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9'/w golden glaéfi
This is the story of the astonishing ad-
ventures of a gold and scarlet fire en-
gine, in a cross-country cavalcade of
American life during the middle of the
nineteenth century, when one of the
first steam fire engines, named The
Golden Flash, was bought by an in-
surance company and presented to the
City of New York.
The initial trip of The Golden Flash
began in a heavy rainstorm, which
some persons claimed to be an omen
of ill luck, but before long a ray of sun-
shine broke through the clouds, land-
ing on the elaborate golden painting of
King Midas which adorned the engine,
and leading other persons to declare
the future of the new-fangled contrap-
tion would be bright. However it was,
on the night of September twentieth
The Golden Flash mysteriously and
completely disappeared. Reports eame
in that the ghostly sound of its bell
could be heard at times in various parts
of the city, but there the records cease.
Now, here is the complete story of
what happened to that magnificent en-
gine, and to the strange personalities
with whom it came in contact—men,
women, children, pioneers, circus per-
formers, gold miners. Lynd Ward has
generously illustrated the tale with
black-and-white and full-color illustra-
tions in the true spirit of the times.u
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BY MAY MCNEER
Jléuhaéd ly
LYND WARD
NEW YORK
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corvmcnr 1947 BY MAY MC NEER WARD
‘3'!-)9 "'I\€9()
FIRST PUBLISHED BY THE VIKING PRESS IN OCTOBER I947
PUBLISHED ON THE SAME DAY IN THE DOMINION OF CANADA
BY TI-IE MACRIILLAN COMPANY OF CANADA LIMITED
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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA


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Onto the Long Highway 3
ADVENTURE 1
Step Lively, Smoke-Eaters! 9
ADVENTURE 2
Run, Thief, Run! 47
ADVENTURE 3
Come One, Come All! 79
ADVENTURE 4
Far Lands Across 125
ADVENTURE 5
The Little Swallow 167
Anvmvruan 6
Faith 191







The records of the Volunteer Fire Company of Engine
House Number 13 show that, in September, 1858, one of the
first steam fire engines was bought for New York by an insur-
ance company and presented to the city. It was named the
Golden Flash. But the records cover a period of only a little
more than two weeks, and then end with the strange statement
that, on the night of September twentieth, the Golden Flash
disappeared. It records that a diligent search was made, but
no trace of it was found, and that a meeting was subsequently
held, at which the company voted to set about plans for
getting a new engine.
And then, at the bottom of the page, as if the writer had
hesitantly, and at a later date, added it: “A mysterious report of
a ghost engine is growing in the city, that in the night the
sound of its bell may be heard, first in one quarter of the
town, and then in another.”
The records tell this, and nothing more. The complete his-
tory of the Golden Flash, told here for the first time, was not
that of the ordinary fire engine, living out its days in one
locality. The Golden Flash shared the fortunes and adventures
of different people, in difierent places, as its wheels rolled from
the gaslit streets of New York to the mountains of the West.
l







\
\ \
l \L\ \
fin/0 {fie Q04?
HE CARRIAGE shop was a great bamhke structure,
I where brown shadows clung to the cobwebbed
rafters and hung, dark and somber, in the far
comers. Carriage bodies rested on sawhorses, and wheels
stood leaning against the walls. In the center of the build-
ing, in the middle of a cleared space, all of the workmen
in the shop stood, rubbing their greasy hands on their
leather aprons, with eyes fixed on a glittering wonder.
Every small beam of light in the dim shop seemed to meet
and gleam and glow here. It was a steam fire engine, newly
built in a factory in Ohio, sent here to be painted. It
glowed in its fresh coat of crimson paint, like the flames
of a great city on fire. But the crimson was only a back-
ground for bands and scrolls and elaborately chased metal-
work decorations, glittering like the grand palace of the
French king. The worlcmen from the metal shop, who had
finished the decorating of the wonder, stood there too,
beaming with pride.
The boy helper in the carriage shop moved a little
closer, and breathed, “Pure gold, ain’t it?”
3
--.-;_


ONTO THE LONG HIGHWAY 5
crown. He is in his garden, where he has just touched
the lovely red and white roses, turning them all to
gold. He cared for gold, you know, more than for anything
in the world except his daughter. There, before him, is his
little princess, with tears on her cheeks, holding out the
golden flower. The King has his hand on her shoulder-
and his touch has tumed her to gold.”
He lifted the picture and', with the assistance of the
smiling, broad-shouldered foreman of the enginehouse,
fitted it carefully into a frame of golden roses, which was
on the back of the engine boiler. Above the picture, in
gleaming letters, was the name of the new fire engine,
“The Golden Flash—1858.”
“All right, me boys,” called the tall red-shirted foreman,
who wore a golden trumpet hanging around his neck,
“let’s shove her outside, and hitch up the horses. We’l1 take
her to her home.” ~
“Who is he?” asked the boy helper.
“The foreman? Why, he’s chief of that engine company.
They did have a hand-pumped engine, but the insurance
company has given this new-fangled steam engine to the
city. This fire company was the only one that wanted a
steamer. And the fire company paid for all that fancy
decoration on it, though most of the money probably
came from the foreman. His family’s got a heap of money.”
The workman spit into a comer and then took a hand at
pushing the engine to the door.
The two firemen jumped to the seat and waved their
high leather hats gaily at the workmen and the artist and
the .boy helper, who smiled and waved back. The new
fireiengine rolled down the cobbled New York street. As


6 THE GOLDEN FLASH
the steamer drew up at the entrance to the firehouse a
little knot of men and boys assembled around it.
“Huh!” grunted a man. “Mighty fancy contraption. But
hand-pumped engines is good enough for us folks in this
town. That thing will blow sky-high first time it’s steamed
up.” He glanced at the sky.
“But it’s solid gold,” gasped a street boy.
The engine crew came closer to their engine, feeling
the unfriendliness of the people. The foreman leaped to
his feet on the seat and spoke:
“Today is a solemn occasion, boys. This is the Golden
Flash, the finest engine this city has ever had. I know some
other steamers have been tried, and have blown up. But
the Golden Flash won’t. She’ll get to a fire fast too, for
she’s made of steel, and not iron as the first ones were.
The Golden Flash has got adventures ahead of her-
aplenty of ’em. I know that some folks don’t like new
ideas, and try to fight ’em. But new ideas win out in the
end. Steam fire engines are coming. This one will save
more lives and property than any hand engine can. Give
her a cheer boys, give—”
His words were drowned in a mighty clap of thunder,
as a streak of lightning flashed across the suddenly dark-
ened sky. A downpour of rain drenched the little crowd,
and the firemen, and the steam engine. The people ducked
into doorways. “That’s bad luck,” squealed the street boy,
“bad luck. A bad sign!”
Then, just as abruptly as the rain had come, the sun
thrust its fiery face around the clouds. A ray of light, like
a long golden finger, reached out and touched the crown
on the head of King Midas.










9
‘wig’ * "»~\(i
94¢ ~, .§ema.=<a.1m./
N THE crisp dusk of a late September evening, in 1858,
1 it seemed as if all the people on Manhattan Island were
rushing to the principal street, the Bowery. An old
lamplighter had just passed along, tuming pools of white
gaslight onto the cobbles of the New York thoroughfare.
Women were laughing under scooped bonnets, holding up
their ruilled skirts as they crossed the dirty streets on the
arms of shouting, whistling men in plug hats. joyous ex-
pectancy crackled through the air, like fireworks on the
Fourth of july.
josh McTavish thrust his freckled chin up and jerked
his short coat sleeves down, trying in vain to cover his
equally freckled, gangling wrists. He yanked his red hair
forward of his ears, striving to look like a “smoke-eater,”
with a “soap lock” on each cheek. He was cultivating a
swagger, and carelessly spitting to right and left, hoping
that the folks he jostled would not notice that it wasn’t
tobacco juice he spit. josh was fifteen, but big and strong
enough to look eighteen, if you failed to see the faint
golden down on his upper lip, and the excitement snapping
9


10 ' THE GOLDEN FLASH
in his blue eyes as he grasped a lamppost and expertly
shinned to the top.
"Hot com! Come get yer hot com,” shrilled a little girl,
tugging at her heavy cedar bucket with com sloshing about
in the hot water. “Sweep-ho!” The voice of a small Negro
boy at the crossing rose about the rattling wheels and hoofs
of carriages, carts, and horses, as he pushed his broom to
clear the crossing in retum for a few pennies. And all up
and down the street was the sure sign of excitement on the
Bowery, the crack, crack of peanuts.
This was Torchlight Procession Night. As the people
packed and jammed themselves along the sidewalks, and
dashed in and out between the horses’ hoofs in the street,
josh could hear above the crowd noises the rat-tat-tat of
drums. He was glad that he had copped this lamppost
when he did, for there was a pushing, yelling mob of tough
boys down there shoving each other around. Those were
the butcher boys, and no friends of his either.
As a matter of fact, josh really had no friends, for his
old-fashioned Scotch father was strict. josh must work in
the draper’s shop on weekdays, and attend the Presbyterian
Church on Sundays. His father was determined to keep
him from becoming one of the tough gang boys. josh
twisted his head around, looking down the block toward
the shop, hoping that his father had not seen him. No
need to won'y, though, he thought; if he had seen me I
would be in the shop now. For Hamish McTavish didn’t
like processions either.
The crowd surged to the walks. Carriages and carts
drew into side streets. Here came the band, the men tooting
on homs until their cheeks were blown up like ripe


STEP LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERSl 11
tomatoes. Here came the drums, the drummers proudly
stepping out in their gold-braided uniforms. Behind the
German band marched the white-aproned butchers, with
cleavers over their shoulders, and hair greased tightly to
their scalps. The butcher boys cheered and leaped up
and down at the sight. josh watched them enviously. He
would give a lot to be one of them and be able to drive
a meat cart wildly down the street, racing other carts.
But they considered the McTavish family “stuck-up,” and
made fun of josh whenever they saw him.
Next came a company of volunteer firemen, in high
leather hats, tight trousers, and red shirts, carrying bum-
ing torches. The torchlight cast a golden glow on the bois-
terous crowd and the brilliant colors of the firemen’s uni-
forms. josh felt his spirits soar with the very sight_ of them.
Firemen were taken from all walks of life—rich mer-
chants, shopkeepers, and workmen. They all joined the
fire brigades because this was the most exciting job in the
city. It was an honor to be asked to join, and a volunteer
fireman would stop his work, sleep, or meals instantly at
the clang-clang of the alarm bell.
Here came the engines! There was the Old Maid, a
famous engine pumped by the willing hands of the crew,
who were now pulling her briskly, as they heaved and
puffed between the shafts. Next rolled the Lady Washing-
ton, with a full crew of smoke-eaters yanking on the drag
ropes. And behind it clattered the Pride of the Town. josh
hung over to stare at the other engines of different types,
the gooseneck, the Philadelphia, the haywagon, all painted
brilliantly with pictures on the sides or back. Smaller hose
carts rattled by, gay with bright paint too. Brass glittered,


12 THE GOLDEN FLASH
leather shone. The boys in the street were already run-
ning along beside their favorite hand engine, cheering it
wildly.
A louder sound came nearer, and as j0sh got a good
view of what was making it he sucked in his breath in
utter amazement, and nearly fell off the post. Two horses
walked down the middle of the Bowery, drawing a large
crimson and gold engine. On a seat at the front of the
engine were two firemen, who drove the horses and waved
at the crowd. The rest of the engine crew marched before
it. From a stack puffed clouds of white smoke, as one of
the men on the seat reached for a bell rope and pulled it.
Clang-clang-clang! The loud brassy sound echoed above
the astonished oh’s and ah’s of ladies.
“Strike me dead! Solid gold, she is, pure solid gold!”
muttered a ratty little man under the lamppost, flexing
his dirty fingers back and forth as he stared.
At that moment josh presented his loyalty to this mar-
velous engine. He would regard it as his own, and fight to
protect its rights if necessary. He slid down the post,
shoved through the crowd, and dashed into the street. It
was then he noticed that, though there were throngs of
boy runners cheering on the hand engines, he was the
only boy running with this steam engine. As he came
alongside it he saw that the name above the golden
picture on its boiler was “The Golden Flash.”
“Who is thechief?” called a woman, pointing to a tall
man with a golden trumpet hanging amund his neck, who
marched in front of the crew.
“That’s Tim O’Lcary,” shouted a man, “son of rich Mike
O’Leary. He came here from Ireland without a copper in
I.


STEP LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERSl 13
his jeans. Now he owns the biggest fleet of China clippers
on the seas.”
As josh ran beside the steamer his chest swelled with
pride in the engine. He knew that there had been much
talk and resentment among the hand engine crews toward
this steam engine, for it was thought that steamers would
put the old engines out of business. josh, catching sight of
one of the slaughterhouse boys, who was running by,
yelled:
“Hurray for the Golden Flash!”
The boy stopped short in his tracks and wheeled around
on the cobbles. He stared a long moment at josh with his
black shoe-button eyes. Then he flung back his long black
hair, doubled up hamlike fists, and began dancing toward
/,1
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Ԥ at


14 THE GOLDEN FLASH
josh, sideways. Out of a mouth rimmed with tobacco juice
he snorted, “So ye like that pulling whale, do ye? Come
here to put our injines out of business. So ye don’t like the
Pride of the Town, don’t ye? I’ll leam ye to yell for that
injine. I’ll make your face look like a dime’s worth of cat
meat.”
josh stood his ground, squared off, with fists out. He
was glad of his size and muscle, for he knew that eye
gouging and stamping with hobnailed boots would follow
if that boy got him down. The butcher boy landed a fist
in his face, but josh planted a retum blow in his stomach,
doubling him up for a second. The engine stopped, and
the crowd drew in closer, yelling and hooting as the boys
slugged it out. But most of the yells were for the gang boy,
and most of the hoots for josh, for the steam engine was
unpopular, and josh was its only champion. His hair stood
on end in a blaze of orange rage, and he did not even
know that his left eye was tuming black and his lip
streaming blood.
Suddenly both boys were caught by the shoulder and
yanked violently apart. john stared through swelling eyes
at big ‘Tim O’Leary, who shook him once, then shoved him
toward the sidewalk, saying, “Get ye home, lad. Ye’ve
stopped the procession.” Then josh saw that the other boy
was being hustled by another fireman forward toward the
Pride of the Town engine ahead of them. Tim O’Leary
chuckled. “If ye like the injine, me lad, ye can come to
the firehouse Sunday moming and watch her shined up.”
josh grinned at him crookedly and watched him go back
to the procession. The band started again, the brass bell
on the Golden Flash clanged, and the engine rolled along.
_..____;_.___ .. .... ‘__......_i._. A


16 THE GOLDEN FLASH
affectionately at the sight of the old man in nankeen
breeches and half hose, of a style twenty years or so past.
Hamish McTavish rlnw0ul'ld his plaid shawl from his
shoulders, hung it on a hook, with his hat, which he first
dusted carefully with a cloth he kept r111d61' the counter,
and looked at josh. Hamish McTavish drew his bushy red
brows down fiercely over his eyes as he took in the bat-
tered appearance of his only son.
“Forty-five years ago did I come to this land from Glas-
gow country. Fifteen I was, as you are, and not so big.
But I went to work, apprentice lad to a draper, and here
I am now, free and not beholden in debt to any man.”
The old man reached behind his counter and drew a bolt
of good serge woolen from a shelf, laying it as gently on
the oaken counter as if it were one of the many babies
his wife tended at home. He put out a square hand, and
rubbed his finger lovingly over the fabric, back and forth,
as he often did when his mind was troubled.
josh’s weary shoulders sank a few inches lower, as he
leaned against the wall. His eyes wandered around the
dim shop, and he thought of the carpet store next door,
with its gay rugs hung from the windows, to brush the
heads of passers-by in the street. He muttered sulkily,
“But, Pa, the shop. It’s old-fashioned.”
“Bosh!” snorted Hamish. “The rich ladies and gentlemen
care nought for that. They know the McTavish Shop sells
the finest ell of goods this side the Atlantic. They come to
buy from me for their farthingales and flounces, and their
pantaloons and surtouts. Yea, all the way down from
Washington Square.” His voice growled up out of his
throat angrily.


