a quarter of a mile long. The engine pitched far to the right, reeled back to the left, and the Kid found himself on the deck, while over him rattled the glass from the broken globe of the steam gauge lamp, which had been thrown down from its place and the light blown out. Then, with a lurch to the left, with muffled echoes of the protesting clang of the bell telling that they were still in the tunnel, he was banged, before he could secure himself, against the right windsheet and again thrown to the deck.

Mitch had nearly fallen, too, but had saved himself by winding his right arm about the reverse lever, and grasping the fire-door chain with his left hand. Yet on to Basin they flew, and by that town! On, and cut to the water grade toward Boulder, he urged the 50! Praying, hoping, that he might reach there in safety-yet expecting, at every wild. pitch of the engine or far reach of the caboose lights, to be hurled to the ditch! There the roaring, pursuing Thing would grind him to the dust!

The Kid had just picked up an oiler which had fallen to the deck, when Mitch grabbed him by the shoulder with the right hand and snapped,

"Here, take this switch key-get to the hind end th' dcg-house-an' line em, up-when we get to Boulder!"

And now the kid, instead of dreaming of, or watching others do a daring deed, was himself to perform one. Nothing daunted, he pocketed the key, grabbed the white light and made a run up the coal pile of the partly emptied tank to gain the top. Mitch was watching him closely, for it was no use to look into the dark ahead-he could see nothing, the night was so black and up to this time he had been guided only by the reeling cabocse lights. They swung around a curve to the right; the Kid reeled, lost his balance, fell and slid with half a ton of coal to the iron apron in the gang-way, smashing the lantern. But again, this time without a light he rushed up the coal pile, gained the top and carefully picked his way to the back. He pitched to the right, plunged forward and sidestepped twenty different ways. Mitch raised himself a little

higher. Had the boy fallen down between the caboose and the tank? Ah, how relieved he felt when he saw the outlines of the lad rising against the red haze of the top cupola light and reaching out over the black abyss from whence came angry, snarling sounds of the wheels calling for blood! Cautiously the boy crouched and slowly lowered himself from sight over the back of the tank and down into the warring sounds.

Pres

Mitch's eyes never left the place where the shadow had been seen. ently a head appeared, then the shoulders. The Kid was climbing the caboose platform ladder; the door must have been locked. He crawled on his hands and knees over the roof of the pitching caboose to the cupola. He tried the side windows. They too, were fast. Now Mitch saw him slowly raise himself, grasp the hand-holds on the top of the cupola and with his body extendeng out over the lurching edge, "tce" himself to the rear of the "look out," where he again dropped from sight as he descended the black caboose ladder to the rear platform.

Mitch now thrust his head and shoulders out of the cab window to see if he could catch the faintest outlines of the Kid. Had he really gained the platform? Or had he fallen, and his screams been drowned by the louder scream of the wheels? Was he alive on the platform, or was he up the line dead, in the path of the runaway again to be run over? Mitch, forgetful of self and always ready to sacrifice anything for his fireman, climbed to his knees on the arm-seat of the cab window, that he might reach still farther out. No sign of the Kid! The darkness was so heavy that it hurt as he was hurled against it! Out here the howl of the wheels sounded louder. The rush of air smothered him. He caught his breath! But what of the Kid? He slid back into the cab. He would stop and find out where the boy was. No! that would not do, for the runaway was after him, and he knew not how close it might be.

Then another thought tortured him! He was rapidly nearing the railroad

crossing at Boulder. Should he stop,

or take the chances that no train was using it? If he stopped, his pursuers might catch him. If he did not, he might catch some one on the frogs. There was a desperate chance, and he took it! Again he filled the cab window with his form, this time to look for the crossing as well as for his fireman. There was a crash, a clatter, and a bang as they struck the crossing frogs. The lights of Boulder, small as fire bugs, blinked in the distance. He "dynamited" the air, tooted a signal to the Kid-if he was still on the platformto set the caboose brake, and they slowed down for the passing track switch.

