asked ; “What is a fellow to do if he should get over there ?” “Just swing a red lantern across the track. That’s all.” “That’s easy. I guess I’ll try.” Taking the lantern from the conductor he placed it underneath his coat, securely buttoning it in, and started on his perilous trip. The wind had increased in violence, and the trestle was swaying and cracking and groaning as it was shaken by the fury of the storm. “Red” .M’Cann reached the centre of the trestle in safety, where ho was seen to crouch with his arms and legs entwined about the rail. At each effort to proceed the eager watchers could plainly discern that he was forced to quickly entwine himself about the rail to prevent being blown into space.

Again and again the effort was renewed, only to be met with failure. The rumble of the Overland now came plainly to the ears of all, and evidently “Red” M’Cann, with his ear close to the rail, had heard it more plainly than any one. “The task’s beyond human strength on a night like this,” groaned the freight conductor. “M’Cann’s moving again,” shouted the station agent, excitedly. The outlaw had evidently realised that if he accomplished his purpose it would be only by one almost superhuman effort, and he had been resting for the supreme test. The little group w’atched him as he crept along apparently in defiance of the wind, until it seemed that he must succeed. Then there came a moment of suspense. M’Cann paused and drew his lantern from beneath his coat. As he did so a redoubled blast swept up the gulch and caught him fairly. There was a momentary struggle, then the gale whipped the outlaw into its grasp and shriekingly threw him ten feet above the trestle. As he arose in the arms of the gale M’Cann swung his red light once and then disappeared, engulfed in the storm and the swirling waters below. Owing to the fact that enginemen had been warned to always keep a sharp look-out upon approaching Dale Creek trestle, Dan Mahoney, in charge of the Overland that night, caught the flash of the red light as it swung by the hand of the falling bandit. The next morning the search party found the mangled remains of “Red” M'Cann upon the rocks far down Lone Tree Gulch, where the subsiding waters had left them. In a pocket of his coat was the letter from home. In the letter were the following linos : “My Darling Son, —Although your sins have caused you to be shunned by all and proscribed by the law, your heart-broken mother knows that some day you will redeem your past and. yourself.” “His old mother knew best,” remarked the leader, as he tenderly assisted in the rescue of “ Red ” M’Cann’s remains.