with him,—but all are not so fortunate as to have listened while Clarihue talked.
Just one word more to make sure that the red isn't against us anywhere and we'll get to Keating and Spirlaw—just a word to say that Carleton, "Royal" Carleton, was superintendent then, and Regan was master mechanic, Harvey was division engineer, Spence was chief dispatcher, and Riley was trainmaster. Pretty good men that little group, pretty good railroaders—there have never been better. Some of them are bigger now in the world's eyes, heads of systems instead of departments—and some of them will never railroad any more. However
If you haven't forgotten Shanley you will recall the Glacier Cañon, and, most of all, you will recall the Glacier River with its treacherous sandy bed that snuggled close to the right of way and forced the track hard against the rocky walls of the mountain's base. The havoc the Glacier played with the operating department on the night of Shanley's memorable heroism was not the first time it had misbehaved itself, nor was it the last—that was the trouble. It washed out the road-bed with such consistent persistency, on so little provocation, and did it so effectually as to stir at last to resentment even the torpid blood of the directors down East. So they voted the sum, though it hurt, and solaced themselves with the thought that after all it was economy—which was true.
There was only one thing to do against that over-hospitable and affectionate little stream, and that was to get away from it; but, before proceeding to do so—