_ \ N-
X t
N .{‘it R \
\“ I q

Old Pennypacker, with his fringe of white hair standing
straight out around his bald pink skull, woke to reach
down and poke. sticks of wood into the hot stove.
josh took a deep breath. He reached for the lobe of his
ear and twisted it until it was as fiery as his hair. With a
sudden burst of courage he sputtered:
“Pa, I don’t want to be a draper. I want to apprentice to
a butcher on Christie Street.”
Hamish thrust out his jaw and glared at his son, as if he
scarcely believed that he had heard aright. “You want to
apprentice to a butcher? You want to run with a gang of
good-for-nothing Irish boys? You are my only son, and
you have six sisters. You are apprenticed to me.” His face
seemed to swell and redden until it looked like the little
red-hot stove roaring away in the comer. “And see that ye


18 "rm; oonnnu FLASH
do more work here from now on.” He leaned across the
counter and shook a trembling finger violently toward
josh. “You stop chasing butcher carts. You stop running
after processions. You stop hanging around firehouses. You
stay away from those fighting loafers, the Irish. You are
a hard-working Scotsman. Go home now, and to bed.
You—” His words broke ofl abruptly, and he sniffed.
Flinging himself around the counter he roared:
“Pennypacker! I smell cloth binning. Get away from
that stove.”
Both father and son dashed for the old clerk, who was
dozing again, still snoring gently, with his coattails smok-
ing carelessly against the stove. They leaped on.him and
beat out the smoldering coat.
“Hey, hey,” squealed the old fellow, his few teeth
rattling as they slapped his back. “Ye say the British are
buming Washington? Hey! Let me at it. I was there in
1812. I saved forty women and twenty children and a dog
from the roaring flames—roaring like all sixty.”
josh pushed the clerk back in his chair and moved it a
safe distance from the stove. His father growled, “Penny, I
tell ye again not to stoke that stove so hot. ’Tis not even
winter yet. I don’t know why I keep ye here, except for
company when my lad’s running after the engines.”
josh clumped to the door and out into the streets. The
crowd had diminished now, though he could still hear the
crackling of peanuts as Bowery boys and their went
gaily along toward the Bowery Theater. josh scarcely
noticed the pungent smells from the doors of oyster houses,
as he dodged the hogs wallowing in street mud and leaped
away from flying hoofs of horses.


STEP LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERSl 19
\
The McTavish family lived in a precise little house
three blocks uptown from the shop, just around the comer
on a side street. By day the house overflowed into its tiny
front garden with babies in flounced caps, with small girls
in pinafores, and with little maids in ruffled pantalets, and
with half-grown Scotch lasses in the new-fashioned hooped
skirts. There was a constant SO\1nd of feminine voices about
the place, like the chirping of birds in an aviary. And in,
and among, and around them all fluttered plump, soft-
voiced Margaret McTavish, wiping noses, straightening
ribbons, criticizing lace pattems, directing the cook and
the nurse. Pervading the house, and spilling out into the
street, was the warm aroma of mutton soup and hot baked
scones.
Even at night, with the smaller girls tucked into their
trundle beds in a neat row of starched nightcaps, there
was a subdued murmur of voices. It came from Roxanne
and julia in their room, candle still lit. josh closed the
gate with a little click, and went on tiptoe to the front
door. Inside he saw with relief that the lower floor was
dark, and so, without taking a candle from the closet, he
stepped carefully up the stairs. He tried to avoid the fifth
step, then—creak, he put his ‘foot down upon it. josh
stopped to listen, heard nothing, and went thankfully on
to his room. He didn’t want his mother or sisters to catch
him after a fight, looking like one of the Bowery boys.
Next moming josh opened his eyes and reached out
from his eiderdown to rub a chill nose tenderly. He craned
his neck around to look at the window. Pretty cold for
September. He threw off his covers and pulled himself
painfully into his clothes. josh reached out a finger and


STEP LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERSl 2|
was as cold as the street anyway. He handed her a bun
as he passed, but not even the way she gnawed at it could
lower his high spirits this morning. The street was almost
deserted, for the Bowery spent Saturday night in public
and Sunday moming in bed. josh tumed into Houston
Street, and then walked on to upper Broadway. It was
somewhat quieter here than on the Bowery, for this was a
newer street, and houses and shops were still going up.
josh hesitated at the firehouse door, twisting his ear
again. Should be go in? Maybe Tim O’Leary'wasn’t there
yet, and he might be thrown out. There was something
very quiet about the firehouse. Then he realized what it
was. This was the firehouse where the old Shamrock No.
10, one of the first of the hand engines, had been housed
for so many years. Last August it had been tumed shaft in
because its crew and nmners had got into a fight with
another crew at the Crystal Palace fire. Now it was dis-
carded and replaced by this new steamer, a gift of an
insurance company. The place was quiet because there
were no “crackers-and-cheese boys” hanging around the
door.
That’s all the better for me, thought josh, and knocked
loudly. The door was jerked open so suddenly that he
almost fell in head first. _
“Well, what do you want?” A tall fireman, rag in hand,
scowled at the boy.
“Mr. O’Leary, he asked me to come—-to come, and see
her shined up.”
“Oh, he did, did he? Hey, Tim!”
“Sure, and I did, jake.” Big Tim smiled, beckoning to
josh. “Come in, me lad. Come in.”


22 THE GOLDEN FLASH
jake stared at the foreman in astonishment. “I thought
you decided that the runners were to be kept out of here,
after the shenanigans we had in August?”
“Sure, sure, jake. But this lad—he’s the only one who
cheered for the Flash in the procession last night. The
roughs are like the hand engine crews. They’ll not like our
steamer no matter how lovely she shoots the water.”
josh stared, mouth open, at the glittering gold of the
engine. “Why not?” he got up courage enough to ask.
“Because she’s faster at her work than the hand engines.
She uses only four men instead of sixty to man the pump
at a fire. She is pulled by horses, and not by the crew and
runners on the drag ropes, and she can’t run on the side-
walk. Sidewalk running may hurt a few people, but the
hand engine boys like it because the streets are so full of
mud holes.”
“Cricky!” breathed josh, rubbing an awed finger over
the gold scrollwork on the engine, “solid gold! She must be
worth a million dollars.”
“Sure,” grinned jake, winking at the other men sitting
around. “Every time we take her out we’re afraid some-
body’ll chip off a flake and buy the Town Hall. But she
ain’t been to a fire yet. She’ll show ’em when she does.
You want to clean off the wheels?” ,
josh accepted a rag gratefully and went to work. He
sniffed hungrily at the smells of leather and brass polish,
and hot red flannel when a volunteer fireman moved his
shirt too near the stove in the comer. He leamed all about
the Golden Flash, that she bumed wood, that it took only
eight and a half minutes to start her pumping a stream of
water high into the air.


24 _ THE cotnran FLASH
Fighting turns enjines’ shafts in, and divil a fire does it
put out. If ye join to have a good time, ye can enjoy a
muss, and ye can enjoy those fancy clubrooms some of the
enjine crews are finishing, but ye can’t save life and
property that way.”
josh nodded, admiring the foreman’s black boots and
gay suspenders, looking with awe at his leather hat with
the shovel brim hanging on a peg. That wreath of oak
leaves around the crown meant that the owner had saved
a human life.
All moming josh worked with the firemen and listened
to their tales of races with the other engines, of their
fights, and of the wonderful exploits of old Shamrock No.
10. Around noon the men produced packets of bread and
meat and cheese, and shared them sociably with their new
follower. This was a world that josh had never before
entered. His father had kept him so sharply at work that
josh, who felt uncomfortably that he was different from
the free and easy Bowery boys, was lonely without know-
ing it. Now he drank in the words of these exciting fire-
men and lost all track of time.
Then at last Tim looked up and said, “Time to shut up
the firehouse, me lads. ’Tis going on for six o’clock.” He
slapped josh on the back. “Come back whenever ye like.
We like a boy who takes to our Golden Flash.”
josh was almost home when he suddenly remembered
that this was Sunday. He had not gone to church, as was
always expected of him, and he had missed the family
dinner at three. He was hungry but decided not to try to
talk the cook out of some food. It would be better to get in
quietly, and upstairs so that his father would not hear him.


STEP LXVELY, Sl\/IOKE-EATERSl 2_)
As he went in he heard voices. His father was talking as
the family had tea in the parlor. josh started quietly up
the stairs. Then—squeak! He trod on the fifth stair. A door
opened downstairs, and his father stood there, looking
stemly at him.
“Go to my room, josh,” was all that he said. But the boy
knew what that meant. It meant the silver-headed cane.
Since he could remember that cane had brought a shiver
down his spine. Now he waited in his father’s bedroom, a
tall, gangling redheaded boy, pulling on his ear anxiously,
staring at the washstand with the china basin painted in
blue Chinese figures. His father came in, cane in hand.
josh, at sight of the cane, felt about five years old and
afraid. He never could look at that cane, even when it re-
posed proudly on the rack in the dining room, without a
quiver of fear. But he felt ashamed too, when he heard his
father’s gruff voice:
“josh, ye have been running after the engines again?”
“Yes, Pa.”
“You didn’t go to church.”
“No, Pa.”
“Bend over.” '
josh bent his tall back, and had to bend his knees too,
for he was taller than his father. Whack! Whack! Whack!
He stood upright again, and drew a breath of relief. The
cane hadn’t hurt him as much as his swollen eyes and cut
lip did, but he knew that he would rather have both eyes
blackened and both lips cut than take a hiding from his
father. But the worst part of it all was to see his father,
with head bowed, go out of his room with a look about
him as if he had taken the whipping instead of giving it


26 THE GOLDEN FLASH
to his overgrown son. josh stumbled into his own room,
and into bed, vowing that he would forget the fire engines,
and the firemen, and even that golden steamer puffing be-
hind its horses. He resolved not to go to the firehouse again
to see her shined up. As for Hank, the butcher boy, maybe
he wouldn’t fight him if he caught him without his gang
—maybe.
Monday moming josh rose very early and went to the
shop just as daylight was lightening the sky beyond the
East River. He found old Pennypacker already stining
about, building a fire in the stove.
“Moming, Penny,” grinned josh, as the old fellow
opened the door for him. “Want me to make the fire for
you?” As josh got a blaze going and closed the door,
Penny was slicing bread and cheese on the table in his
little back room, calling in a pleased squeak, “Come to
have breakfast with me, have ye, josh? That’s fine, boy,
fine.”
As they sat by the stove and ate, josh saw that Penny-
packer was wide awake enough to be clearer-headed than
he was likely to be later in the day. The boy took out his
knife, wiped it on his knee, and cut slices from the Edam
cheese.
“Penny,” he asked slowly, “do you think it’s right of Pa
not to let me go to the firehouse? I’m near about as big as
any other man.”
Penny chuckled as he champed on a hunk of bread with
his few teeth. “Laddie, ye are as big as a man, but ye don’t
act too much like one. Leastwise not like your Pa.”
“But I don’t think he’s got a right to keep me away
from the steamer.”


STEP LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERS! 2f)
“He’s got a right, boy. He’s your pa. And ye’re his ap-
prentice too.” The old fellow leaned over and placed his
thin hands on his woolen stockings, speaking eamestly,
“If ye work hard and please him, trying. to leam the busi-
ness, maybe he will change his mind. But neglecting your
work won’t put out any fires.”
josh pulled his ear thoughtfully, turning these things
over carefully in his mind. He felt that nothing in the
world could make it up to him if he couldn’t go to the
enginehouse again. But his father’s sad face kept coming
between him and the memory of the Golden Flash. He
bit his lips and swallowed hard.
“I reckon you’re right, Penny. I’ll stop going there, and
work harder.”
And that resolution he held to, even when he met big
Tim on the street that day, and Tim told josh to come
hack whenever he wanted to. josh made an effort to get
to the shop on time, to do the errands and chop‘ the wood
and help Penny clean the place. Though Hamish said
nothing about it, he saw that josh was unhappy and rest-
less, and that he was working harder than ever before.
“josh,” said his father, two days later, as he rubbed a
finger over the edge of a bolt of blue satin, “I never
thought ye steady enough to drive the cart down for -a
shipment of goods, but I’m asking ye to go in my place
today. This is an important lot. An order from the mayor
for material for three new suits, from England, and other
stuffs for the ladies. It should be ready now. See Mr. Hill,
at the Customs. He will attend to it properly for me and
deliver the goods to you.”
josh grabbed his cap and went out of the door at a


