JIM DOUGLAS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 5961, 28 August 1897, Page 2

JIM DOUGLAS.

(Olohe Democrat.) There was nothing brilliant about Jim Douglas, any more than there was about No. 16, his heavy, solidly built: engine, or about the big, sleek, grass-fed steers that generally formed the greater part of the load on the trains that he pulled. He was considered one of the most faithful men on the Denver road, but somehow his very faithfulness was of a kind which is generally associated with dullness. In many respects his character was strikingly like that of the road on which lie ran. The Denver is a long, monotonous road that stretches up into the Panhandle of Texas. _.- over almost endless reaches of seemingly dead level prairie, but all the same is gradually rising towards the lava beds of the foothills of New Mexico, and eventually finds its way across the mountains and into the city of Denver. In much the same way there was a kind of monotony about Jim Douglas, but it was a monotony of vastness. It rose by imperceptible gradations to the heights of heroism, and it is barely possible that in the end it also may havo found its way into , a city. Jim never even achieved the distinction of beiug given a passenger run. In spite of his faithfulness, men of a different turn of mind always seemed to get the promotions. Ed Stokes, his fireman, was a much younger man, and much le&s experienced in railroad matters, but it was frequently remarked among their friends that Ed. was already better liked in official circles than Jim, and that the fireman was likely to get a passenger run first. Thero was a certain town on Jim's run known as the " Chicken and Bread" town, It was so called because of the swarm of semi-civilised and totally depraved small boys who always met trains there and tried to beguile passengers 'into buying alleged samples of those two .articles of diet. ' The town is still known by this name from one end of the " Denver "to the other. It is hardly worth while to mention its other name, as this one really lends all th? dignity to tho town which the facts in the case will justify. The town consists principally of sandhills and saloons, but as it is at the junction of two railroads, it hasbeen made tbe eating station for the crews of several trains. It ha s several . inhabitants, but the one most nearly connected with this story, and decidedly the most imporportant one in Jim Douglas's eyes, was Daisy Andrews. Daisy was the daughter of a saloonkeeper, whose place was near the Denver depdt. More than that, she was Jim's sweetheart. This is tho best thing I know to say about her. The woman whom Jim Douglas loved can not have been all bad. How Jim managed to become engaged to her, or even to make love to her, I can not pretend to say. How he managed it, even his most intimate friends never could imagine. It is a matter of. record though that a brakeman once punched him in the ribs and asked him what the date was, and that Jim blushed violently and stammered something about "promotion." Everything went well with the affair until the unfortunate day when Ed. Stokes was transferred to a seat in the cab of No. 16, and to the position of fireman for Jim Douglas. Before this had happened Daisy made it a point to meet Jim's train nearly every time it passed through the "Chicken andßread " town, but afterwards she always met it. " Somethin' new under the sun," remarked one of the habitual loungers around the depot one day just after No 16 had pulled out. " What is it ?" queried another. " Daisy Andrews." "Tes? Well, she is tol'ble new. She ain't met No. 16 but about forty times this last month." " She aint never met it oh the right side of the cab before. Did you notice it ? She allers stood on the left till today." At this there were several significant grins in the crown, and several shottlders were shrugged. After several mmneuts of silence spent in looking after the disappearing train, one of the loafers remarked, sententiously : " D — n good looking man, any way ." Even Jim Douglas's most ardent friend could never have claimed that this imprecaution was intended for him. After this tho loafers noticed that Daisy stood on one side of the cab just about ?.s often as she did on the other. It is barely possible that Jim may have noticed it also, but there never was anything about his swartlry, firm set face to show it. As- the months went on his fireman . continued: to be as " good-looking "as ever, and showed no sign of any injury from the " damning " lie had received. Finally a time came when Daisy failed to stand on either side of No. 16 or to meet it at all for over a week. Neither man in the cab showed the slightest sign of missing her. " " Somethin'sup," the loungers whispered one to another; but no one had an opinion to venture as to what that " somethin' " might be. One evening as Jim's train was standing on a side track waiting for the south bound passenger to pass, Tom Andrews, a long, lazy boy of about eighteen, a brother of Daisy's shambled up to the cab and said in a voice too low for the loungers to overhear : " Daisy sez she wants ter see you jest a minute." "All right!" said, Jim, with something in his voice as near like eagerness as he was ever known to come. " Whereabouts is she ?" "In the little room jest