Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 136, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 10 June 1914 — DUGAN'S DELIVERANCE [ARTICLE]

DUGAN'S DELIVERANCE

By JOHN N. HILLIARD.

Through the air trailed a faint, tremulous whistle. The old flagman dropped his newspaper and jumped up j from the rough pine bench as nimbly as is consistent with a wooden leg. Catching up a frayed green flag, he stumped across the rails and took hiß place in the double space between the freight and the passenger tracks. In the distance, where the twin rails ■converged to a point that pricked the horizon, was a blur, which swelled slowly, like the gradual inflation of a balloon. Out of this blur presently emerged a passenger train that bore down on the flagman with the velocity iof a tidal wave. He stood like a wooden figure, the flag held limply in his hand. There was a sound like a rush of ;a million wings, a black streak, n* ‘longer, seemingly, than a dash in the telegraphic code, brushed the eyes, and the flagman turned to see the Cannon Ball express sweeping around a distant curve, throwing the miles over its shoulder; 50 to the hour. The old man hobbled back to his bench and seated himself with a sigh of relief. Then he lighted his pipe. “I can take it easy now for a spell,” he grunted, puffing a cloud of smoke. '“l’m allers as nervous as a woman till the Cannon Ball gets by. Don’t know just why it is, but all the day I feel as if somethin’ was a goin’ to happen to that train, and right at this crossin’, too. When the old gal swings her bustle around the corner, yonder, I feel happy as a kid what’s got a ticket for the circus. “Did you ever know a railroad man what wasn’t superstitious? Sure, they all are, from Chawncey M. Da-poo down to Jimmie Clancey what wipes the locos up at the stable. Every mother’s son of ’em is as leery over signs as a Missouri crap-shooter. “But talk about superstitions! The orneriest chap for superstitions I ever saw in my life was Dugan; I don’t s’pose you ever heard of Dugan, did you, mister? Well, Dan used to fire on old Nine-Eighty-Seven, what hauled the Chicago Limited. He was considered the best man in the bizness; I can say that much in his favor. "Why, he could make a loco draw steam on a grade with no more fuss than a baby suckin’ milk out of a bottle. That’s the test of a fireman. •I used to turn the trick myself when 'I was firing, in the old days, and I can tell you it’s a daisy. It’s somethin’ a feller can’t dig out o’ books, jit’s got to be bom in a chap, just like they say poetry has. “Well, that man Dugan was the craziest fool over signs that ever drew the breath of life. He had all kinds of ■kinks in his brain, and he made life miserable for every engineer he fired for. Billy Farwell used to handle the lever on the limited, and it was only Dugan’s skill with the shovel that •saved him his job.

“Billy used to Bay that Dugan was a hundred times worse than an old maids’ sewing circle, and that he was enough to drive an ordinary man nutty inside a year. You see, he was as fussy as a young lady. He had to do everything in just such a way. “All the money in the world couldn’t have tempted him to climb into the cab on the left side or to jump down on the right side. This nonsense used to make Billy Parwell hopping mad. He’d argue With Dugan by the hour, curse him, and threaten to have him fired. It didn’t do a bit of good, though. Billy wasted just so much good wind, and Dan kept up his monkey-shines. “There was another thing that grated on Harwell's nerves. Dugan believed that it was “unlucky to take more than three steps when he shoveled coal into the furnace. He would take three deliberate steps to the tender, and three more back. One day Farwell gave him a savage push which made Dugan take four steps, and the poor chap was all broke up for a week. “He had to lay off to get his nerves back in working order, and Farwell had to get along with a fellow that didn’t know any more about making steam than a Hottentot does wireless telegraphy. The limited was behind her schedule every day that week, and Billy got a sharp letter from the division superintendent. “He was mighty glad, I can tell you, when Dugan finally showed up at the stables, and he told the fireman that for all he cared he might go the limit with his fool notions. He wouldn’t have anything more to say. "Dugan was a quiet chap, with all his nonsense, and he never tried to talk any one into believeing in his superstitions. None of the boys knew much about him, except that he had drifted back east some time before, And he never offered to take any one into his confidence regarding his past life. "There wasn’t nothing so very strange about that, for railroad men Ain’t much in the habit of talking about themselves. “When Billy Farwell died, Dugan put in an application for his place, and be didn’t have any trouble in passtag the • examination. The superin* tendent knew that his record as a fireman was the heat on the road, and he also knew that the fellow's head was ohuck full of superstitions, and that most of the boys called him crazy. “The superintendent kind o’ thought that it wouldn’t be good policy to put mSL- >v;- ■. ■

such a fellow at the lever, so another man that didn’t know half as much about a loco as Dan was given the job. Dugan kept on firing old Nine-Eighty-Seven just the same as before, and he never peeped a word about being disappointed; but he was, just the same. It was the biggest failure in his life. “One dark night, when the limited was spinning along on bit of the road, Dugan his side of the cab, lopking at the long bar of tight that seemed to bore a hole into the darkness. Suddenly a black shape swept through the open window and next instant was beating its wings against the lamp above the boiler. “It was a bat, and the moment that Dugan saw it his face turned as clammy cold as a corpse. His eyea bulged with fear until they almost dropped from their sockets. The bat settled on an oil-cup, and the red reflections from the gauge lamp made its eyes twinkle like little, red devils. “The engineer’s eyes and thoughts were on the rails ahead, and he didn’t notice the pesky thing until he heard a blood-curdling scream from the fireman. He turned from the throttle and saw Dugan standing in the center of the cab, his eyes blazing like those of a maniac. ** 'Jump for your life!’ screamed Dugan. “ ‘What ails yeh?’ shouted the engineer.’ ' “‘That bat, there!’ the fireman shrieked. ‘lt means a smash-up.’ “The engineer glanced out of the window to the track ahead. At that moment a big yellow light flashed around a curve about a quarter of a mile away. Dugan saw it at the same instant, and with another scream he started to jump. The engineer caught him. — — \ “ ‘lt’s on the other track, you fool!’ ¥ shouted. ‘“You lie!’ Dugan shrieked back. ‘Lemme go.’ “With a madman’s strength he twisted himself out of the engineer’s arms and jumped. “Well, the train was stopped, and a searching party went back to find the mangled body. You can bet that they was mighty surprised to find Dugan alive at the foot of an embankment. After a three months’ vacation in the hospital he came out of the affair with one phony leg. Pretty lucky, wasn’t he? But the best part of the whole thing was that from that day Dugan never believed in superstitions or signs. That night’s experience knocked all that nonsense out of him.’’

“Where’s Dugan now?” I asked, aa tne old man halted in his story. The flagman tapped the pipe on the bench and carefully scraped the ashes out of the bowl. Then he filled it slowly, and packed the tobacco down with his little finger. He lighted the pipe and blew several clouds of smoke toward the ceiling of his little coop. Then he hobbled over to the track and peered down the road. “There’s one o’ them confounded shoats again,” he growled. “They’re jttpt bound and possessed to get on to the tracks, and they’re worse than an elephant for a loco to mix things with.” “But what about Dugan?” I persisted. “You haven’t told me what became of him.” “Oh, I’m Dugan,” said the old man, as he picked up a stone and stumped angrily down the track to bombard the enemy. <Copyright.)