28 rm': GOLDEN FLASH
gallop, his boots rattling on the wooden steps. Hamish
smiled and retumed the satin to the shelf. josh ran to the
stable two blocks away and hitched up old Duncan. He
drove the light cart through narrow streets below Chatham
Square and across to the wharves and the river, whistling
as he flipped the reins against Duncan’s sides, trying in vain
to make him trot. This wasn’t like driving a butcher’s cart,
lickety-split, sending people and pigs squealing to the
lampposts, but it was good anyway. His father must be
feeling better toward him, to let him drive Duncan, for
josh knew that'Hamish thought a lot of the horse and had
never let anyone else drive him.
It was a crisp autumn day, one of those blue-bright days
that josh always tried to remember when gray March
drizzles smote the windowpanes and tumed the streets to
quagmires. His cart rattled over the cobbles merrily, and
he felt a friend to all the town.
Mr. Hill was pleasant too, and said agreeably, “This is
fine stuff your father sells. Take care of it. Your father is
an honest man, and he values quality.”
josh grinned at him and ducked his head twice in agree-
ment, as he heaved the bolts of silks and woolens to the
clean covered bed of the cart, and laid over them a big
cloth to keep away the street dust. Going back he drove
slowly, hating to end the trip and retum to help sell mate-
rials and check receipts.
As Duncan clopped along, slower and slower, josh
noticed that people were all going in the same direction,
laughing and chattering and pointing. The street was be-
coming crowded with wagons, carts, and carriages, until
josh found himself wedged in between a vegetable wagon






and a dogcart driven by a swell in a fawn-colored coat.
As he came to the place where he knew he should tum to
go to the shop, he found it impossible to do so, for by now
everything was moving toward a square where there
seemed to be some kind of celebration. josh clucked to
Duncan and thought: Well, Pa won’t worry. I’ll get out
of this jam a few blocks farther on, and get home before
long. I’d like to know what all the muss is about.
Then he tumed into the square, and stopped, amazed
at his good fortune. Here he was at a water throwing con-
test. When he stood on the seat of the cart he could get a
fine view over the heads of the other drivers. In the middle
of the street, placed before a tavem, was a tall Liberty
Pole. This was one of many poles where flags were flown

~~-..~_-.—~ ‘- .r;._.......,.,_....=.n,,.='a.<...r,_.r=...<_..m..,._. n '


THE GOLDEN FLASH
and speeches made on Fourth of july and on Evacuation
Day, which celebrated the withdrawal of the British from
New York. joshis eyes gleamed with excitement, and he
yanked at his ear. For drawn up on either side of the
Liberty Pole were two of the most celebrated hand fire
engines of the town, ready for the contest.
josh craned his neck to look up as he saw some boys
pointing to the roof of the tavem. Those men in long-tailed
coats up there must be the judges, getting a good view
of the top of the pole. Then josh stared again at the boys
running about the engines. That fellow with the shoe-
button eyes spitting tobacco juice . . . that must be Hank,
the butcher boy who had fought him in the procession.
Yes, he was over there near the green-and-silver Pride of
the Town, the old gooseneck engine. The blue-painted
Roarer N o. 2 had been drawn up near the hydrant, where
her crew stood ready to grasp the handles of the haymaker
to start pumping when the word was given.
The starter stepped out in the street, raised his arm,
shouted, “Ready. Set. Go!”
The red-shirted crew grasped the handles of the Roarer,
and heaved up and down. Out shot the water from the
brass nozzle, held by two firemen. It splashed against the
mark on the pole, fifty feet, seventy-five, one hundred.
“Hurray!” yelled the runner boys for the Boater. “Look
at the Croton water go!”
Then the engine was pulled away from the hydrant and
the Pride took over. Hank strutted about as if he owned
the engine, thought josh contemptuously.
“Way there, give way there. Way there, now!” yelled
the butcher boy, shoving people back from the engine as


srrzr LIVELY, smoxrz-rzrvrnnsl 31
the crew grasped the handles and began to pump. Up
spurted the water, higher and higher. One hundred. One
hundred and ten!
The crowd roared approval. josh slapped the reins over
Drmcan’s broad back and tried to get his cart out of the
press. But that seemed impossible, for the other wagons
and carriages were jammed in too close to him. He made
a commotion that spread around him, and drivers shouted
and swore. just then Hank tumed and saw the fiery red
head of the Scotch draper’s son, who was considered too
good to mix with the gang boys. He swaggered up between
the carts and yelled: _
“How’s that for injine work? Pride of the Town ain’t
the best injine? No, not much she ain’t. Get your pufling
elephant to throw water that high. This here’s the best
injine in the town. That steamer will be landed in the
junk yard the first time she goes to a fire. She’ll blow her-
self sky-high, she will.” i
josh clamped his jaws together and glared ferociously.
But he refused to be provoked. Hank, stung by josh’s
silence, grabbed a tomato from the cart near by and flung
it expertly at josh. josh, with red juice running from his
chin, tried to wheel Duncan around, but the cart brushed
Hank, sending him staggering backward. The butcher boy
took a flying leap into the cart, and dragged josh outnby
the neck. Suddenly the square was whirling, howling,
fighting in a mob, for the disappointed Boarer crew and
runners were spoiling for a fight now. The. Roarer boys
leaped like monkeys on the Pride runners. The crews of
both engines pitched into each other. Men from the crowd
joined in. Ladies screamed and grabbed their flounced


32 THE GOLDEN FLASH
skirts, fleeing down the side streets. Up on the tavem
roofs the three judges stood shouting down at the crowd,
trying to calm the uproar.
' But this time josh got the upper hand. He landed a blow
on Hank’s jaw that stretched him out on the cobbles, then
leaped back into the cart. Hank pulled himself up and laid
into the vegetable wagon, joined by a half dozen friends
who were escaping from the Roarer’s runners. josh re-
ceived a shower of vegetables, both hard and squashy.
He flapped the reins wildly on Duncan’s back, grabbed
the old whip that had never been used on the horse, and
snapped it. Duncan, stung to amazed fury by this un-
heard-of treatment, lifted his heels and sprang between
the vehicles around him, sending the fighting crowd in all
directions. He galloped across the square and into a side
street. josh hung on to the reins until the old horse began
to wheeze, then he barked hoarsely:
“Whoa, there, Dunc. Whoa, now.”
Duncan’s hoofs pounded slower and slower, and then
settled down to a weary amble. josh pulled him up and
got out to pat him gently on the nose and quiet him down.
The boy’s hair stood straight,on end, and he was still
shaking with fury, but he was wonied now about the
old horse. After a little rest Duncan’s breath came more
easily, so josh.-heaved a sigh of relief and drove toward
the shop.
As he drew up before the shop door he said to himself,
“I’ll take the goods in, and try to get Duncan rubbed down
at the stable before Pa sees him.” josh jumped down and
went to the back of the mart. He stared at it horrified. The
goods! The cloth covering the bolts had been lost


STEP LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERS! 33
somewhere and there were the yards of fine English
woolen for the mayor blotched and stained with tomatoes
and oranges.
josh just stood there, feeling as if the earth had dropped
out from under him, as the shop door opened and Hamish
came down to the cart. The two redheads, father and son,
faced each other across the load of ruined materials in
complete silence for a long moment; then Hamish asked
stemly, “Fighting again?”
“Yes,” muttered the boy, twisting his ear around, “but
not exactly. I saw the engines in a water throwing contest.
Some roughs jumped on me.”
“The engines again. I see. Well, josh, I’ve made up my
mind now. Ye go to Herman Van Brugh’s farm to work
next week. Ye are not responsible enough a lad to work in
a draper’s shop. There, up in the Haarlem country, ye can
use those big muscles and will have no need for brains.”
He tumed suddenly and went heavily up the steps again.
josh said nothing. As soon as he could move he began
to carry the bolts of cloth to the back of the shop, where
he got water and cloths and sat all aftemoon trying to
clean the fabrics. Inside the outer layers they were not so
bad, and he knew that much of the material could be sold.
But his father, having promised the mayor the very finest
woolens, would not sell these to him. That josh knew. The
mayor might take some goods already in stock, or he might
go to another draper.
josh finished his job and went home, where he changed
his clothes and sat on his bed, with his face in his hands.
He had been bom down on Cherry Hill and had lived on
the Bowery nearly all of his life. He didn’t like farms,


34‘ THE oonnrau FLASH
knew nothing about the country. To be a hired man was
the last thing on earth he wanted. Wild thoughts raced
through his head. Maybe he would run away to sea. No,
he didn’t like the sea either. At last he dropped down and
went to sleep, exhausted with unaccustomed worrying.
The next two days were as long as months to josh. His
father avoided looking at him, and his mother did not
dare say anything for fear of her husband’s disapproval.
But she kept bringing josh special dishes that she knew
he liked, buttered scones and mutton pies, and her eyes
were sad. When his father was not present saucy julie
teased him about milking cows, which sent josh, mutter-
ing angrily under his breath, out of the house. There he
spent most of his time wandering about the wharves,
watching the clippers come in, or miserably roving the
streets.
Then, late in the aftemoon, just about dark, somehow
he was standing in front of the enginehouse, looking
through the open doors. He was going away to a farm
tomorrow. What harm would it do to take a last look
at the glittering steamer, with the name “Golden Flash”
gleaming in the lantem light? What harm would it do to
sniff the smells of leather, and brass polish, and cigars, and
listen to the firemen’s tall tales as they sat around the
stove, with shiny black boots propped up on chairs?
Somehow he had edged inside and was sitting on a bench,
grinning with delight as Tim clapped him on the shoulder,
and the smoke-eaters all welcomed him.
“Now I remember--” Bill was saying, spitting tobacco
juice toward the big brass cuspidor, when Tim shouted
suddenly, “What’s that?”


srnr LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERS! 35
Clang-clang-clang-clang-clang! Five strokes of the alarm
bell. *
“That’s us!” yelled Tim, leaping to his feet, reaching for
his hat. The men moved fast, grabbing their axes and
tools, hauling out the wood tender. “jake,” shouted the
foreman, waving his golden trumpet, “go for the horses,
and you, Bill, go with him. Way there!”
“Now steam her up, boys,” he shouted, as his crew lit
the fire always kept laid in the engine firebox.
josh was dashing from one spot to another, helping with
the fire, loading more wood on the tender, handing tools
to the men. The whole active crew was here now—the
men who tended the engine, those who drove the horses,
and others who pulled the wood tender. Auxiliary firemen
came running in as the fire bell rang.
Then Bill and jake loped in from the stable across the
street, shouting, “Tim, the horses are out with a carter.
He hasn’t brought them back yet.”
Tim stood still a moment, frowning, biting his lip. He
raised his trumpet and bellowed into it, “All right, me
boys. We can’t get the horses. Can we drag the Golden
Flash to her first fire?” The firemen, sweating with their
labors, struggling into coats and hats, yelled until the
rafters rang, “Sure and we will, Tim!”
Tim raised his trumpet again. “Reach for the drag ropes,
me lads. Come along, josh. Pitch in with us. It’ll take all
the muscle we’ve got to drag this engine.”
josh leaped forward. The firemen snatched some long
ropes from hooks on the wall and rapidly fastened them
to the front of the engine. Some took their places in the
shafts; others got hold of the ropes.


36 rm: GOLDEN FLASH
Tim bellowed again, “josh, take the first position oppo-
site me. Man your ropes. Start her lively, boys.” Then he
slung the trumpet cord around his neck and reached for
a drag rope himself. At the back of the engine stood jake,
the strongest man there. As the ropes grew taut in the
hands of the firemen, big jake gave a mighty push.
The engine seemed to jump forward, and josh ran with the
others into the street and toward the comer with the
wheels clattering behind them. jake caught up and took
hold. Behind the engine rattled the tender, can'ying wood,
hauled by four men. The Golden Flash, steamed up and
puffing smoke, rolled over the cobbles and down a side
street. josh pulled so hard that the veins stood out on his
forehead in cords. Sweat poured from him, as he ran,
gasping like a fish on a dock. This engine weighed more
than five thousand pounds.
Fire must be on the Bowery, thought josh, as they ap-
proached the main street and saw smoke high above the
buildings.
“Watch for the tuming, lads,” bellowed Tim, as they
swung her around and into the Bowery. The engine gave
a sickening lurch, and then her wheels straightened out
and slowed. The crew gave a mighty heave and got her
started off again. It was at that moment that josh heard
a clatter and a series of wild yells from the sidewalk be-
hind them. Dashing down the sidewalk came the green-
and-silver Pride of the Town, pulled by her panting crew.
A big gang of boys ran alongside in the street, cheering
it on. A hoarse familiar voice hit josh’s ears. He jerked
his head around and caught sight of Hank, who howled:
“Hang me, if it ain’t the old omnibus! A-snorting and


it
itm1?

a-raring. Look out, boys, she’ll blow herself sky-high she
will. Ya, ya, ya!” He leaped out into the street, spit a
stream of tobacco juice toward the golden engine, and
then hit out at josh as he passed.
josh felt something like an explosion go off in his head.
He was filled with a flaming rage. Without knowing what
he did he dropped the drag rope and aimed a blow at
the butcher boy. They both went down in the street,
threshing and flailing. Suddenly the whole gang of Pride
runners came down on josh like an earthquake.


srnr LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERSl 39
~_
The other fireman, glaring at josh, subsided. He flung
himself off toward the fire. Tim took a desperate look at
the engine, saw there was no danger of her catching fire,
for she hadn’t tumed over in the crash, and snapped,
“Well, me lads, we can’t put out the fire now. But we’ve
still got our arms and legs. Come on, we’ll see what we
can do to help.”
The firemen grabbed their axes and followed him as he
strode rapidly down the street. josh slunk along behind.
It couldn’t be true. This engine had never even been to
a fire before. She was going to show them all what a
steamer could do. The street was filling with excited
people, and josh was forced to push his way forward.
It was not until he had reached the block next to his
father’s shop that he realized how near familiar ground
the fire was. Near? josh felt his heart rise into his throat.
That red glow was coming from the very same block.
He shoved wildly through the crowd and stared in
horror.
The old one-story building was ablaze. Smoke hung
over it and small flames were darting higher and higher
from the roof. The fine new store next door was buming
too. Strips of red and blue carpeting were dropping in
flaming pieces on the heads of watchers who ran in too
close. josh saw Mr. Schultz, the proprietor, wringing his
hands near by. His father—where was his father? Then
the boy’s breath escaped his lips in a deep sigh of relief.
His father was always at supper at this time of night.
Suddenly a thought hit josh like a heavy blow in his
stomach. If they had got the steamer here she might have
put out this fire. Starting that fight had caused the



'”'€\
desperately around him, then ran to the next buming
house. There a high board fence barred his way to the
side street. just then he heard a crew of firemen chopping
furiously at it, and the voice of Tim bellowing, “This way,
boy. Have you out in a minute.”
“Good lad,” roared the foreman, as the fence went
down under their axes. Two firemen grasped josh and the
clerk and dragged them through the broken fence to the
street. josh felt his legs buckle under him. As he let go
of Pennypacker the earth and sky and faces around began
to swim dizzily and then fade away.
josh opened his grimy eyes and rubbed his fingers over
them. They felt so queer. Why, his eyelashes and brows


srr':r> LIVELY, SMOKE-EATERS! 43
I think you have leamed sense enough to stop fighting
and be a real smoke-eater. We decided to compromise.
So you will do both. Between us we mean to keep you
busy, me boy. We’re getting the engine fixed up all right,
for ’tis the Pride crew that got tumed shafts in this time.
You see, they had the roughs nmning in a gang with
’em, which has been forbidden. We didn’t. I just saw the
mayor outside. You were the only runner with us, and
I told the mayor that you have joined the crew.”
josh reached up and twisted his ear until it glowed
fiery red. His mouth opened, but not a sound came out.
He goggled at big Tim until the foreman doubled up
and roared with laughter. josh heard his mother begin
to laugh, then his sisters, then the German servant girl
and Alice. Then there was the sound of a chuckle from
old Pennypacker on his cot behind him. Hamish smiled
too, saying gruflly, “Go up, and to bed, josh. I’ve got a
big lot of stuffs coming in at the wharves. You will have
to make three trips with Duncan to carry it to the new
shop. And shut your mouth, lad,” he finished irritably,
"before ye swallow the baby.”
josh shut his jaws with a snap. Sharp pains were dart-
ing through his sore muscles as he started up the stairs.
That fifth step! He lifted his big foot and plunked it
squarely and deliberately down on the loose board. Creak,
went the step, loudly.
“Cricky!” mrmnured josh, and a wide grin spread across
his freckled face.