back of the s'loon." Jim's countenance fell at the last word. "Tou know what the rules of the Denver is 'bout their men goin' into s'loons whilst on duty," faltered Jim. " Shucks !" ejaculated Tom, contemptuously. " A man that aint got sand enough to take a'little risk to get to see his gal ain't much good. Daisy said tell you she ain't well, nohow." "Not well?" interrupted Ed. Stokes, briskly. " Jim, you just stay here, an' I'll go an' see if " " Naw, you won't !" exclaimed Jim, hurriedly, as he jumped down from the cab ; ' ' I'm goin' myself." This was the nearest that Jim was ever known to come towards displaying any resentment toward Ed. As he strode away from the cab one of his brakeman came hurrying after him. " Say, Jim," he queried anxiously, " you ain't goin' over to Andrews, are you ?" Jim nodded. " Well, I wouldn't. The 01' Man's in town so they tell me ; kern in at 3.40 an' goin' out on the south-bound. God only knows what he's stoppin' here for, but if he was to catch you in that saloon he'd fire you shore." , "Jim muttered some confused reply, but still kept on towards the saloon. It was nearly dark now, and when he opened the door the big coal oil lamp hanging behind the bar had been lighted. Passing through without stopping, he hurried into the .room behind. There he remained for perhaps five minutes in conversation with Daisy. Just what passed between them nobody knows, but when Jim reappeared in the. saloon it was noticed that a broad smile was on his face. " Made up, did you, Jim ? Glad to hear it," said big Bill Andrews, the proprietor of the saloon, as he whacked Jim in the ribs good-naturedly, with his ponderous fist. Jim said nothing, but nodded mysteriously. Then he hurried to the front door in so much confusion that he collided at full tilt with a man who had just entered. " Why don't you run over a fellow ?" exclaimed the newcomer, rather roughly. Then stepping back he took a good look at the offender.- --" Great Scott ! If it ain't Jim Douglas ! Tou are the last man on the DenverJJl'd ever have expected to see in here. And in such a fix, too." It was the " Old Man." There is no need

to give his name or liis official station. He was Jim's superior officer in railroad circles, and that settled the matter. Jim hung his head and hurried out into tho gathering darkness, to make what he knew would be his last run on No. 16. " What the devil brought you in here just at this timo? "growled Bill Andrews as ho scowled at tho new comer. Tho "Old Man,"— who was not so very old after all— bowed rather deprecattogly- " A young lady sent me a note, requesting mo to call. I suppose it was on business of somo kind. It was Miss Andrews ; your daughter I presume." That night Daisy had a stormy interview with her father. The more ho stormed the more she wept. It had all been intended for a joke— she had sent for the "Old Man " just to tease Jim, and make him a little jealous — she had never once thought any harm could come of it. So she protested between her sob 9. But her father only reiterated with a lion-like roar that, 'although he knew she was one .-of .the blankedest fools in Texas, he knew very well she had never been such a fool a3 that. ..''■, Of course Jim was not discharged : that distinction is reserved for higher officers in railroad circles. Engineers merely get fired ; and that was what happened to Jim. If he had been a man of another kind, he might have worked the proper wires' and got off with only a short lay off. Even if he himself had begged hard enough, matters might have been compromised. As it was, he merely gave up his place without saying a word. Nobody was surprised to learn that Ed. Stokes had been promoted to Jim's place at the throttle of No. 16. In a few days Jim began to look about quietly for another job. He soon : obtained a place under the section foreman of a section only a few miles from the Chicken and Bread town. As the foreman was a married man, he and his family lived in town, and Jim bunked alone in the section house. It was a humble job for the former engineer, but it was better than nothing. One night in January Jim was roused from his sleep by someone pounding on the section house door. '." Who's that ?" he growled sleepily. - I " Ifs me !" Jim recognized the voice, and it must have thrilled him through a,nd through. "In a minute," he shouted. Hurriedly dressing, he opened the door and stepped out into the night. It was cloudless, but the force of a Texas " dry norther " was raging. " Good Lord, Daisy !" he shouted. " Tou oughtn't to be here. This wind's enough to give you your death. ' Whew, but it is biting ! And, besides, you oughtn't to have come here to my house by yourself, way in the dead of the night. It ain't— it am't — er — proper, you know." "I came because I wanted to see you. I'm in trouble, and I've needed you awful. Why haven't you come to see me lately. " I — l never knew you was needin' me," faltered Jim. "Folks have been saying such awful things about me," sobbed Daisy. " They pretend like I asked you to come to the saloon just on purpose to get you fired, so that may be Ed. could get your job. Even Pa talks that way. Ton don't believe I done it on purpose do you, Jim ?" Jim merely shuffled his feet uneasily. " I'd do a heap for you, Daisy, but I ain't tellin' no lies for nobody. What