he Circus
Special at Angel Forks and let the Limited pass her there. There was
time enough to do it, plenty of it--and under ordinary circumstances it
would have been all in the night's work. But there was blame, too, and
Saxton, who was on the key at Big Cloud that night, relieving Donkin,
who was sick, went on the carpet for it--he let the Limited tear
through L'Aramie _before_ he sent his order to Angel Forks, with the
Circus Special in the open cutting along for her meeting point with
nothing but Angel Forks between her and L'Aramie.

That was the despatcher's end of it--the other end is a little
different. Whether some disgruntled employee, seeking to revenge
himself on the circus management, loosened the door of one of the cars
while the Special lay on the siding waiting for a crossing at Mitre
Peak, her last stop, or whether it was purely an accident, no one ever
knew--though the betting was pretty heavy on the disgruntled employee
theory--there had been trouble the day before. However, be that as it
may, one way or the other, one thing was certain, they found the door
open after it was all over, and--but, we're over-running our holding
orders--we'll get to that in a minute.

Bull Coussirat and Fatty Hogan, in the 428, were pulling the Special
that night, and as they shot by the Angel Forks station the fireman was
leaning out of the gangway for a breath of air.

"Wonder how the Kid's making out?" he shouted in Hogan's ear,
retreating into the cab as they bumped over the west-end siding switch
with a shattering racket. "Good kid, that--ain't seen him since the
day he came up with us."

Hogan nodded, checking a bit for the curve ahead, mindful of his
high-priced, heavily insured live freight.

"Did ever you hear such a forsaken row!" he ejaculated irrelevantly.
"Listen to it, Bull. About three runs a year like this and I'd be
clawing at iron bars and trying to mimic a menagerie. Listen to it!"

Coussirat listened. Every conceivable kind of an animal on earth
seemed to be lifting its voice to High Heaven in earnest protest for
some cause or other--the animals, beyond any peradventure of doubt,
were displeased with their accommodations, uncomfortable, and
indignantly uneasy. The rattle of the train was a paltry thing--over
it hyenas laughed, lions roared, elephants trumpeted, and giraffes
emitted whatever noises giraffes emit. It was a medley fit for Bedlam,
from shrill, whistling, piercing shrieks t