The Taming of Red Butte Western | Page 5

mother waited at her father's mine for the
coming of the Yellowstone party, she used me for a door-mat, as I
deserved. That was a year ago last spring. I haven't seen her since;
haven't tried to."
The vice-president reached up and snapped the key of the electric bulb
over the desk, and the lurking shadows in the corners of the room fled
away.
"Sit down," he said shortly; and when Lidgerwood had found a chair:
"You treat it as an incident closed, Howard. Do you mean to go on
leaving it up in the air like that?"

"It was left in the air a year ago last spring. I can't pull it down now."
"Yes, you can. You haven't exaggerated the conditions on the Red
Butte line an atom. As you say, the operating force is as godless a lot of
outlaws as ever ran trains or ditched them. They all know that the road
has been bought and sold, and that pretty sweeping changes are
impending. They are looking for trouble, and are quite ready to help
make it. If you could discharge them in a body, you couldn't replace
them--the Red Desert having nothing to offer as a dwelling-place for
civilized men; and this they know, too. Howard, I'm telling you right
now that it will require a higher brand of courage to go over to Angels
and manhandle the Red Butte Western as a division of the P. S-W. than
it would to face a dozen highwaymen, if every individual one of the
dozen had the drop on you!"
Lidgerwood left his chair and began to pace the narrow limits of the
private office, five steps and a turn. The noisy switching-engine had
gone clattering and shrieking down the yard again before he said, "You
mean that you are still giving me the chance to make good over yonder
in the Red Desert--after what I have told you?"
"I do; only I'll make it more binding. It was optional with you before;
it's a sheer necessity now. You've got to go."
Again Lidgerwood took time to reflect, tramping the floor, with his
head down and his hands in the pockets of the correct coat. In the end
he yielded, as the vice-president's subjects commonly did.
"I'll go, if you still insist upon it," was the slowly spoken decision.
"There will doubtless be plenty of trouble, and I shall probably show
the yellow streak--for the last time, perhaps. It's the kind of an outfit to
kill a coward for the pure pleasure of it, if I'm not mistaken."
"Well," said the man in the swing-chair, calmly, "maybe you need a
little killing, Howard. Had you ever thought of that?"
A gray look came into Lidgerwood's face.

"Maybe I do."
A little silence supervened. Then Ford plunged into detail.
"Now that you are fairly committed, sit down and let me give you an
idea of what you'll find at Angels in the way of a head-quarters outfit.
Draw up here and we'll go over the lay-out together."
A busy hour had elapsed, and the gong of the station dining-room
below was adding its raucous clamor to the drumming thunder of the
incoming train from Green Butte, when the vice-president concluded
his outline sketch of the Red Butte Western conditions.
"Of course, you know that you will have a free hand. We have already
cleared the decks for you. As an independent road, the Red Butte line
had the usual executive organization in miniature: Cumberley had the
title of general superintendent, but his authority, when he cared to
assert it, was really that of general manager. Under him, in the
head-quarters staff at Angels, there was an auditor--who also acted as
paymaster, a general freight and passenger agent, and a superintendent
of motive power. Operating the line as a branch of the P. S-W System,
we can simplify the organization. We have consolidated the auditing
and traffic departments with our Colorado-lines head-quarters at
Denver. This will leave you with only the operating, telegraph,
train-service, and engineering departments to handle from Angels. With
one exception, your authority will be absolute; you will hire and
discharge as you see fit, and there will be no appeal from your
decision."
"That applies to my own departments--the operating, telegraph,
train-service, and engineering; but how about the motive power?" asked
the new incumbent.
Ford threw down the desk-knife, with which he had been sharpening a
pencil, with a little gesture indicative of displeasure.
"There lies the exception, and I wish it didn't. Gridley, the
master-mechanic, will be nominally under your orders, of course; but if

it should come to blows between you, you couldn't fire him. In the
regular routine he will report to the Colorado-lines superintendent of
motive power at Denver. But in a quarrel with