He saw the merest semblance of a shadow drop from the rear steps and run to the switch. Then, in an instant, the white light flashed red; and out of the dark a voice-the Kid's, and how sweet it seemed-signaled him "back." When into clear it signaled him once more this time to "stop", and the switch flashed white for the main line and the Extra.

The 57, in close pursuit of Mitch, had flared through the night like some gigantic torch-light procession, fire flying from the brake shoes and wheels and numerous hot boxes. Its defiant roar had filled the whole valley, awakening the sleepers along its path. If it could only hold the snake-like track in Tunnel 6, there was hope for gaining control once more on the water grade just beyond Basin. That hamlet seemed but a blur on the mountain side as they fell by it. At this point the crew, trusting in the water grade, again tackled the brakes. As they crawled on hands and knees from one brake staff to another, they tried to keep an eye down the dark for some sight of the pursued, every nerve and muscle braced for the final lunge they had long expected would heap them in the ditch.

About half way down the water grade where the speed would slacken, they too had their thoughts on the crossing. But the tonnage monster was not so easy to get control of as they had hoped. It kept dropping toward Boulder with

hardly any signs of slowing speed. Eagerly they watched for the head light to tell them that there was nothing on the crossing. If there was! They took the crossing with a jump and smash, swung gracefully around the slight curve toward the town, and there beheld, in on the siding and safely to clear, the little train they had been chasing.

Each man felt his heart beat again; the strained nerves began to relax; and hands trembled that had been as steel before. The sharp mountain air tingled the nostrils. The one, continuous, mighty roar they had been hearing for hours it seemed now gave place to merry clickety-clicks. They rattled by the siding, clattered by the depot and tank, and ran through the town for a mile up the stiff grade to the north.

Mitch had just reached the office when he heard the extra out at the crossing; yelling for the operator to come out and get "an eye full," the two of them amid a shower of sputtering sparks from the grinding brakeshoes, and the smoke and blaze of the hot-boxes, stood on the platform and yelled like demons-why they never could have told-as the runaway rumbled by them leaving a stifling smell behind.

Soon, with flat wheels pounding, the finally subdued monster backed down to the tank. When the head end of the train had nearly reached the depot, Rabb and the rear man dropped off. As soon as the engine had stopped at the tank, Dad and the head man joined their fellows.

"How do you braves like falling out of a balloon at night?" asked Mitch.

"Well never you mind. We touched only the high spots. Section men won't have to fix them neither. Knocked them all down." Dad answered as he spit in one of the hot boxes to watch it sizzle.

"'Spose we have to look for another office," thoughtfully spoke Rabb. "How was the 'Red Stack' hooked up for men when you left that part of th' country, Mitch?"

"Red Stack!" butted in Dad, "Huh, it's a cinch your blossom always points right." And he baptised another hot box.

She's

"It's wrong this time, though; better try the 'Narrow Escape,' boys. good for a job almost any time," answered Mitch.

"All right, Sandy," and Dad's little eyes snapped, "If you ever fall down a well at night, you just whistle for me and I will get out of your way in a hurry. What did you think of my whistle? Like it at all?"

“Oh, it cut the mustard, all right; it was all I heard, and it was enough. But that Kid worried me more than anything else. Well, so long, boys. If I had a parachute, I'd lend it to you. You're liable to need one before you get in." And Mitch was off for the 50.

As he headed again with his dinky train for the foot of the Berenice mountain, Dad's head man said, as he playfully took off the old engineer's cap to see if the iron gray had turned white,

"That fellow's properly carded 'Sandy,' isn't he, old man?"

"Don't you get gay, youngster," and he grabbed for his cap, "Dig in an❞ pack some of these hot-boxes; we don't want to be here till next Christmas!" And with thoughts of the runaway, "Sandy" Mitch, a new home and a job on either the "Red Stack" or the "Narrow Escape," he slowly walked toward the 57.