.%//emdai, 4858
The Golden Flash was hauled back to the carriage shop,
where it was examined carefully by workmen. It was found
that the boiler, the pumping apparatus, and the suction pipe
were in as good condition as when new. The workmen re-
paired the smashed wheels and axles, and the engine was
delivered, at the end of the week, to Engine House Number 13.
The men of the fire company were more anxious than ever
to show the town what their engine could do in putting out
fires. The Golden Flash was kept polished and shining, with
its firebox ready to set ablaze and its hose neatly coiled. The
small tender cart used to haul wood for the engine was kept
filled with fuel at all times, and the firemen delegated to pull
it were constantly ready for the sound of the alarm bell. Above
the firehouse was a room, where two firemen were stationed,
taking tum and tum about, to sleep. Ready to hand were pegs
on which they hung their shovel-brimmed hats and under
which they placed their high boots.
Directly across the street was Brown’s Livery Stable, where
the horses were kept. The firemen were busy collecting a fund
to buy horses of their own for the engine in the near future.
And Mr. Brown’s stableman had been warned to step lively
at the first sound of the fire alarm bell.
44


_ '_. . ‘; '*‘?
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7.5
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OM mac sauntered out of the stable and stood
i in the doorway, looking with interest at the fire-
house across the street. The large doors were
wide open, lamps were flickering into yellow light inside,
and a tall redheaded boy was polishing shining scroll-
work on the Golden Flash. The engine had new wheels,
painted red, with golden hubs, and her big brass bell
clanged musically as the boy climbed up with polish and
a rag and began to shine it up.
Tom hitched up his red galluses and lowered his two
hundred and fifty pounds of brawn to a squat three-
legged stool placed on the sidewalk in front of Brown’s
Livery Stable, where he worked. Or, perhaps it would be
more accurate to say where he was paid to work, for Tom
never did anything that he could manage to get out of
doing. At this moment a hazy recollection of something
Mr. Brown had told him to do in the stable floated through
his sluggish brain, but he would much rather sit there and
enjoy the unusual September warmth, and watch the fire
47


rum, THIEF, RUN! 49
hoofs down the quiet street and the shrill sound of chil-
dren playing in the grassy yards. Squills thrust out his
long dirty fingers, flexing them back and forth.
“Hang me if I don’t,” scowled Tom, his stiff black
whiskers quivering. “If I only had me a few golden
guineas I’d cut a swell over there.” He leaned back against
the stable wall, his movement sending out a strong horsy
smell from his clothing.
Two shopkeepers strolled by, on their way home to
supper. Squills slunk back into the stable shadows instinc-
tively, with that peculiar ability to make himself invisible
that a lean tenement rat enjoys. When the shopkeepers
had passed and a beer wagon had lumbered by, Tom
saw Squills again in his old place, flexing his fingers back
and forth. Tom stared at them, fascinated. He knew
Squills slightly but was well aware that the small sly
man was a clever thief from the less respectable district
below the lower Bowery. Tom stared down athis own
thick fingers, good only for grooming horses.
“You can prig silk handkerchiefs from the swells’
pockets, can’t you, Squills?”
A slow divided Squills’ face. “Sure. And more than
that too, Tom Bigg.”
Tom’s little eyes lighted with a gleam of greed. “Can
you prig guineas?”
Squills nodded. “Sure. I can prig jewels right out of the
stores too.”
Tom’s eyes popped. He dropped his clasp knife, un-
noticed, to the brick sidewalk, and shifted his plug, spit-
ting excitedly across to the cobbles. Squills leaned against
the door, with his shifty eyes fixed on the dark and silent


50 THE GOLDEN FLASH
firehouse, for the boy had tumed out the lights and gone
home.
“I can prig anything, Tom, anything you can name.”
“Hang me if I believe you. You can’t prig that building
over there.”
“No, but I can prig anything I can move, and not get
caught neither.” Squills looked slyly at Tom. "I could
prig that engine in there.” ~
Tom goggled at him. “Prig that engine! You couldn’t
do it. Two of those firemen bunk upstairs over the engine-
house. Besides, what would anybody steal a fire engine
for?” ‘
There was a slight sound of bare footsteps slapping the
bricks, coming closer. Squills twisted around to look into
the darkness beyond the nearest gaslight. It was only
Sally’s Kep, the baker’s boy, not worth bothering about.
Kep, so small and thin that he looked like one of Bar-
num’s midgets, trotted by, balancing on his big head a
huge basket of fresh loaves. He disappeared into the
back entrance of the draper’s house farther up the block.
Squills’ small eyes darted up and down the street, and
back to Tom. “That engine’s covered with gold, pure gold,
a half inch thick. That’s what they say at the grog shop.
Call her the Golden Flash, they do. Understand, Tom?”
“Hang me if I do,” muttered the stableman, lost in
amazement. “Why, hang me if I do know how you can
prig a fire engine.”
Squills slid like a thin gray shadow toward the big
fellow, then leaned over and whispered in his ear. Tom’s
jaw dropped shut with a click. “I das’n’t do it, Squills.
They would all know I was in it.”


RUN, THIEF, RUN! 51
“No, they wouldn’t,” said Squills ingratiatingly; “they
would think another engine crew did it to cause them
trouble. You could go traveling a while, then come back
to the Bowery. The cops wouldn’t catch you. They never
catch nobody. And who’s going to bother anybody your
size, with a pocketful of gold pieces?”
Tom stared toward the Bowery longingly, his slow mind
tuming the scheme around and around. Sally’s Kep came
slapping, slapping his bare feet back along the street, his
lips puckered in a shrill whistle, his head light under an
empty bread basket.
Squills leaned closer again, whispering, “That boy, Kep,
he’s simple in the head, ain’t he? Is he light on his feet,
quick, and can he rim?” .
Tom grinned widely. “Run? He ain’t so simple as he
looks. I saw him take out with Sally right behind the other
day. He can outrun old Brown’s best nag in the stable
here.”
Squills flexed his fingers in and out, then slid off along
the fences behind the boy, silently. Tom saw him stop
Kep, saw them talk a few minutes, and then watched
Kep disappear around the comer toward the baker’s. Tom
jumped. Squills was standing there beside him again, as
if he had never moved away.
“You say Bess and Ned are the horses always hired to
pull the Golden Flash? And old Brown never comes down
at night? You hitch up the nags and have them ready at
one o’clock tomorrow night—and keep quiet about it.”
Tom shifted his quid of tobacco uncomfortably to the
other cheek, calling, “Wait, Squills. I das’n’t do that.” His
hoarse voice trailed off into silence. Tom’s huge bulk


52 THE GOLDEN FLASH
quivered with excitement. He picked up his stool, car-
ried it into the stable, and threw himself down on a pile
of musty hay for the night. Around him the horses made
little quiet movements, and he was unaware of the familiar
smell of their hides. Excitement! That’s what he wanted.
Excitement, and fine clothes, like a Bowery swell. Eve-
nings in the pit of the Bowery Theater, yelling defiance
at the villain in the play, with a pretty girl beside him
cracking peanuts. It took money for that, golden guineas.
Gold!
All next day it was, “Tom, do this, Tom, do that! Tom
Bigg, take this nag. Gentleman wants his horse, Tom. Rub
down Bess, Tom Bigg. Hey, Tom, clean out the stables.”
Tom went about his work, but he took care to spit to-
bacco juice over his left shoulder every time, for good
luck. Maybe the scheme was off? Maybe Squills wouldn’t
show up after all? Maybe Kep wouldn’t come? But at last
the street was dark and silent, Brown had gone home,
and the clock on the next street had clanged out one
brassy note. Tom looked around as he finished hamessing
Ned and Bess, and jrnnped guiltily at a noise. It was
Squills leaning against the door, half in shadow, flexing
his fingers, grinning at him slyly.
“VVhat’re you grinning for, you monkey,” growled Tom
Bigg; “is this a game you’re playing on me? If it is . . .”
He moved menacingly toward the little thief.
“No, Tom, it ain’t. Why would I play games on you?”
whinedSquills. “Look, here’s Kep.” Tom saw the small
boy, with the big head, just inside the doorway, staring
at the huge horses.
“VVhat do we do now?” asked Tom.



‘X
side of town with the boy. He would probably be able
to slip away with the bell, which was to be his reward
for the trick. ~
The engine clattered at full speed down toward the
wharves. “Here, Tom, pull up over there by that dock,”
ordered Squills, bouncing about on the rocking seat.
“Whoa, there. Whoa!” Tom yanked back on the horses,
stopping abruptly in front of a dingy little pier. On the
gray river a wide band of silver moonlight flashed out
again to outline the high masts and sails of a clipper ship,
anchored in the deep water. Other vessels rocked gently
with a swell from the bay.
A shadow moved toward them from the small dock
and became a fat rolling man in dirty sailor dungarees.
Squills leaped down, catlike, to the dock. “That’s Dutch
Pete. You ready for us, Dutchie?”
The squat sailor cupped a hand around an evil-smelling


58 rm: connrzu FLASH
pipe and removed it slowly from his mouth. “ja. Load the
cargo to the dock, over”; he jerked the stem of the pipe
toward the left. “But you’ve got to be quiet about it.”
Squills crept forward on the planks, beckoning to Tom
Bigg, who backed the horses onto the dock and along to
the left side. Now Tom could see the bow of a sailing
vessel, none too big either, tied up there, with a loading
platform of planks leading down to it. Swearing in an
undertone, he backed the horses around and slowly eased
them to the runway. Squills held the platform on one
side, while Dutch Pete grasped the other. Slowly the
wheels of the engine rolled downward, then faster, until
they hit the deck of the tubby craft, which was scarcely
large enough to accommodate it. Tom held his breath as
the boat rocked and rolled under the impact, then settled
to an even keel.
“Quick, unhitch the horses, Tom,” commanded Squills,
“and lead them up the street a ways; then tum them
loose to find their way back. And hurry; we’ve got to
sail.”
Tom grabbed the bridles and led them off, as he was
told. When he retumed he found Squills and Dutch Pete
with long pitchforks, pitching hay from a great pile on
the dock to the boat.
“Here,” grunted Squills, handing Tom the pitchfork,
“you finish covering the engine with hay. I’ll go aboard
and tell you where to pitch it.” He dropped to the deck
and crouched there, grinning, flexing his long fingers back
and forth, but with his ears alert for every sound. What
was that? It sounded like shouting, coming closer. Now
he could hear running boots on the cobbles, coming this


rum, THIEF, rum! 59
way. He leaped to his feet. “Get that going. We’ve got to
get out of here. Move lively, Tom.”
Tom stared down at the tiny boat, with hay piled so
high on deck and around the mast that it looked like a
floating haystack. “I don’t like the water,” he growled.
Squills looked up at him with his evil little eyes and
murmured softly, “Then go on back, Tom. Let them get
you, Tom. They think a sight of that fire engine, those
smoke-eaters do. You’ll like the jailhouse, Tom.”
Tom flung the pitchfork furiously into the vessel, miss-
ing the little thief by inches. Then he jumped in after it.
Dutch Pete was raising the sail. The wind filled the canvas,
and the little boat moved out into the river. “Down, Tom,
down,” hissed Squills, flattening himself on the deck. Tom
crouched beside him, staring back at the city. Dutch
Pete stood at the tiller, smoking his pipe, stolid and ap-
parently unconcemed. The shouting came closer, and feet
pounded the pavement of the waterfront street.
“VVhat’s that? jake found the horses,” came back to
them from the shore. Tom kept his head down, hoping
that nobody would wonder why a load of hay should
cross over to New jersey, instead of to the city from New
jersey, where it grew. But those people back there would
never think of a boat. They would hunt for the ghost
engine in the city, drawn by the clang of the bell.
Down the river the fresh wind caught the sail. The top-
heavy little craft swung from side to side until Tom’s in-
sides turned over. On his left he could glimpse the low
buildings along the Battery and the round immigration
building standing out against the sky. On his right was
the jersey shore, dark and silent. Now they were passing


l
n

lr/
Communipaw, where the Indians had first traded with
Henry Hudson. Past the tip of the jersey peninsula and,
through the Kill van Kull, into Newark Bay. Squills lay
on his back snoring, and Dutch Pete stood silent, smoking
his villainous pipe, with his hand on the tiller. Tom
stretched out as best he could on what was left on the
deck around the pile of hay, and at last added a deep
bass snore to the rasping sound of the little thief. The
Golden Flash rocked and rolled, tied to the deck, under
a mound of odorous hay. And the moon, going down over
the horizon, could not catch so much as a gleam from its
shining scrolls.
%%


62 THE GOLDEN FLASH
the green fields of Haarlem, and seen goats cropping the
grass, but he had never expected to get so far as this
from the noise and confusion of the Bowery. It gave him
a queer, imsettled feeling, and he hoped that he would be
back in the city very soon, and the chase for the engine
thieves forgotten.
The sun was low beyond the meadows, bringing out
a rank weedy odor from the marshes, when Dutch Pete
slowly pulled his smelly pipe from his lips and pointed
with it toward the right bank. “White Goat,” he rumbled.
Tom and Squills saw a low brick building, in a weed-
grown yard, its back to the river. A dusty road could be
glimpsed between the trees in front of it. A flock of ducks
and geese, swimming lazily along the slow river, quacked
and honked excitedly as they paddled for the bam and
the innyard. There was no other sign of life, except the
slow feeding of a glossy brown horse tied in front of a
stable in the innyard.
As dusk darkened the marshes, Dutch Pete kept a watch-
ful eye on the shore of the narrowing river, until not far
beyond the White Goat Inn he pointed his pipe at the dim
shore line and gnmted, “There.” Tom saw the outline of
an old bam, built on the river’s edge, with a small dock
leading from the water to the bam doors, which stood
open. Nothing else was visible, for the moon had not yet
risen, and there was no sound except the constant hum
of mosquitoes. Tom slapped at his face and growled:
“It ain’t going to be easy, getting her ashore. Do we
put her in that bam?”
Pete nodded briefly, shook out his pipe, and shoved


