Rensselaer Republican, Volume 25, Number 14, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 1 December 1892 — ON THE TOANO GRADE. [ARTICLE]

ON THE TOANO GRADE.

Frank Ball; Millard In San Francisco Arjjo- - caul. i—.—u__,— Dark and dumb and cold as death Itself lay the dry mesa. It was late at night.' ;The coyotes bad ceased to howl. The owlsnotongergavefortK their dismal hoots. Ho breath stirred the leave's of the dry grease wood and sage. The cold stars shone out as they only shine through the rare, clear eye of the desert. The slim horn of the cold moon dropping down ovgr the far away buttes, glinted the wheel worn edges of two steel rails that ran away into blankness on either side of the spot Near the railroad stood a ghostly telegraph pole, and its wires also ran awa/ into the blankness.'. If there were any sounds at all in the air it came from these wires. But they must have been mere whisperings, for the man who lay under them heard them not. The man wax, frightfully, -strainedly awake, but by his side and mrder the same blanket lay another man who was sound asleep. : It is best for a supersensitive maq to sleep, and sleep soundly, if he must needs lie out on the desert under the stars. It is an awful thing for such a one to Be cursed by sleeplessness at such a time and in such a place. The horrible stillness, the dumb’ ness of nature weighed upon the wakeful man, who lay there upon his back looking .up at the myriad of eyes that peeped through the dark roof of the world. He felt the oppressiveness of it all as keenly as he felt the numbing of the chili night air. He turned on bis unyielding bed of sand and heard the crack of a sage twig under his body. A pistol shot would-have sounded" no louder to his overwrought ear. Why did the sound not awaken the sleeper at his side. If only he would awake or even turn. But, poor, tired man, be had tramped many a long mile over the burning plain, through alkali dust, and oy sage and cactus wastes. Let him sleep. The sleepless one raised his hand to his face, on which the skin was tightly drawn. How hot the unwinking eye of heaven had blazed on him through the day. It seemed to have seared his cheek and forehead. ‘God! If T had hut one glass of rum -one glass!” he groaned half aloud. And then he went over his life and made himself to see clearly why he had become so dependent on a fiery fluid for his peace of mind. It was the thirst—the cursed thirst—that had built itself up within him out of the very elements with which he had thought to appease it. Aud the consequences of that thirst! His mind run back to his home. How she must hate him—that patient wife, who had borne with him so long! Did she? Was it hate that blazed in her eyes when they had that fatal quarrel and he bad left her, never to return? He could not bring himself to think it was. He was so fright- | fully alone —so much in need of being in some one’s kindly thoughts that— The man at his side did turn at last. But he settled down at onee to peaceful slumber. He had not awakened. If he only would awake his cheery Irish banter would make the night less hideous for a time, perhaps, bift let him sleep. He should not trespass on his good nature by arousing him. Although only the acquaintance of a day he had, in his genial Celtic wav, been more than kind. He had given a most unworthy and undeserving man foed-from-his store. and now he was sharing with him his poor, thin blanket. An unworthy man—yes, most unworthy. Had he not left his wife to shift for herself ? Had he not wholly deserted her? Yes, but I she no longer loved him. He had ! been such a drag upon her—such a 1 burden. She was better off without him—far better. The inmoviog tide of this heavy thought bore down upon him more than all the oppressiveness of the night silence on the desert, more than that fearful thirst. It was better that she should live without him —far better. He was unworthy. How cut off be seemed from the whole world! The little warmth he felt fi;om the man's body, i lying by his own, made its impress on his mind. In spite of all his de- | sire for independence when he had started off on that wild journey with only a few, coins in his pocket, his hot assertion that he could go his own way without reference to others seemed now to have been a part of his old weakness of character. Even the strongest must lean upon some one. None mold gn their way wholly alone. How interdependent was the whole race of man. And she had leaned him. Perhaps she did still, in a way. For might she not be looking for him to come back ? It was not likely that she evpn dreamed that he was a thousand miles away. What were a thousand miles after all ? He had not been long in passing them over. It would not take long to retrace them. ■ — —i£With these thoughts/ tingling in his brain, he could no longer lie | there. He must be up 'and in mo - * tion. So he arose and lamely made his way to the railroad traek, leaving his friend of a day to sleep it out alone. He stepped between the rails ; and halted there, facing the tele- : graph pole. To the right was the i way of the freeman, without wife or home. To the left, the way led back to her. “I have almost killed her by my recklessness, ” he thought: “ why should I go back to complete the Mob?”

