Drums, you see, was way up the bend, a dozen
miles above Clayville. Poor Flanagan thought we must
have passed there while he was skylarking in the baggage-
car, and that he had not minded it. We never stopped at
Drums unless we had passengers, or they. It was what
we call a flag-station. So I blew Flanagan up, and
told him he was gone too long.
"Well, sir, at Clayville we did stop,--always stopped
there for wood. August Todhunter, he was the palace
conductor; he went back to look to his passengers. Bill
stayed with me. But in a minute August came running
back, and called me off the engine. He led me forward,
where it was dark; but I could see, as we went, that
something was to pay. The minute we were alone he
says,--
"`John, we've lost the rear palace.'
"`Don't fool me, August,' says I.
"`No fooling, John,' says he. `The shackle parted.
The cord parted, and is flying loose behind now. If you
want to see, come and count the cars. The "General
Fremont" is here all right; but I tell you the "James
Buchanan" is at the bottom of the Chamoguin Creek.'
"I walked back to the other end of the platform, as
fast as I could go and not be minded. Todhunter was
there before me, tying up the loose end of the bell-cord.
There was a bit of the broken end of the shackle twisted
in with the bolt. I pulled the bolt and threw the iron
into the swamp far as I could fling her.
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