



Produced by David Widger from page images generously
provided by the Internet Archive








ON THE IRON AT BIG CLOUD

By Frank L. Packard

McClelland & Goodchild Limited

Prospect Press, Printers New York, U.S.A.

1911

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TO

MY FATHER

_LUCIUS HENRY PACKARD_





ON THE IRON AT BIG CLOUD




I--RAFFERTY’S RULE

The General Manager of the Transcontinental System glared at the young
man who stood facing him across the office desk. “Why, you wouldn’t last
three months!” he snapped.

“I’d like to try, uncle.”

“Humph!”

“I’m qualified for the position,” young Holman went on. “I’ve done
my stint with the construction gangs and I’ve spent four years in the
Eastern shops. You promised me that if I’d stick I’d have my chance.”

“Well, if I did, I didn’t promise to put you in the way of making a
fool of yourself and a laughing-stock of me, did I? You may be qualified
technically, I don’t say you’re not. In fact, I’ve been rather pleased
with you; that’s one reason why you’re not going out there to tackle
something you can’t handle. If men like Rawson and Williams can’t hold
down the job, what do you expect to do?”

“No worse than they, at least,” Holman answered, quietly. “Look here,
uncle, that’s just the point. There aren’t any of the men want the
position, so I’m not jumping anybody to take it. I’ll not make any
laughing-stock of you, either. I’m not going out as the Old Man’s
nephew; just plain Dick Holman. If I don’t make good you can wash your
hands of my railroad career.”

“Young man,” said the General Manager, severely, “don’t make rash
statements.”

He pushed the papers on his desk irritably to one side. Then he frowned.
Two years ago, when the road had dug, blasted, burrowed, and trestled
its right of way through the mountains, they had built the repair shops
for the maintenance of the rolling stock, and from the moment the first
brass time-check had been issued the locomotive-foremanship of the Hill
Division was no subject to be introduced with temerity anywhere within
the precincts of the executive offices. One man after another had
gone out there, and one after another they had resigned. “Hard lot
to handle,” Carleton, the division superintendent, had replied to the
numerous requests for explanation that had been fired at him. And now
Dick wanted to go. The general manager’s fingers beat a tattoo on the
desk and his frown deepened into a scowl. “You’re a young fool,” he
grunted at last.

And Holman knew that he had gained his point “That’s very good of you,
uncle,” he cried. “I knew you’d see it my way. When may I start?”

“I guess you’ll get there soon enough,” his uncle answered grimly. He
rose from his chair and accompanied Holman to the door. “Well, go if you
want to, but remember this, young man, you’re going on your own
terms. When you resign from _that_ position, you resign from the road,
understand!”

“All right, uncle,” Holman laughed in reply. “It’s a bargain.”

Three days later, as Number One pulled into Big Cloud, Holman swung
himself to the platform. Up past the mail and baggage cars, the steam
drumming at her safety, a big ten-wheeler was backing down to couple on
for the run through the Rockies. There was the pride of proprietorship
in his glance as his eyes swept the great mogul critically, for in his
pocket was his official appointment as Locomotive Foreman of the Hill
Division, vice Williams, resigned.

It was not until the last of the Pullmans had rolled smoothly past him
that he turned to take stock in his surroundings. The first impression
was not prepossessing. Before him, just across the yard filled with
strings of freight cars, were the low, rambling, smoke-begrimed shops
and running shed, while beyond these again the town straggled out
monotonously