He glanced over hie right shoulder. “But that may mean the same thing. She is alone and helpless.. Still to go back means—God ! ” he sobbed ; why can’t tbs a man l ” His eyes sought the stars. “Yee.lcan.be.” He took off his hat and raised high bisfyand. Then he spoke, while yet looking up and the still night air heard his words: <■, “I swear that hereafter I will hold my desire for drink in check, and that I will strive to make myself worthy of the good woman who bears my name. So help me God. Amen." Then down the back track he strode fiercely, clenching his hands as he swung them at his sides. Two hours later he stepped upon the platform of the station atToano. There he stopped to rest. It was tfyen dark, and no one was about to look at him suspiciously as upon a tramp, and to tell him to be off. From a small bunding across the way lights were shining. Through the open doorway he saw men sitting about a stove. He heard their loud jokes and hearty laughs. How warm and comfortable they seemed And he was bitterly cold. He went nearer to the place. As he approached it a man came and stood in the doorway. Strange to say this man greeted him with a cordial “Hello, pardner!” He made some sort of reply in a shaky voice, for his teeth were shat tering. “Trampin’ to ’Frisco?” “Yes.’^ “Wal, it’s, good walkin’, ain’t it?” “Oh, yes.” Why should his teeth chatter so? “Say, now. pardner, I kin tell you suthin’ that beats walking all to pieces,” “What is it?” “Why, ’bout half a mile railroad there’s a heavy grade on a curve. When the e nigrant goes up there she don’t go fast—not' much faster’n a' horse and wagon. You kin jump on without any trouble or without any of the train hands noticin’ you. as they would at a sta- | tion, and you kin go into a keer and sleep all the rest of the night. When you wake up in the morning you’ll be at Mesilla, seventy-five miles from here. That’s two big days' journey for a man trayelin’ a foot, It was worth trying. “When will the train be along?” “In ’bout an hour,” “Thank yon,” “Say,” and the voice grew kindly, “ain’t you pretty blame cold? Come inside awhile and warm up." He followed the man into the house. There was a bar there, and some men were before it drinking. His new friend led him up to the bar. This would not do. There was his resolve to consider. Well, he was on his way back home—that much was settled. And as for drinking, there would be just this one glass to warm him up. He was really very cold and numb, and needed it. As it was to be just one and the last, it wds well that it should be a large warming draught. So he poured the glass nearly full. He felt the fire of it as ;it went down. Yes, it did warm one U —that was certain. He had eaten so I little that the hot liquid swiftly set I up its reign in his tired brain, and ! when his new comrade urged another and still another upon him he could not refuse. “Now, I reckon you better git up the track if you’re goin to git that free Pullman pass o’ yourn from Toano to Mesilla, with no change o’ keers,” remarked his entertainer, glancing at the clock. He started up. “Good bye,” he said. “God bleth you.” | His tongue was thick, though bis gait was fairly steady. He could walk very fast now, and soon he was up the grade and at the curve. How strong his nerves were. No longer did the night weigh upon him. What a different man he was from the creature who had limped along the ties a few hours ago. How much firmer of purpose. The light from an oncoming locomotive shot up the track. The iron giant coughed, wheezed and panted. It was truly a hard pull up the Toi ano grade. He stood by the side of | the track as the dazzling headlight I glared upon him for a moment. How firm he was, but how he would have trembled had he gone there unbraced i for the ordeal. He did not tremble now. It was a long train. The cars, with their dull lights, passed slowly : at first, but gathered speed as they | went along. He would not wait for i the last, for that was the caboose, i and ih it was the conductor. What speed the train had gathered! StHi it wai not going very fast, he thought. Now was the time. It would be two days’ foot journey nearer to her. He would soon be at home. He grasped a handrail, lifted one foot up, missed the step, and was thrown with relentless force under the wheels. There was an awful cry, a crunching sound, and the train had passed, leaving the dust it had stirred up to settle down again under the sagebrush leaves. * * * * # » “Say, Bill, I heard some one jell.” It was a brakeman who spoke, and it was the head brakemen who beard him. “So did I —it was under the car. Another tramp gone to kingdom come.” “We ought to stop—hadn’t we?— and see about it.” “Stop on the Toano grade? How wild you talk! You must have been drinking.” Chile is said to number among her population more poets per capita than any other nation in toe world.