ain line and couple on the caboose for the return trip to Big
Cloud--there were no empties to go back, he knew.

It was raining in torrents, pitilessly, and, over the gusts of wind,
the thunder went racketing through the mountains like the discharge of
heavy guns. McCann swore with sincerity as he gazed from the doorway,
didn't like the look of it, and was minded to let Owsley go to the
devil; but, instead, after getting into rubber boots, a rubber coat,
and lighting a lantern, he put his head down to butt the storm, goat
fashion, and started out.

"Me conscience 'ud not be clear av anything happened the man," communed
McCann, as he battered and sloshed his way along. "'Tis wan hell av a
night!"

McCann lost some time. He could have made a short cut over to the main
line and the station; but, instead, thinking Owsley might have run up
the track beside the camp toward the front-end of the construction
train and the engine, he kept along past the string of cars. There was
no Owsley; and the only result he obtained from shouting at the top of
his lungs was to have the wind slap his voice back in his teeth.
McCann headed then for the station. He took the west-end arm of the Y,
that being the nearer to his destination. Halfway across, he heard the
engine backing up on the main line, and, a moment later, saw her
headlight and the red tail lights of the caboose as she coupled on.

Of course, it was against the rules--but rules are broken sometimes,
aren't they? It was a wicked night, and the station, diminutive and
makeshift as it was, looked mighty hospitable and inviting by
comparison. The engine crew, Matt Duggan and Greene, his fireman,
thought it sized up better while they were waiting for orders than the
cab of the 1601 did, and they didn't see why the train crew,
MacGonigle, the conductor, and his two brakemen, should have any the
better of it--so they left their engine and crowded into the station,
too.

There wasn't much room left for McCann when he came in like an animated
shower bath. He heard Merle, the young operator--they'd probably been
guying him--snap at MacGonigle:

"I ain't got any orders for you yet, but you'd better get into the
clear on the Y--the Limited, east, is due in four minutes."

"Say!" panted McCann. "Say----" and that was as far as he got. Matt
Duggan, making a wild dash for the door, knocked the rest of his breath
out of him.

And after Duggan, in a mad and concerted rush,