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Crouching under the rip of the storm Medicine Bend

slept battened in blankets and beds All night at the Wickiup, O'Neill

and Giddings, gray with anxiety, were trying to keep track of Glover's

Special It was the only train out that night on the mountain

division For the first hour or two they kept tab on her with little

trouble, but soon reports began to falter or fail, and the despatchers

were reduced at last to mere rumors They dropped boards ahead of

Special 1018, only to find to their consternation that she was passing

them unheeded

Once, at least, they knew that she herself had slipped by a night

station unseen Oftener, with blanched faces they would hear of her

dashing like an apparition past a frightened operator, huddled over his

lonely stove, a spectral flaht breathing on the scrap-pile and the grave had called

froines and

slaughtered men to one last phantom race with death and the wind

Within two hours of division headquarters a train ran lost--lost as

corass plains on pony trails