There is a feeling within us that loves to revert To the merry old times that are gone.

Those good old days, dear old days.
When our heart beat high and bold,
When all things of life were not of strife,
And the future a haze of gold,

Yet what knew we of the strife to be
In the years we long to greet.

Tick, Tick, Tick, Tick.

'Tis so the clock warns us of eternity.

The changes that have been wrought in the status of railroading during the past sixty years are most remarkable. To many who are not conversant with the business, and who have not been actively engaged in it, the methods that have been adopted to reduce the records, and the improvements connected with the business during the past 60 years is rather an enigma.

'Tis pleasant at times to open memory's casket and hark back, to years gone by, and dwell on some of the incidents of our past life, and think of those old friends, so many of whom have crossed the pathless ocean of death. They have gained the choir invisible, of the immortal world. They have slipped their anchor, and sailed away,

whither we know not. The tree once so green and fruitful and full of buds of promise, is now almost leafless. One by one those old friends with whom we used to talk, walk, ride and" Smile with " say things "Wise and Foolish" have dropped off. Soon we hope to meet them in the "Beyond."

Fly swift around, ye wheels of time, and bring that welcome day of rest.

Death? Aye, what of death?

'Tis but a cribbing of a few scant hours, The outpour of a soul in words, not tears, And for its plaint of never more, may not Some happier answer lie in those deep depths beyond.

If sleep be comforting, then what of death,
Aye, what of death, that closes weary eyes,
Only to gently open them again
On brighter, fairer scenes, such joys of heaven
As never on this sphere can be vouchsafed.

When we look back sixty years, and reflect on the changes and improvements in railroading during that time, it almost takes our breath away. When we first commenced railroading on the Boston and Maine road in 1846, the locomotives on that road were all built by Hinkley & Drury of Boston. The

Baldwin's first came out in 1837.

Many of the Hinkley & Drury engines on the B. & M. were quill wheel, single drivers, 4 ft. 8 in. in diameter, inside connection with drop hook, weighing about fourteen tons. Cylinders 9 inches by 18 inches. The boiler seven feet long with eighty copper tubes. The fire box 31 feet broad, 3 feet high, burning 2 foot wood. Steam was blown off at fifty pounds. Old fashioned pumps were used for feeding the boiler with water. Yet those little quill wheels could run like a scared deer, with two coaches they would skip along 30 miles an hour, even in those days.

In 1848 as baggage man and brakeman on the little Medford Branch of the Boston & Maine "Five Miles we ran eight times each way over the road, making seven stops each trip or 112 stops each day. The cars used were the old fashioned English pattern, like a Concord coach on wheels,

with entrance at the side carrying

14 passengers.

E. Minot was the superintendent. In 1854 Dunlap went with Mr. Minot to the New York & Erie, from there Dunlap went to the Chicago and NorthWestern in 1855, as superintendent, before it was consolidated with the Galena and Chicago Union. Dunlap remained on that road as Superintendent and General Manager until his death in 1896. In 1855 Dunlap purchased the little Cocheco of the B. & M. Co., took her to Chicago and had her rebuilt by Geo. W. Cushing, then M. M. of the C. & N. W.

Old fashion leather bunters, chain coupling. The brakeman sat on top of the car, as freight cars are now rigged. The fare ninepence-12 cents. No tickets were sold between the terminals. For locomotives we had the Cocheco, a little quill wheel built by Hinkley & Drury, with upright cylinders. She weighed about 10 tons, with tender. The Cocheco ran on the road until 1854, when she was sent to the scrap heap from which she was rescued by George L. Dunlap who commenced railroading on the B. & M. with the writer in 1846. He commenced as ticket-clerk. Chas.

Cushing also commenced on the B.

& M.in 1848. Dunlap renamed the Cocheco, calling her the Minnie, for his daughter. He used the Minnie as his private engine, running her himself. doubt there many who peruse this article who will remember the Minnie.