‘\ \/ 4


\ \/’ \“'€ -0
‘\<
__'\ \ V I/P= “SQ” lll W

it into a pocket of his coat. The little Jufirau came in to
the dock, and Pete jumped out to tie her to a piling. Then
the three men got out the pitchforks and set to work
piling the hay to one side of the dock.
Tom’s face felt swollen and on fire by now. Squills,
catching a glimpse of him, chuckled slyly, murmuring,
“Mosquitoes seem to like you, Tom. See, they don’t bite
me. Too tough, I am.”
When the hay had been pulled to one side of the dock,
over near the bam Tom and Pete hauled out the platfonn
and fastened it from the boat’s deck to the dock. Tom got
behind the engine and gave it a great push, swinging it


1////%%/


/»$
.1-
rr  '
H M MM
//
dock, where he sat staring across the dark water. The
smell of rotten weeds and slimy undergrowth in the edges
of the sluggish stream came up to him. He felt sufiocated
here away from the town, as if the shadows and the slime
were creeping closer and closer to him. Tom’s pleasure
and excitement over the stealing of the engine slipped
away from him. A slight chill crept up his backbone.
“H00, hoo, hoo!” screamed a voice close beside him.
Tom leaped to his feet, clutching his knife. He could see
nothing. Katydids rattled insistently in his insect-bitten
ears. But Tom stood as if frozen. What was that? A shadow
darker than the others moved slowly from the trees over
to his right. Tom grasped the handle of his knife, poised
to fling it. Then he sank back, his breath hissing out in
relief.
It was Squills, and behind him a tall man in a cape and


66 run GOLDEN FLASH
wide-brimmed hat, with nothing of his face showing but
a spade-shaped beard. Squills grirmed.
“Wasn’t scared, was you, Tom Bigg?” He nodded side-
ways at the other man. “This is Mr. Oglethorpe, what
knows a way of getting rid of the gold, at the highest
prices, and no questions asked.”
Squills got out his tools, and he and Tom set to work.
Mr. Oglethorpe sat silently on an old box, watching. The
lantem stood on top of the engine, like a yellow moon in
the dark building. At last, between them, Tom and Squills
had a plate of gold pried off. Tom lifted it carefully and
handed it to Squills, whose small eyes glittered at the
sight. Suddenly a hand reached around him and took the
strip of gold. Mr. Oglethorpe, his hat on the ground and
his bushy gray hair standing up like a brush, carried the
gold to the lantem light and examined it carefully, on both
sides. He got a small knife from a pocket and scraped the
edge. His head jerked up.
“Squills,” he snapped, “you swore this was solid gold
on the engine. It’s not. It’s nothing but thin gold plate—on
brass. Not worth the trouble of getting it off. You’ve
brought me out here for nothing. Bah!” He spat out the
words and dropped the piece of gold-plated brass on the
floor. Then he yanked open the doors and strode out to-
ward the road and his horse and carriage.
The little thief darted forward and picked up the metal,
holding it under the lantem. As he stared at it his face
creased and contracted, until in his rage he looked like an
ancient monkey.
“Gold!” he hissed. “Everybody said it was solid gold.


rum, rrrrrzr-‘, RUN! 67
Liars! Thieves!” He shook all over, as if from swamp fever.
Tom stood stonily, dazed. No gold! He hadn’t once
imagined that. The worst he had thought of was being
caught by the cops, or tuming over the boat. Suddenly he
saw his knife still clasped in his hand. With a wild move-
ment he threw it at Squills. But the ratty little man ducked
instantly, and the knife buried the tip of its blade in the
wall of the bam, and quivered there. Tom growled, “I’m
going back to the city.”
Squills, crouched near the door, peered over his
shoulder and hissed softly, “Oh, you are, Tom Bigg, are
you? Going back, are you? You know what will happen
to you there, don’t you? I won’t be blamed for stealing the
engine. Pete won’t be blamed. Nobody knows we 'were
in it. But they know you took the engine away with the
stable horses. They’ll think a hand engine crew hired you
to hide it. You can’t wait till it blows over. It won’t blow
over for -you. You can’t go back at all, Tom.” Squills
chuckled and slunk out into the darkness.
Tom went wearily over to a stall and slumped down on
the musty floor. He felt dazed, and his slow mind, never
too good at figuring out problems, was as torpid as a
mule on a hot summer day.
After a tirne—he did not know how long, except that
the light of the moon was gone—-he heard low voices
on the road and the clop-clop of a horse’s iron-shod hoofs.
As the sound reached the bam, Tom did not even pull
himself up to close the doors on the stolen engine. What
did he care now? just people passing anyway. The sounds
drew closer, and then he realized that they were coming


68 frnr. GOLDEN FLASH
through the overgrown abandoned field, and to the barn
door. Tom cautiously thrust his eyes over the top of the
stall, and had to clamp his teeth down to prevent a sound
of fury from escaping his lips. The little thief, with his
scarf tied under his right ear, was standing there. Tom
ducked down into the darkness of the stall, as Squills
stared back and forth, looking for him. Apparently Squills
decided that Tom had left for the nearest town, for he
relaxed and went to lean against the door frame, exactly
as he had done at Brown’s stable that night, moving his
fingers back and forth, grinning slyly. Tom cautiously
raised his eyes again and saw that a stranger was with
Squills, staring in astonishment at the red and gold engine.
He looked like a farm hand, and a stupid one at that. He
must be somebody Squills had met by accident on the
road.
-Q-—@—-i


_ _ — rri


70 THE GOLDEN FLASH
Squills leading the horse in the other direction, toward
the inn.
As Tom came out of the bam a stray thought crossed his
confused mind: There was something queer about this
trade. Why was that stranger in such a hurry to trade that
he didn’t ask more about where the engine came from?
But his fury took possession of him, and he muttered as
he stumbled through the dark field, into the road, “I’ll
wring that thief’ s skinny little neck. Hang me if I won’t.”
Tom moved faster. He must catch Squills before he
reached the inn. But Tom was unfamiliar with the rough
cart road, and the moon had swung behind a rack of
clouds. He lurched in and out of holes and ruts, and swore
under his breath. At last he heard the sound of the horse’s
hoofs clopping slowly along in front of him and a shrill
whistle from the jubilant Squills. The moon moved slowly
out from the clouds, to outline a horse and a man in the
road. Tom took a quick step forward, and then stopped
as if petrified. Recovering himself, he dashed to the road-
side and crouched behind a bush.
Two bulky shadows had leaped from the roadside and
were holding Squills and the horse. Squills squirmed and
yelled, outraged at this violence. '
“Help!” he squealed. “Help! Murder!” ‘
“The help you’ll get will come from this,” growled one
of the men, raising a club over the head of the little man.
Squills quieted instantly. He cringed forward, saying
ingratiatingly, “VVhat are you doing to me? I’m just an
honest man walking home with his mare.” 0
Down the road a little way a door was flung open at
the inn, and a stream of light came bobbing toward them.


RUN, THIEF, nun! ' 71
Tom raised his head higher. The lantem was held by the
fattest man Tom had ever seen. His three chins wobbled
and shook as he jogged at his top speed toward the com-
motion, and his breath came in little gusts.
Recovering his voice as he approached, the fat man
rumbled, “Did you get the thief? Is that my horse?”
He held the light higher, shouting, “Blicksem! What! It
is my mare. My lovely Wilhelmina! Hold that man. He
stole my horse.” -
The man who held Squills by the collar of his coat
shook him a few times, until his teeth rattled. Squills
grasped the man by a sleeve, gasping, “I never stole that
horse. I swear to you I never prigged a horse in my life.
I’m an honest man.”
The other man raised the club again and shook it
menacingly toward the thief. The lantem light shone on a
leather apron that this fellow wore, and Tom took him to
be the innkeeper. He handed the horse’s bridle to the
fat man.
“This is your mare, Mynheer Van Witt,” he said. “I
know her well, for I had her fed and tied in the stable
yard by the river today.” He growled at Squills, “VVhat do
you say to that?” There was a thick silence. Tom could
feel the insects stinging his face and neck, but his mouth
widened in a huge grin as he listened.
Squills’ voice came out in a thin squeak. “I didn’t steal
her. I traded . . .” The sound died away in his throat.
“You traded what for this mare belonging to Farmer
Van Witt?”
For once Squills was as dumb as one of the oysters sold
on the Bowery.


72 THE GOLDEN FLASH
“Arrest him. Blicksem! Put him in the jailhouse,”
squawked the Dutchman.
The innkeeper tumed to the burly stableman. “We’ll
take him to the inn and send for the sheriff. Lock him in
the dairy and go for the sheriff.”
Tom watched as if he had never seen so beautiful a sight
before, as the party started to the inn. First waddled the
Dutch farmer, leading his mare, clucking, deep in his
throat, his anger at this outrage. Then came Squills, as
limp as a bundle of rags, held by the rough hand of the
stableman, and last of all marched the innkeeper. The two
men had evidently just started out to look for the thief as
soon as the loss of the mare was discovered and had heard
Squills as he whistled in the road. Tom remained where he
crouched until he heard in the distance the door and
shutters of the dairy being securely barred. Then the inn
doorway closed, shutting out the light.
Tom crawled out into the road and stretched his cramped
limbs. As he thought of Squills, who had stolen so much
and had then been arrested for a theft he hadn’t com-
mitted, Tom burst into a loud guffaw. He slapped his
thigh, as he moved back along the road, chuckling to him-
self. “He could prig anything, he could. He’d never get
caught. But he got taken in by that country bumpkin.
That’s a game, that is. Hang me, if it ain’t!”
But when Tom reached the dark bam and heard the
water slapping against the piles of the dock, he stopped
laughing. What was he to do now? He couldn’t go back
to the city for a long time, if at all. And there wasn’t any
other place he wanted to go. Maybe he could find Pete
tomorrow and get away on his boat? Tom slouched into


RUN, rnrm-', nun! 73
the bam and felt his way past the engine. The lantern had
sputtered out, and he did not so much as glance at the
Golden Flash. He threw himself down on the floor of a
stall and went to sleep. '
Suddenly Tom woke and sat up. He heard the sound
of voices approaching through the field. He rose and
looked cautiously around the stall. Out in front of a
crowd of farmers was Squills, walking in the jogging
lantem light, all his jauntiness gone. He was guarded by
the burly stableman from the inn and another man. Be-
hind them waddled the fat Mynheer Van Witt, pulling
with the exertion, followed by his friends.
“This is the bam, Sheriff,” shouted the innkeeper. “It’s
the only one with a dock hereabouts.”
The man with Squills asked gruflly, “This it? Now show
us this engine, if there is one.”
“The engine’s in there.” Squills darted to the open doors
and pointed, as the stableman held a lantem high. The
crowd pushed inside, and Tom, who knew that he ought
to run, pressed his ear to a crack in the stall and listened
gleefully.
“Where did you get this engine? VVho traded you the
horse?” growled the sheriff.
“I bought that engine in Philadelphia. I was bringing
it up to sell to some town that needed a fire engine. I
never prigged a horse. I traded this engine for the horse,
to a farmer.”
There was an instant of astonished silence inside, then
the sheriff roared, “A likely story! There isn’t a farmer in
these parts would steal Mynheer Van Witt’s mare. I don’t
know where you got that contraption. Or how it works.


74 THE GOLDEN FLASH
But you did steal the mare. For that you’ll get a term
in from the judge, and you’ll pay a fine for disturbing
the peace, or we’ll keep that engine in escrow till you
do pay it. I’ll send horses to take the engine to the village
tomorrow. Come along here.”
Tom dodged back as they went out, and he heard them
disappearing toward the village. Then he thought that he
had better start walking the other way, for he had no
doubt that Squills would tell the sheriff about him. He
passed the VVhite Goat and followed the road. At last,
just about dawn the road wound close to the gray n'ver,
and Tom saw a small dock. Was that a boat outlined
against the lightening sky? He jumped on the planks and
strode to the end. Sure enough, that was the little Iufirau,
bobbing about in a stiffening breeze. Dutch Pete was
putting up the sail. Tom sniffed the rank pipe smell.
“Hi, Pete,” he called. “Will you take me back to the
city?”
Pete slowly took the pipe from his mouth and pursed
his lips. Then he nodded briefly, “Ia, jump on board.”
“Squills traded the engine to a country hick for a mare
—then got arrested for stealing the nag.”
“ja,” rumbled Pete, “I know. I was at the inn last night,
but Squills didn’t see me. That’s why I brought the I ufirau
down here and got held up all night until the wind came
up. I can sail for Hoboken now. Take a hand here.”
As Tom Bigg helped him unfurl the sail, Pete spoke
again. “The're’s an O’Leary China clipper in harbor. I
heard at the grog shop they need deck hands. She sails
day after tomorrow with the tide. You can sign up with
her.”


* \-..a
§?...’~p>~"
l_m
5’
43
\
The Golden Flash remained in the barn until the next Behind it the slow river lapped against rotten pilings, and a
rank marsh odor was dissipated by the sun. The bam itself was
dim in the stalls, and a fine film of dust seeped down on the
engine from the sagging roof. But the engine still glittered, even
under the dirt, and even with some of its plate removed.
Then the sheriff appeared, with two men and two horses.
They backed the horses into the barn, hitched them to the
engine, and led them through the weed-grown field. The
Golden F lash passed by the burned-out foundation of a farm-
house, and settled into the ruts of the country road.
The old farm horses plodded slowly along with their strange
load to the little village, where. they drew the engine to the
center of the main square. The sherifi came with a bundle of
placards and tacked one of them carefully on a tree. Curious
country folk gathered to read the bill.-
ro BE sou), AT PUBLIC AUCTION, om: STEAM 1-"ma ENGINE, IN
coon CONDITION.
Nobody could think who might buy such a thing here, until
someone remembered a millman who needed an engine, and
thought that he might bid it in, just for the engine. As the
Golden Flash stood on the town square the sun disappeared
and a slow, soaking rain began to fall, until the people drifted
away to shelter, and the engine stood alone.
76


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80 THE GOLDEN FLASH
disaster. They had retumed within the past hour from a
funeral. The funeral of a pig. But that was no joke. The
Emperor had not been just a pig, the kind you might eat
as sizzling slices of bacon. The Emperor had been, as
their handbills proclaimed to each new village, “The Great
Emperor, the Most Leamed, the Most Educated, the Most
Refined Pig in Christendom.” The Emperor had been their
most popular actor, and the Emperor was dead.
“Might as well try to sell off what we can, Susie. We’re
done for now,” groaned Luke Waters, dropping down on
the step of one of the wagons, oblivious of the puddle
of dirty rain water already there.
His daughter pulled her kerchief farther over dripping
curls and thrust her chin up. Whenever Pa gave up hope,
which he did on an average of twice a week or more, Sue,
out of a contrary streak in her nature, always plucked up
some spunk. Not that she ever really lacked spunk, but
today—well, today was about the bottom of the barrel
of hope, she thought unhappily.
“Now, Pa, don’t talk like that. We’ve had trouble before,
and we’ve pulled out too. What if we haven’t got the
Emperor? We still have Wildfire, the finest high-stepping
horse in the dog and pony show business. And we have
Nip, Tuck, and Rollover, as good as any trained dogs in
Bamum’s Circus. And we’ve got my acts and Hi-jinks.
Where would you find a better joey than jinks?”
“Wall, yes, jinks is a good clown, but what can he do
without the Emperor? Why that clown took weeks to
train the pig.”
“Come inside the wagon, Pa. What’s the sense in getting


