ncluded I had gone crazy.

"What do you think of the track, Foley?" said I.

"Fair," he replied, sitting down on my desk. "Stiff hill down there by
Zanesville."

"Any trouble to climb it?" I asked, for I had purposely given him a
heavy train.

"Not with that car of butter. If you hold that butter another week it
will climb a hill without any engine."

"Can you handle a passenger-train?"

"I guess so."

"I'm going to send you west on No. 1 to-night."

"Then you'll have to give me a fireman. That guy you sent out last night
is a lightning-rod-peddler. The dispatcher threw most of the coal."

"I'll go with you myself, Foley. I can give you steam. Can you stand it
to double back to-night?"

"I can stand it if you can."

When I walked into the round-house in the evening, with a pair of
overalls on, Foley was in the cab getting ready for the run.

Neighbor brought the Flyer in from the East. As soon as he had uncoupled
and got out of the way we backed down with the 448. It was the best
engine we had left, and, luckily for my back, an easy steamer. Just as
we coupled to the mail-car a crowd of strikers swarmed out of the dusk.
They were in an ugly mood, and when Andy Cameron and Bat Nicholson
sprang up into the cab I saw we were in for trouble.

"Look here, partner," exclaimed Cameron, laying a heavy hand on Foley's
shoulder; "you don't want to take this train out, do you? You wouldn't
beat honest working-men out of a job?"

"I'm not beating anybody out of a job. If you want to take out this
train, take it out. If you don't, get out of this cab."

Cameron was nonplussed. Nicholson, a surly brute, raised his fist
menacingly.

"See here, boss," he growled, "we won't stand no scabs on this line."

"Get out of this cab."

"I'll promise you you'll never get out of it alive, my buck, if you ever
get into it again," cried Cameron, swinging down. Nicholson followed,
muttering angrily. I hoped we were out of the scrape, but, to my
consternation, Foley, picking up his oil-can, got right down behind
them, and began filling his cups without the least attention to anybody.

Nicholson sprang on him like a tiger. The onslaught was so sudden that
they had him under their feet in a minute. I jumped down, and Ben
Buckley, the conductor, came running up. Between us we gave the little
fellow a life. He squirmed out like a cat, and backed instantly up
against the tender.

"One at a time, and come on," he cried, hotly. "If