do you want with me?" This reply was spoken not sternly, but in so manly, straightforward a tone that all Daisy's hypocrisy failed her. Instead of sobbing convulsively, as she had at first thought of doing, she merely said : — " Jim, you and me was never fitted for each other. Ton know that." " I've knowed for a long time we was different." " Well, I know I'm not good enough for you to wipe your feet on," cried the girl, giving way to a tempest of genuine tears, very different from those she had been planning only a few moments before. " I want to marry Ed because he ain't no better than I am rf and because — because I love him. Pa swears he'll kill us both if I. ever have anything more to do with him. He swears I have * roated you .like a dog— r an' I have. Pa and I had such a racket tonight that I wouldn't go home again under no circumstances. I'd die first ! . Ed's pullin' an extra to-night. I would have arranged to meet him at the depot and run off with him, but I know Pall be there with his Winchester, so that's no go. His train'll be along in a few minutes now an' I want you to signal him down Sv .as I can get on and go off with him. , That's what I've walked these miles this bitter night over this lonesome prairie to ask. you .to do." "He wouldn't stop if I was to signal him," said Jim. " He'd think I was wanting to do him up. I know him well enough to know that." There was the merest trace of emotion in Jim's tone as he spoke. " Jim, for God's sake stop him in some way. I beg you by — by the love you have for me !" • Just then a light gleamed out on the darkness away to the south-west. It was the headlight on No. 16 just leaving town. Jim gazed in silence for a moment. Suddenly he exclaimed : " Daisy, I'll try it. If the extry's a heavy one I'll make it all right; but for your sake I'd try it if it wuz the cannon ball express. Stay right where you are. If she stops here, hop on quick; if she don't stop here, you may know it ain't my fault. God bless you, old girl ■" He threw his arms about her in a bearlike embrace, and before she had recovered from her surprise at his action he had started down the track in a clumsy run toward the approaching train. He knew the track well, and he paused when he had reached the head of a long grade up which No. 16 was now making its way. , It was by no means a steep, grade, but it was about as steep as any on this part of the Denver. Then he stepped to onejside of the track. " I guess she'll be going about as slow here as anywheres," he muttered. Then he steadied himself for the spring. Daisy was standing by the deserted section house watching the approaching train with a heart that almost stood still as she watched. Tiie train was only a short one, and No. 16 thundered by at the top of its speed. Ed. Stokes was in the cab, but he little thought that the girl he loved was standing there in the darkness and the wind as he passed. Perhaps he thought bf Jim, but if so it only caused him to increase his speed. After the train had passed Daisy waited awhile for Jim ; but no Jim came, " Jim ? " she screamed. No answer. "Jim?" Perhaps he heard her voice as . it was borne on the wings of tho howling norther; perhaps, on the other hand, he was even then listening to such sounds a? would render his ears forever insensible to the howling of the night winds, the cries of distressed women and all earthly sounds whatever. .'■■■■■] All that night Daisy faced the north wind as she walked down the long stretch of track leading away from hei* home. Perhaps the whistling, of the wind and the yelping of an occasional coyote filled her with dread ; perhaps, in the gleam of the cold, clear stars, she fancied she caught glimpses of a figure from the land above the stars ; perhaps her own thoughts so occupied her that she had neither eyes nor ears for anything outside ; as to all this I know nothing. I only know that early the next morning she reached the little station next above the Chicken and Bread town. She was half frozen to death, but the next day she took the train for Fort Worth. There she met Ed., and the two were married. Ed. gave up his run, and the two are said to have gone north to escape the fury of big Bill Andrews. Where they are now, no one in the Chicken and Bread town seems to know — or care. Jim's mangled body was found by the section crew of which he had been a member. The boss expressed himself as wondering why in thunder an old railroader like Jim had not had sense enough to keep out of the way of trains. One of the crew thought it might be a case of suicide, but the

reßtwere agreed that Jim had too much sense for that, although he was a darned fool about somo things. Jim was never very popular ; but for that matter, neither was a certain other man of whom I have heard, whom Jim resembled at least to the extent that both of them gave their liveß for the unworthy. He weren't no saint, but at judgmont I'd run my chance with Jim Long side of somo pionn gentlemen That wouldn't shake hands with him. Of course the reader knows that these lines are only a quotation. They contain a certain Western poet's opinion of another Jim altogether, and have nothing whatever to do with Jim Douglas. However, I cannot help feeling with the same poet, A n 1 Christ, ain't, a-going to be too hard On a man that died for men.