!!!!!!1
3 rh : _
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is
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any wetter?” Susie was getting her dander up now, as her
father called it, and it made him feel better too, though
he wouldn’t admit it to himself. Susie so seldom gave out
on courage that Luke, who had a very small supply,
depended on her more than he knew.
Luke sat down on a chair inside the wagon that he and
Susie used as living quarters and propped his bony chin
on a rough hand, as his clothes dripped gently on the
floor. “But, Sue, you know we are going on the route of
the big circuses, and the folk along this way, even in the
little towns where we show, are used to riding acts and
dogs. The Emperor brought ’em out, because he was dif-
ferent. Any farmer’s got a pig, but not an educated pig
like the Emperor. And the circuses haven’t got one like
that pig either.” He sighed gustily. “We can’t change the


82 THE GOLDEN FLASH
route now. Weather’s getting bad, and we’ve got to get
back to Wisconsin for the winter.”
Sue stood by the little curtained window and stared
miserably at the rain dropping from the wagon roof. Pa
didn’t say all he was thinking, but she knew what it was
anyway. They had started out in the early spring from
Baraboo, Wisconsin, the farming community where every-
body worked in winter months refitting circuses. Pa had
been a farmer there and had been talked into selling
out and buying this little show. But Sue knew what he
wanted to do. He wanted to sell off the show now"that the
Emperor was dead and the cash low, and get another
small farm, maybe farther west where he could homestead.
Sue thrust out her chin again. Not if she could help it.
She could ride. jinks, who had talked Pa into this business
as a partner, was a real circus trouper, and he had taught
her since she was old enough to stand up. She tumed
suddenly.
“VVhere is jinks anyway, Pa? After the funeral he just
disappeared. Where’d he go?”
“I don’t know. Maybe he’s in his wagon. You better go
find him and tell him I think we had better get going. We
can’t put on a show in this rain, and, anyway, this is bad
country. These Dutchmen won’t tum out for shows.”
Susie nodded and slipped out of their wagon into the
downpour. As she lowered her head and ran for the
other wagon, jonathon, one of the horses, tumed his
mournful eyes toward her. She went over to pat the three
big horses, and then sloshed through the mud to Wildfire,
her sleek black riding horse. It made her feel bad to have
to leave him out here under the dripping trees. Wildfire


COME own, COME ALL! 83
rubbed his cold black nose gently against her shoulder.
“Never mind, boy,” she whispered, as she left him,
“we’1l be on our way soon.”
Sue jerked open the door of the other wagon and ducked
inside. She was almost knocked flat by a welcoming com-
mittee of Nip, Tuck, and Rollover, who were tired of being
shut into a wagon all day, and who jumped and barked
and licked at her face.
“Down, Nip! Down, Rollover, Tuck!” The dogs sub-
sided, and she patted each one gently on the head as she
looked around the wagon. It was crammed with tools,
stakes, a long roll of canvas, and most of the simple props
of the show. At the far end was a bunk, and over it hung
a clown’s costume, bright scarlet and white in the gray
gloom of the day. A box on the left was filled with a jumble
of grease paint and clown’s white in battered cans. But
jinks was not there. Susie backed out and closed the door
on three disappointed little yaps from the dogs.
Through the tapping of raindrops on the leaves came a
SOuIld, and it was a jolly, cheerful sound, bringing on such
a day the kind of feeling to the ears that a cup of hot
lemon tea would bring to the stomach.
“Do, da, do, da. Bet my money on a bobtailed nag.
Somebody bet on a bay!”
Sue tumed a glad and happy face to the sounds. joey
jenkens splashed and slopped through the mud, swallow-
ing the rain as he sang, his round rosy face looking like
nothing so much as a Halloween pumpkin, cut across in
a wide grin with two teeth visible. He caught a glimpse
of the girl.
“Hi, Susie, what’re you doing out in the rain?”


COME own, COME ALLl 87
the little stove already. As she cooked the coffee and flap-
jacks she could hear jinks’ high whistle—“Gonna run all
night, gonna run all day. Lost my money on a bobtailed
nag. Somebody bet on a bay.”
Sue shivered and reached for her red wool shawl as she
ran out to call the men to breakfast. This was a chilly
day, for all the sunshine, and the kind of weather that
reminded the girl that it was time they hurried to their
winter quarters. They would have to put on their show
all the way to Wisconsin, to make enough money to see
them through the winter when they couldn’t travel. She
shrugged her shoulders, standing on the wagon step, look-
ing curiously at the brilliant fire engine, with its wheels
sunk into the muddy field. “VVell, if that won’t do it, noth-
ing will.” She grinned and dismissed worry from her mind.
After a hurried breakfast they hitched the horses, called
the dogs into the second wagon, and considered.
“How will we get that engine out of here, and on the
road?” rumbled Luke, “and who’s to drive her?”
“Now don’t you worry yourself into a fit of shaking ague,
Pop,” grinned Hi-jinks, bobbing about with a hamess.
“I’ve got it all figured out. You will drive my wagon, Susie
will drive yours, with Wildfire on a lead rope, and I’ll drive
the engine. We’ll leave Dobbs with your wagon; he’s
easiest for Susie to drive. You hitch Lige to my wagon, and
we’ll have jonathon, who’s strongest, pull the engine.”
“Fine,” Sue said and smiled, climbing nimbly to the
wagon seat and clucking to Dobbs. “I’ll take this oneon
out to the road and wait for you there.”
“Hum,” grunted Luke dolefully, “I misdoubt you can
do it, jinks. I don’t believe jonathon can haul that engine


88 "rm; GOLDEN FLASH
out to the road.” But he swung his long legs into jinks’
wagon and flapped the reins against the brown flanks of
Lige, who slowly clopped his way through the wet earth
to the road. Then Luke retumed to the field to help, while
Sue watched from the road, frowning anxiously. Suppose,
now that most of their money had gone into that red and
gold contraption, they couldn’t even get her out on the
road? She thrust the thought back and kept repeating to
herself, “It will, it will, it will.”
jinks had the great gray horse hitched to the engine and
was on the seat, shouting, “Gee, haw, there, jona.thon.
Gee!”
Sue thought, Lucky we have that extra hamess for the
wagon we had to abandon down in Pennsylvania in june.
after it had gotten smashed up in the fracas with local
rowdies. And lucky for us that we have three strong horses.
She went over to pat jonathon encouragingly on his nose
and urge him on. He was a good horse for the ring, too,
well trained by jinks. jonathon gave a mighty heave and
moved his big feet slowly. The fire engine wheels churned
forward. jinks leaned over, shouting to the horse. Sue
walked beside them, calling to jonathon too, and the en-
gine moved out of the mire, through grass and weeds, to
the cart road. Sue looked up triumphantly at her father,
shouting, “See, Pa, our luck is changing.”
“Huh,” muttered Luke, clucking to his horse, “don’t
talk, my girl, till you’re out of the woods. The Emperor
died. Trouble comes in threes. How do we know any-
body’ll come to see that thing? How do we know she will
work even? And we can’t eat red paint and gilt.” '
The two red wagons, followed by the engine, moved


COME ONE, COME ALL! 89
slowly along country roads southwestward, through New
jersey, with its Dutch and English farms, into Pennsyl-
vania. From time to time children ran out to shout and
point excitedly, but the stolid farmers and their busy wives
paid little attention, even to the queer red and gold con-
traption. Show business would improve farther along, or
so Sue fervently hoped.
Sue drove the first wagon, with the three dogs altemately
sitting beside her on the seat and rollicking after squirrels
along the road. Nip and Tuck were dependable terriers,
black and white. But Rollover was the clown of the three.
He -was a long-haired dog, black, with tan legs and ears
and a golden ruff growing 8.1'Or1nd his‘neck, clown fashion.
His cream and tan plume of a tail waved in the pleasant
breeze as he frisked and ran between the horses’ legs. At
first old Dobbs, whose patience was long, paid no attention
to his antics. Then Rollover began to tease him. Back and
forth, in and out, between his hoofs, he ran. The horse
shook his head, disturbed.
“Rollover,” shouted Sue, “stop that this minute! You
want to get stepped on?”
But instead of stopping, Rollover stood listening a
moment, head on one side, one ear up and one ear down,
then darted suddenly between the big legs moving above
him, and nipped old Dobbs slightly. Sue threw the reins
down and leaped to the road. She chased the mischievous
little dog into the bushes, grabbed him by the ruff, and
shook him.
“All right, you plaguey little rascal! Now you have to
ride the whole day. It’s just lucky that Dobbs is so good-
natured.” She plunked the dog down on the seat beside


90 THE GOLDEN FLASH
her, shook her finger in front of his nose, and said stemly,
“Stay on that seat.”
jinks knew the route and what roads to take to avoid
the Dutch counties as much as possible. One night they
camped beside a tiny lake, and then went on next day
through several small farming villages. On the fourth day,
just after daylight, jinks saddled Wildfire and rode off
ahead into a little town to paste up their posters and make
arrangements for a show that aftemoon. Sue busied herself
washing and mending costmnes, hanging them on the
bushes to dry. She was so happy today that no shadow of
doubt crept into her jubilant thoughts. They had stopped
yesterday to build a fire in the engine and try it out. And
it worked. It was wonderful to see that stream of water
shoot out of the brass nozzle, higher and higher. Then
they had rehearsed an act for the engine, and even Luke
had let a reluctant smile bring up the comers of his melan-
choly mouth. The weather was perfect, blue and gold, and
jinks, who had traveled this route many times before with
other shows, knew every town and village. He had said
that Van Orden would be a good town to show in. Lots
of prosperous farmers around here.
At ten jinks rode back and told them smilingly that the
prospects looked good. He had made some new posters
himself, three big ones, with quick pictures of the fire
engine, surrounded by dogs and horses. Sue wondered if
there was anything jinks couldn’t do. They had some
smaller printed bills for posting, but the big ones jinks
always sketched out himself in fiery reds from a paint box
that he carried. Beneath the new ones he printed in bold
black letters:


COME omz, COME ALLl 91
THE WATERS DOG AND PONY snow.
SEE THE TRAINED nos LEAP runoucrr A BLAZING noor.
SEE WILDFLRE, THE wo1=u.n’s MOST BEAUTIFUL mncmc HORSE.
MADEMOISELLE SUSETTE, EQUESTRIENNE surname.
AND HI-IINKS, RENOWNED CLOWN.
NEW A'I‘I'RACI'IONl
THE GOLDEN FLASH STEAM FIRE ENGINE.
THE wom.n’s CHAIVIPION WATER TI-IROWER.
About noon the wagons rattled into the little town and
drew up in a grassy field near the center of the store sec-
tion. Luke and jinks went to work driving stakes in a big
circle and fastening wide strips of canvas to them. This
was to keep the curious who had no tickets from seeing
the show. Inside jinl<s laid down a ring made of sections
of red-painted wood and gathered the props for the pro-
gram behind the canvas at the back. There were no seats,
but country people were so hungry for entertainment that
they thought nothing of standing all during the perform-
ance. Already children were crowding around the wagons,
staring at the horses and drifting back toward the fire en-
gine, whose smokestack puffed away with the fire jinks
had built.
“Time to dress, jinks,” called Susie from the door of her
wagon. jinks shooed the barefoot children back from the
engine once more, then popped into his wagon like a jack
into its box. She craned her neck around to look for Luke
and saw him getting out the money box and tickets at the
canvas flap at the front of the ring. She moved back inside
the wagon and sat down before her mirror to finish comb-
ing her hair and arranging the orange feather headdress.
Susie smiled at herself in the mirror as she heard Nip,


1!'.
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one on the head of Rollover. Susette bowed and smiled
and led out the two little dogs, who had finished their
act.
From the back Sue saw with satisfaction that the audi-
ence was pleased and that the enclosure was crowded.
She sighed in relief, and peeped through the flap as Hi-
jinks bounced into the ring, tumed somersaults, and
juggled six golden balls in the air. Then Rollover stood on
his back legs, and walked to the middle of the ring. Sud-
denly the crowd burst into a roar of laughter. Rollover was
standing behind jinks, waving his paws, mimicking the
clown. Then jinks brought out a hoop. Rollover leaped


COME omz, COME ALL! 95
thr'ough it. The final performance for the little dog was
a leap through another hoop, which jinks set on fire. Sue
peeping in, smiled as she patted Wildfire gently on the
nose. The audience clapped and clapped for the clown
and the little dog. With all of the hardships and worries
of show life, this kind of crowd could put the heart back
into them.
The rest of the performance went off as well. Luke
Waters stalked out and did a whip-cracking act with a
long bull whip. Mademoiselle Susette, in a short white
skirt and tights, rode jonathon around and around the
ring, doing her specialty, which was a somersault on the
horse’s back. Then Hi-jinks, dressed now as an East Indian
magician, did simple magic tricks, to the wonder of the
crowd. After him came'Susette, in her nodding plumes and
long skirts again, riding Wildfire sidesaddle and putting
him through his dance, to the jolly music of the hand
organ played by jinks.
Then came the last act. The other performances they
had done many times. But this one was new, and nobody
knew whether it would be liked or scomed. jinks brought
out a stand and fitted a long pole into it. This was a
straight sapling that he had cut the day before and painted
in stripes of red, white, and blue. On the top he had placed
a little pot of oily rags, which he lit before raising the pole.
The audience clapped enthusiastically for the Liberty Pole
and waited in great excitement, as Luke removed the back
sections of the ring and several pieces of the canvas. In
marched Luke and Susette, leading Wildfire, followed by
the three dogs. They all lined up at one side. Necks craned
toward the back, as jinks drove into the ring the red and


(4/Z
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gold fire engine. A big fire was roaring and crackling inside
the engine, and already steam was puffing out in clouds.
jinks jumped down and with great ceremony trained the
shining brass nozzle of the hose on the lower section of
the pole.
“Ah!” breathed the astonished crowd, as the stream of
water shot out and splashed against the pole. jinks raised
the nozzle. The stream came faster and faster; higher and