No

are

From the word go, the Michigan Central Road was stocked with the Manchester, N. H.

locomotives, both

passenger and freight. The passenger engines were all 6 ft. drivers, inside connected, 18 by 24 cylinders, wood burners. The spring of 1855 found the writer on the M. C. as passenger conductor. In those days all passenger trains were run by the time card. The conductors were not hampered by telegraph operators telling them where to go or how to run their trains. The conductor had full charge of his train from start to finish. We were running trains on what was called the 20 minute system. When trains were to meet, if one train was behind time the one on time would wait 20 minutes, then proceed keeping 20 minutes behind until it met the belated

train. If both trains got 40 minutes behind schedule time, they both lost right to the road and must run wild, flagging around corners, until they met, when the train nearest to a station must back up to the station or a side track to allow the trains to pass one another. In those days the conductors took great pride in making their schedule time and bringing their trains to the terminals, Detroit and Chicago, on time, to make connections with other roads.

Of the 19 conductors running passenger trains on the M. C. in 1855 only two are now in the flesh-George Hopper and the writer. Geo. Hopper ran a passenger train on the M. C. for many years. For the past twenty years he has been general paymaster of the M. C. and all its branches. He is still in harness, and bids fair to be able to pay the salaries to the employes of the M. C. for many years.

Of the 95 engineers who were running locomotives on the M. C. in 1855 but one is now living-John McCurdy, who is living at Jackson, Mich., as a pensioner of the M. C. Co.

we

In running a passenger train always considered that the engineer was the one to be depended upon to make the time, although the conductor could be of great assistance in getting away from stations as quickly as possible, and by making the engineer a confidant and being on good terms with him.

In those days I always made it a point to see that my engineer and fireman were taken care of when they made up lost time, the recompense to be in proportion to the time made up. I suppose this would seem rather queer to some of the younger conductors new in harness. In those old days our cash waybills were very heavy compared to those of nowadays, $1500.00 and $1800.00 a trip was an average way bill. In those days a ticket punch was not known, old paste-board tickets were used over and over again, no extra charge for paying fare in the trains. There was no check on the conductor at all, we all went on the principle that it was to the interest of the company for the conductor to

keep in touch with his engineer and fireman.

In those days we had some rather queer packages of human nature wrapped up in the engineers; many of them were eccentric, whimsical and had odd ideas. It required a good judge of human nature to size some of them up, and get into their good graces. A very peculiar and freakish specimen of humanity was Dick Tompkins who ran on the Central for many years. Dick was

a case, he was as odd and stubborn as Balaam's off ox. If he didn't take a liking to the conductor he was pulling, he wouldn't budge an inch to make up any lost time, but would just keep his train on the same time that he took it. But if, perchance, he was pulling a conductor who had found his way into Dick's tender spot, Dick would take all the chances to land his train at the terminal on time or run her in the ditch. In a kind of hocus pocus way I managed to get into Dick's favor the first time I struck him; I did it by just letting him alone and not in any way dictating to him, As the old saying is, "give a man rope enough and he will hang himself." remember a number of incidents with Dick which showed his peculiarity.

I

I left Chicago one night in December, 1855, with the night express with six passenger coaches, baggage and express

cars.

It was a terrible night, The storm bent with a fury that was hardly ever equalled. The wind blew a hurricane as it only could on the open prairie. The pelting rain fell in torrents as though the sluices of the skies had opened all at once. Nothing could have ever overpowered the mighty rush of the wind and rain but the tremendous rattle of the thunder, nothing could have penetrated the thick profound gloom of that darkness but the painful blue blaze of the forked lightning. Between these flashes of piercing all pervading light and succeeding claps of thunder, the suspense and strain upon the mind of the engineer of the train must have been terrible..

Tom King, with the locomotive, Flying Cloud, a six-foot Manchester. took my train from Chicago to Michigan