Page:Frank Packard - On the Iron at Big Cloud.djvu/136

 bunk. He works here, you know. McCann's in Big Cloud, for I saw him there. After that we'll run back to the Bend for orders and make our report."

"Hurry, then," said the engineer. "Take his legs. What are you laughing at?"

"I was thinking of Carleton," said Kelly.

"Carleton? What's Carleton got to do with it?"

"I'll tell you later when we get to the Bend. Come on."

"H'm," said Sanderson, as they staggered with their burden over to the box-car shack. "I've an idea that bash on the head is more dirt than hurt. He's making a speech, ain't he?"

"Jus' my luck," mumbled the reviving Shanley dolefully. "Jus' my luck. Allus same kind of luck."

"Possibly," said Kelly. "Set him down and slide back the door. That's right. In with him now. We haven't got time to make him very comfortable, but I guess he'll do. I can fix him up better at the Bend than I can here."

"At the Bend? What d'ye mean?" demanded Sanderson.

"You'll see," replied Kelly, with a grin. "You'll see."

And Sanderson saw. So did Carleton—in a way.

Kelly's report, when they got to the Bend, was a work of art. He disposed of the nature and extent of the washout in ten brief, well-chosen words, but the operator got a cramp before Kelly was through covering Shanley with glory. The passengers, packed in the little waiting-room clamoring for details, yelled