COME ours, COME ALL! 97
higher it hit the pole. And then, at last, it struck the very
top, enveloping the little flame, which sputtered and went
out.
“Hurray!” yelled the boys. “Hurray for the engine!”
They clapped and shouted and roared approval, as the
performers bowed and smiled.
After the audience had left the lot was empty except for
the small boys who preferred to hang 8.l‘0r1nd the show to
going home for supper. Sue, dressed in her blue merino
frock again, walked to the entrance to find her father.
“Why, what on earth?” she gasped. There stood Luke
by a pile of tumips, potatoes, apples, and onions, with a
side of bacon, a ham, and a sack of flour at one side.
“Why, Pa,” cried Sue indignantly, “did you take in this
stuff in place of money? You know we never do that.” _
“Wall, Susan,” mumbled Luke, “we can eat now any-
way. And I got enough money too to buy feed for the
horses.” His long face grew more animated as he reached
down and picked up a tumip, handling it fondly. “But I
can grow better roots than this, girl. Why, one year I had
the biggest tumips ever seen in Wisconsin. If I had a farm
now . . His voice trailed off sadly.
Sue tumed on her heel, drew her lips together stub-
bomly, and snapped out as she left, “We’re in show
business, Pa, and we’re going to stay in it. We’ve got a
good show. They like that fire engine.”
The weather remained good. Harvest was over and the
farmers in this part of the country.had a little money.
Their wives put aside the preserving for an aftemoon to
see the show with husband and children. Sue kept her


COME ours, COME ALL! gg
Sue took a last look around, shrugged her shoulders'
in the darkness, and went back to her supper. But when
they had finished and she had put her father’s supper in a
covered pan on the back of the stove, still he did not come.
Susie slapped the dishcloth on a hook, placed the few
dishes on their shelf, and bit her lips, frowning.
“jinks, you’d better go look for him. I’ve never known
him to miss his supper before.”
The round little man reached for his coat and started
out, calling, “I’ll find him, Susie. There’s nothing to worry
about.” But the girl propped her chin on her hand and
thought, Now, where in the world would Pa go? and why?
At first she couldn’t think of any reason at all. He didn’t
know anybody in this little town. Susie thought back over
the day. Last night they had camped near a stream in
the hills, but as the day wore on they had emerged from
the steep hills into farming country, where the fields looked
well cared for and productive. There had been one farm
—her father had remarked on the fact that the soil looked
good and the house and bam well built, but somehow the
place had appeared neglected. He had said—now what
was it?-oh, yes, “I could do something with that farm.”
A sudden thought struck Sue. She leaped up wildly and
dashed for the cash box. She could see now that the top
was flung back and it was empty. Sue grabbed for her red
shawl and ran for Wildfire. He was gone. Now she was
positive that she knew where Luke was. jinks bounced
up behind her.
“Quick, jinks, hitch up Lige to your wagon and get
going. Pa has taken the cash. I know where he is.” A half
hour later Sue, her face furiously red, marched into the


COME omz, coma ALL! -101
unhappy. For all his big talk she remembered so well that
he hadn’t made a go of his farming back home. But maybe
that was because his land had been so poor. Susie heaved
a sigh as she climbed wearily into her bunk that night,
behind the little blue curtain in the back comer of the
wagon. Maybe when they got back they would have a
good big sum of money, enough to get the show going
next spring and enlarge it. Perhaps they could eventake
y in Mr. and JMr;=;To_rinelli,-_old‘1fri_c-}1§l_5: a good
"juggling act'a'ndlwho had-said-l'ast'yéar-'tli1at‘they wanted
yto go with irli_ttie§sJl1pw;'jE"nen;rna§>/lie Pa go.‘‘west and
3 homestead-a new ‘farrri. 'Susie'sfglréd again'a'nd dropped
off to sleep, too tired to worry any more.
Next day Sue was afraid that Luke would start talking
about that farm again. Perhaps he thought that he had as
much right to use the money as jinks had had when he
bought the engine? But Susie, glancing at her father out
of the comer of her eye, saw that he realized that he
shou1dn’t have tried to put them all out of show business
without consulting them. Sue smiled a little and gave her
father a reassuring pat as she passed him. Sometimes she
felt older than he was.
Sue gathered up the dogs, after chasing mischievous
Rollover into a blackberry patch to get him, and she went
back to jinks’ wagon to put them into it. She tried the door,
and it wouldn’t open. Why, jinks had locked it. That was
funny. She frowned, calling, “jinks, I can’t get into your
wagon.” The round jack-0’-lantem face was poked around
the fire engine. jinks came and took the dogs. “You run
along, Susie, to your wagon. I’ll put the dogs in.” He
glanced up uneasily at the sky. “Clouds coming up, I think.


102 THE GOLDEN FLASH
3
It’s going to rain. We d better not put on the show here.”
So far they had had wonderful luck--good weather, no
trouble with the wagons, and no towns where rowdy boys
wanted to break up the show. These people had not only
never seen a steam fire engine, they had never even heard
of one.
Sue refused to look at the clouds scudding overhead.
But the mud was getting worse 'in the roads as they
traveled. Evidently: gain had _f3ll6l_1'l16!’6__(IJ..1l‘lIlg the night.
Sue kept Ire'r'fi:r1_gers1crossed and hoped lthat the engine
would n"=Y?"=*T3'%f=’.°-_s“.i?<>.l<'-§“§* the {h§1€l- 5‘-?1‘éeY‘'*‘?ade r°‘*dY
for the show 'in'jo'ne‘sville, their‘ next ‘stop, Sue asked
anxiously, “jinks, do you think we can put on the per-
formance today?” He pursed his lips, looking upward.
“The grass is wet, but these folks don’t mind that. I don’t
think it’ll rain before night. We’ll take a chance.”
But when Luke came back with the money box after
selling tickets, he muttered to them, “Mighty few here
today. They had a stereopticon lecture last night in the
schoolhouse, and folks spent their cash.” But just the same
the show went well, and those who were there were as
pleased and excited by the acts and the engine perform-
ance, as. all the others had been.
The performers went into their wagons early that night,
for a light drizzle had begun at dusk. Sue didn’t sleep
very well, and once she got up to look out of the little
window.
“Hurray,” she murmured to herself, “it’s stopped rain-
ing. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Why, what on earth?”
She stared over at jinks’ wagon alongside. His lamp was


coma omz, c'oM1a ALLl 103
buming with a round yellow glow through drawn curtains
at the small window, and she could hear, distinctly, the
S011n(l. of the hand organ. Well, if that wasn’t odd! jinks
must be getting a little queer, to play on his hand organ
in the middle of the night. Sue snuggled back under the
quilts. She decided to say nothing to him about it, or to
her father. She certainly didn’t want Luke to start think-
ing jinks was queer.
jinks had decided to put on their next performance
at Beulah, which he remembered as a good little show
town. But they had to travel four days to get there, under
a cloudy, windy sky. That wind had a nip to it, reminding
them that winter was on the way now, and they shivered
under their coats and shawls. But they felt cheered as they
entered the town and saw that it was larger than any
other place they had played for some time. The people
looked excited and interested as jinks went about putting
up his posters. They had a good crowd too, filling the
canvas enclosure, which was snapping and popping in the
chill breeze as Luke fastened the entrance flap.
Susette was pleased, as she entered for her first act, to
hear a boy say, “Look, that’s the mayor over there.” As
she put the dogs through their tricks she glanced where
the boy pointed. Sure enough, a large pompous man, with
a huge mustache, stood beside the ring. Susette bowed
toward him, as she finished the act, and he clapped
solemnly.
As Susette was getting ready for her somersault act, she
thought of her practice hour the day before and was
tempted to do something very special for the mayor. Even




_
\\\\\_\
\\§\“
///
/'/
;/
in the big circuses there weren’t many girls who could do
a plain backward somersault on a resin-back horse, and
jinks had told her that some of the female bareback riders
in traveling shows were really boys dressed to resemble
girls. Susette did the backward somersault easily, and she
knew that she could do not only the more difficult forward-
forward, but also the backward-back somersault. ]inks had
gasped at practice when she had tried it, while tied to a
practice rope for safety, and had told her that it was too
dangerous. He ordered her to stick to her regular easy
backward somersault. She thought of it again as her feet
came down lightly and surely on jonathon’s broad back
after her easy somersault. Someday, maybe, she might


coma ONE, COME ALL! 105
surprise jinks—but it took real nerve and she didn’t want
to risk it now.
The wind was increasing, but it was not raining, and
nobody left the show. As the gilt fire engine rolled into
the enclosure there were excited gasps and cries. jinks
trained his hose on the Liberty Pole, and out shot the
stream of water. He raised it higher. And just at that
moment Rollover, who had been sitting in his clown’s
costume near the rear entrance, walked solemnly into the
ring. Susette called him softly, surprised at this perform-
ance, but he paid no attention. She twisted Wildfire’s reins
about the wheel of her wagon and went quietly inside
the canvas, whistling gently to the little dog.
“That scalawag,” muttered Susie, “what’s gotten into
him?”
jinks raised the hose a little higher. And just at that
instant the mischievous dog gave a jump and dashed
through jinks’ spread-out legs, upsetting him completely.
The nozzle swished from his hands, and the stream of
water hit the pompous mayor directly on the large mus-
tache, sending a spray of water over the crowd. The whole
place burst into an‘ uproar—laughter, yelling, hooting.
jinks tumed off the water and drove the engine out, leav-
ing the mayor, dripping, shaking his fist, and yelling like
a furious small boy. ,
“Get out of this town, you good-for-nothing tramps! If
I catch you here two hours from now I’ll have the sheriff
clap you in jail.”
All three of them ran about crazily, hitching and pack-
ing, and were on the road before the two hours were up.
Sue was so worried she forgot, until they were well on


106 ‘rm; GOLDEN FLASH
their way, that they had eaten nothing since moming, but
she didn’t stop to cook anything. They camped some miles
from Beulah, on the way to Ohio, and, tired and hungry
as she was, Sue gave way to a peal of laughter at the
thought of that dignified man with the tall hat dripping
and shouting. She looked at Rollover sitting quietly in
the wagon beside her, one ear up and one ear down, his
brown eyes innocent, and she shook her finger stemly
at him.
“You try another stunt like that and I’ll tan your hide.”
But she couldn’t suppress a smile.
As they left Pennsylvania and traveled into Ohio, the
roads got rougher and the ruts deeper. “I thought New
jersey and Pennsylvania bad enough,” groaned Susie, as
her wagon wheels creaked in and out of mud holes, “but
Ohio is worse. And I don’t know how we’ll ever get
through to Wisconsin if this mud doesn’t dry up.”
The show avoided the main highways, except for a
stretch on the old Cumberland Road, and played twice in
small villages where the audience was made up mostly
of children, and not so many of them either.
“Well, Susie,” called cheerfully, as they dug the
engine wheels out of a mud hole and got her started
again, “we’ll try Cincinnati. We’ve played only small
towns and villages. We might as well play a city for once.”
Sue smiled back at him, her heart leaping at the thought.
But her smile was wiped from her face completely when
she was back in her wagon, urging Dobbs to get a move
on. She would never have let jinks know, but there were
other things besides mud and poor audiences worrying
her. She felt badly about Luke. Anybody could see that
... .:.__._. -- -...


COME om-:, COME ALL! 107
he was unhappy and that he dreamed fondly of that farm
back there with the good rich earth and the tight house
and bam. It stood out all over his moumful face and
drooping shoulders as he picked up a potato and looked
at it lovingly. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought of
him. She pounded her fist on her knee, muttering to her-
self, “Oh, he isn’t show folks. I am, and how can I give
it up? jinks is. But Pa isn’t. He wanted to try it, but it
just hasn’t worked for him.”
Then the round smiling face of the clown popped into
her thoughts. There was a real showman. He could do any-
thing, from putting up the canvas to throwing the crowd
into convulsions of laughter. But he was a worry too. Why
was his wagon always locked nowadays, and he so secre-
tive about it? And why did his lamp bum at night, with
the sound of music stealing out? Sue was strongly tempted
just to come out and ask him about these things—but she
didn’t. There was something about jinks that made her
feel she couldrft pry into his secrets. Susie crossed her
fingers and shivered in the wind. Luck had changed for
the better with the coming of the Golden Flash. And it
was still a fine attraction. But was their luck changing
again? She pushed the thought out of her mind. Of course
not.
Then it rained for three days. And then an axle on her
wagon broke. They had to stop for two days to allow
Luke and jinks to get it mended. But jinks called to her,
“That’s our third trouble. Our bad luck’s run out. My
left eye itches again.”
Next moming they rolled once more, headed for the
big town. But if Susie had thought the mud quite deep


108 THE GOLDEN FLASH
‘*\
enough before, after all this rain, the rough roads through
forests and farm lands were almost impassable. Traveling
was very slow and very firing, and when at last they saw
the houses on the outskirts of Cincinnati, raised his
voice, shouting in old circus lingo,~“China!” Susie “China” meant the end of a hard road.
There were other carts and wagons on the road, all
going toward the city. Susie was driving carefully between
a big brewery wagon and the ditch on the other side,
putting all of her attention on the horse, and none on the
dogs sitting on the seat beside her.
There was a sudden snort, and one of the brewery
horses reared up on its hind legs. The driver, a hard, red-
faced man, roared as he 'yanked on the reins:
“What’s this, blast you?”
His wagon tilted sideways violently as the horse came
down on all four legs again and the driver got control.
Sue, recovering from her surprise, had a terrible thought
and glanced swiftly at the seat. There sat Nip and Tuck.
But Rollover was running between the legs of the brewery
horse. She pulled up Dobbs and jumped down. just as
she did so the driver lashed out at the little black and tan
dog with his long whip, sending Rollover scun'ying to his
mistress. Sue grabbed him and held him tightly.
“You touch this dog,” she declared, “and you’ll wish
you hadn’t.”
The big driver was in the road too, but before he could
do anything other men jumped from their wagons and
yanked him back. “Let her go, Ed. That’s only a girl.”
Sue heard jinks’ voice in her ear, “Come on, Sue, back
in the wagon. Let’s get out of this.”


COME ONE, COME ALLl 109
The drivers went to their places, and the little dog and
pony show pulled off into a field outside of town. Sue
thought that surely this must be the most bedraggled show
in existence. The wagons were caked with mud, and the
beautiful crimson and gold engine was brown and ugly
too.
“Well, here we are at last,” said jinks, trying to get out
a cheerful smile. “And by all the wild men ir1 Bomeo,
we’ll put on a good show today and fill up the cash box
again. Susie, you and Luke wash off the engine with some
pails of water from the creek over there, and I’ll1 go in
town to pay rent on the lot and put up some posters. I’ll
be back in time to help with the canvas.”
Susie. made a fire in the stove and put on a pot of
coffee and a pan of com bread and some bacon. Hot food
would start them out well. Then she and Luke began to
wash down the engine. It was exactly one hour later when
they saw jinks tumbling down from Wildfire’s back, look-
ing utterly weary.
“Oh, jinks,” cried Sue, “what is it?”
jinks spoke calmly. “Nothing to worry about, Susie.
Some rubes in town jumped me and tore down my
posters.” He relaxed suddenly and grinned at her. “You
see, the Webber and Clinton Big Top Circus has posters
all over town. It will be here tomorrow. Those toughs
are just looking for excitement.” Then he spoke soberly.
“Think we had better move on to a smaller place?”
Luke, who had become so indifferent that he never
took a hand ir1 any decision now, stared at jinks, saying
nothing. Sue thought a moment, her forehead creased,
then thrust out her determined chin, saying firmly, “No.


court omz, corvrr: ALL! ur
a farmer, she thought unhappily, even in the long-tailed
coat and high hat. Luke could crack a whip over a team
as well as any bullwhacker, but his act had never had
enough dash to it to be much more than a filler in the
program. Now Sue saw that her father was miserable.
His long face was sad and his thoughts were not on his
act. She glanced around at the crowd. There was a ripple
of unrest there. Two boys yelled out in derision.
Suddenly that same brewery driver jumped into the
ring and grabbed the long whip from Luke’s indifferent
hand, yelling:
“This is a rotten showl I’m a forty-niner. I crossed the
plains to Califomy. I’ll show you how to crack a bull-
whip.” He lifted the whip high in the air and snapped
it loudly around Luke’s head. Sue saw her father standing
stupidly there, as if dazed. The whip cracked again, taking
off his hat. The toughs in the audience were howling with
glee now. Then a tall man with a braided red beard leaped
forward and took the whip from the astonished driver’s
hand. The red-bearded man tumed, grinned at the crowd,
and shouted:
“I’m a mule skinner too, boys. Let’s see who can snap
this whip better!” He whirled swiftly, and cracked it
loudly around the head of the driver. Sue clenched her
hands hard together. But jinks, still in his clown suit,
reached for his tiny whip and bounded into the ring.
He bounced around the two men, flourishing his ridiculous
whip, singing at the top of his lungs:
“Oh, Susannah, now d0n’t you cry for me! For I’m ofi
to Californy with a bull whip at my knee.”
‘G


112 THE GOLDEN FLASH
With the quick-changing mood of a crowd, laughter
rippled around the circle. Then everybody was roaring
with mirth. The red-bearded teamster was doubled up
and singing “Oh, Susannah,” too. Everybody sang, and the
burly brewery wagon driver moved sheepishly back to the
sidelines. jinks hissed in Sue’s ear, “Time for your riding
act.”
Susie, still trembling, leaped to jonathon’s back and
rode in, standing in her fluify white skirt. jinks held up
his hand for silence, calling out, “Here we have Made-
moiselle Susette . . .”
Although Sue was trembling when she rode in and
wondering whether she could do her act, by the time
that she had ridden around the ring once her poise had
retiuned and her chin was up. Her easy somersault was
perfect. She heard a loud round of applause. Then she
did her diflicult forward-forward turn. The clapping came
again. Sue was flushed now with success. Maybe she could
save the day! Should she try it? Yes, she would, though
she knew that jinks would almost have heart failure watch-
ing there at the back. Sue rode around and around the
ring. Steady old jonathon jogged along, unperturbed by
the noisy crowd. All right. Ready. Set. Go! She made it.
Mademoiselle Susette leaped lightly from the horse’s back
to the grass, bowed in all directions, kissed her hands, and
skipped out.
The clapping was long and loud. But her uneasiness
persisted, for she had caught a glimpse, as she stood bow-
ing and smiling, of two solemn frock-coated men, one
standing at each side of the crowd, watching her with
great interest. One of them was a stout important-looking



"T
man, and the other a tall handsome fellow with a curled
mustache. One of them might be the sheriff. Her heart
sank. Those toughs were looking restless again, as if
they were still spoiling for a fight. And that driver was
scowling.
jinks glowered at her as she skipped out, muttering,
“I ought to take you over my knee, young lady, and
whang you. You might have broken your silly neck.”
Then his eyes twinkled. “But it was marvelous, Susie. You
did it grand.”
The next two acts went well. jinks brought in the en-
gine and placed the pole with its little flame on top. Sue
was outside, making for her wagon to change from the
long orange-colored gown in which she had just ridden
Wildfire. She heard a roar from the enclosure. For a sec-
ond she thought it must be applause for the engine, and
then an ominous sound came to her ears. It sounded like



/C ~--


the crashing of waves in a hurricane. She grabbed up her
long skirts above her anldes and ran for the ring. She
heard jinks yelling:
“Hey, Rube!”
That meant he had to have help. Luke burst through
the crowd and in three long strides was inside with jinks.
Sue heard a roar.
“We want to see an elephant, not a fire engine! This
is the town where we make fire engines. We’ve got better
ones right here. Wreck it! Tum it over”
Sue shoved her way to the engine and glanced wildly
__.___ ._..,..,.._.___ -
_:__._.".‘-_l-;_‘..._._._..._._ _=_ _,. _.


. coma omz, COME ALL! 115
/
around. Over at one side ]inks was battling with two men,
and near the back flap her father had taken on three and,
for all his age, was knocking them around. Where was that
man who looked like a sheriff? Sue couldn’t see either of
the frock-coated men at all.
“Oh, I lmew it would be a clem here. I knew we’d get
into a fracas,” she sobbed.
She saw the engine beside her, with Lige rearing and
snorting ir1 the shafts. Sue reached for the nozzle, and
with her other hand she turned on the valve full force.
She didn’t know it, but she was yelling too, “I’ll fix you!
I’ll fix you!” She tumed the rush of water full on a fighting
knot of boys and men, sending them sprawling on the
ground. Then she moved the stream to first one place and
then another. The crowd was soaking wet and leaving
rapidly. Sue stood there, the water still pouring out of
the hose, her satin skirt dripping, her hair plastered into
her eyes. jinks, wiping the blood from his nose, limped
over to her to tum off the water. Luke was sitting in a
puddle, holding his aching head. The sudden silence made
their eardrums ring.
“Well, Susie,” gasped jinks, gingerly wiggling one of
his two upper front teeth, “you did fix ’em.”
“But what do we do now?” asked the girl moumfully.
“Get going, I guess.” jinks shrugged and called, “Come
on, Luke. Let’s get out of this town.” They limped out of
the sodden ring, to pack and hitch. Sue dropped the noz-
zle, feeling a bit dazed. She gathered up her skirt, wrung
some water out of it, and tumed to leave, wondering
whether she could ever fix up this costume fit to wear in
the ring again. _


116 THE GOLDEN FLASH
,,
“Wait a minute, young lady!
Sue whirled about and saw the short man in the frock
coat, standing behind her. He must have come in as she
tumed to go out. He spoke quietly but with a certain
ring of authority in his voice. Sue stood and waited, unable
to say a word. Through her tired brain unrolled a picture
of the three of them in the town jail. The man came up
to her and smiled a little. Sue recovered her voice, but it
quavered as it came out, “I—I’m sony, but we couldn’t
help it. Those men came here on purpose to start a clem.
We’ll go right now. Please don’t arrest us.”
His smile was broad now. “Arrest you? Why, my dear
young lady, I couldn’t arrest you. I’m a stranger in the
town myself. just got in this moming to make preliminary
arrangements. I want to ask you whether you will join
my circus. That somersault is the finest thing I’ve ever
seen in any ring. And you a girl, too!”
Sue pushed her straggling curls back with a trembling
hand. “You-you mean—you want me in a circus?”
“Yes, I certainly do. We’ll give you top billing, for that
bareback act. I believe I forgot to introduce myself. My
name is Webber of the Webber and Clinton Circus.” He
bowed with old-fashioned courtesy and stood smiling.
Sue stared hard at him and then realized that he was
all that he claimed.
“I always visit little shows when I can,” the man con-
tinued, “looking for good acts. But you are the best I’ve
ever discovered. I like your horse too. She’s a beauty as a
dancer. You can bring her with you.”
Sue clenched her hands together with pure joy. Never,
never had she even hoped for anything like this. Then


COME own, corvrr: ALL! 117
over her happiness flooded the realization that she couldn’t
leave Pa and jinks stranded. They didn’t have a show
without her. She gulped and swallowed hard, and tears
sprang to her eyes. She blinked them back, thrust out her
chin, and spoke calmly:
“Thank you so much, Mr. Webber. But I can’t join your
circus. I—-I’m obliged to you, but show folks must stick
together. Our dog and pony show couldn’t go on without
me.
The circus owner looked at her a moment, stared around
at the wild mess, and then said quietly, “VVell, you don’t
have to decide now. Make up your mind and let me know
in the moming. I’ll be at the River Hotel.” He left by the
front, and the girl went slowly out of the back to the
wagons. This had been the hardest day in her whole
life, but her mind was made up. They had better get going
at once. She looked around for Luke.
Why, there he was with that tall man in the frock coat,
the handsome fellow with the flashing diamond cravat
pin. What on earth was Pa doing now? Sue ran toward the
two men. just as she got there the stranger saw her and
bowed toward her, flashing her a dazzling smile. Luke,
standing beside the fire engine, tumed toward her.
“Susan,” he said soberly, “this is Mr. Carter. He wants
to buy our Golden Flash to take to Califomia with him.
It would bring us enough to buy that farm.” He hesitated,
then asked in a low voice, “What would you and jinks
think about that?”
“Oh,” sighed Susie, sitting down suddenly on the wagon
step. “Oh!” That was absolutely all she could say, abso-
lutely all. ‘Then a beautiful thought dawned on her. As


118 "rm-1 GOLDEN FLASH
the stranger’s jaw dropped in astonishment, Susie grabbed
up her soaking skirts and ran across the lot like a whirl-
wind. She dashed around the canvas enclosure, shouting
loudly, “Mr. Webber! Oh, Mr. Webber!” He wasn’t in
sight. Sue remembered jinks and stopped abruptly. VVhat
about poor jinks? Perhaps she could talk that circus man
into taking jinks also. And then she remembered that he
had seen jinks’ act, and had said nothing about it. Sue
clenched her fists. She must try. She just must convince
him that jinks was the best clown in the whole circus
business. She must and she would. She would change her
clothes and go to the hotel now. No, she couldn’t change
her clothes; there wouldn’t be time, or that man who
wanted the engine might leave, without buying it.
Sue whirled around and stared hard at the ring. There
was a sound of merry lilting music behind the canvas.
That was coming from the hand organ, and it was “Old
Dan Tucker,” the song that she had heard so many nights
in jinks’ wagon. That was queer, very queer.
Sue crept up and peeped inside the flap. In the ring was
jinks, still in a streaked, soaking red and white clown
outfit, playing his hand organ for all he was worth. And
in the middle of the ri11g was a small white pig, with a
golden ruff about its neck and a golden feathered cap
on its head. The little pig was on its hind legs dancing.
Actually dancing. The music stopped. jinks held up a
hoop. The pig leaped through it. Then he held up a big
card with a number six on it, calling, “What is the number,
Lily?” The little pig ran up to it, stared at it solemnly
with its tiny eyes, then grunted six times.
Sue edged inside and Hi-jinks caught sight of her as the
O



act ended. Mr. Webber stood there. His face was wreathed
in a broad grin, and he was clapping. jinks laughed aloud
at Sue’s funny expression of astonishment.
“Come right in, Susie,” he said, “come in and meet
Plumtree Lily, the most refined, the most brilliant, the
most beautiful, the most leamed pig in the world! Her
education isn’t finished yet, but she’s doing fine. Mr. Web-
ber here wants us in the circus, with you. We’re in the
big top, Susie, my girl, we’re in the big top.”
“So that’s your secret, jinks,” snapped Sue, hands on
hips, and then she burst into a laugh. “I’ll bet you went
back that night and got her at the farm Pa tried to buy.”


120 THE GOLDEN FLASH
She tumed to the circus man. “Well be with you tomor-
row, Mr. Webber. We’ll be there with bells on.”
And so at dawn next day they parted. Susie knew that
Luke was happy, and Luke knew that Susie was happy,
and that each must go his own way. They both had to
swallow hard as they said goodbye, but Susie said, “I’ll
be there to see you, Pa, next spring before the show goes
on the road.”
And Luke said, “I’ll look for you for sure, Susan.”
Luke hitched up Dobbs to the wagon and rolled back
along the muddy roads to the farm in Pennsylvania, his
droughts circling around potatoes, and onions, and hay.
jinks, who had one wagon and Lige as his share of the
show, shut the door on Plumtree Lily and climbed up to
the wagon seat beside Nip, Tuck, and Rollover. Susie,
mounted on Wildfire, rode off down the road, not looking
back but with her determined little chin thrust out and
her head filled with all kinds of somersaults. jinks, behind
her, flapped the reins on the broad rumps of Lige and
jonathon. And as the wheels tumed and bumped forward
he sang blithely, “Gonna run all night, gonna run all day.
I bet my money on a bobtailed nag. Somebody bet on a
bay.”
Back in the field the Golden Flash stood, waiting for
the flashy stranger with the long curled mustache. This
man had bought her and was going to have her repainted
here at a factory in Cincinnati during the winter and then
taken to Califomia. The sun went down behind the creek,
and shadows fell across the picture of tall King Midas
and his little golden daughter.




Qeoeznde/z, 48561. h 4859
For two hours the engine stood in the soaking, trampled lot,
utterly deserted. The show folk had gone their ways, and even
curious children had left for home and supper. Then wheels
rattled up the road, and the gentleman who had bought the
engine jumped from his carriage. Behind him came a groom
with a big dray horse, which he promptly hitched to the Golden
Flash.
Preceded by the carriage and the new owner, the steam
engine was pulled through the city streets and into a carriage
shop, where two workmen took charge of it. One of the men
said that this engine looked like the kind that was made at a
factory on the other side of town, but he wasn’t sure. Anyway
their job was only to get it painted and the shafts replaced
with a pole, so that it could be hitched to a team. This gentle-
man was planning to take it by rail, and then by wagon, to
California in the spring.
And so, for all the winter months, the Golden Flash re-
mained in the Ohio carriage shop, where it was scraped and
repainted in brilliant colors. For, the gentleman said, this must
I21


122 THE GOLDEN FLASH
be the fanciest engine ever made, since it fizas to be the first
in the West. And when spring came and people poured through
the city traveling from East to West, the engine was hauled to
the railroad station, put upon a flatcar, and attached to the
train in which the gentleman owner was to ride.



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The man smiled down at her. “It’s nothing at all, Miss
Pigtails. Nothing at all.” He tumed and disappeared into
the crowd, as Molly pushed her way back across the room
to the basket and thrust the cat firmly inside, fastening
it tightly against any further accidents.
“All aboard the cars! All aboard for St. Louis!” called
the trainman importantly from the platform.
Suddenly Molly heard a hoarse voice shouting, “Molly!
Where in tamation are you?” She sighed in relief and
stood on tiptoe to wave toward the sound.
“Here I am, Grandpap,” she called, “over by the door.”
A huge old man with a rifle over his shoulder charged


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toward her through the crowd and grabbed up their two
carpetbags. Molly picked up her basket and the bundle
of food, and ran after him as he strode out on the narrow
platform to the door of a riding coach. She caught a
glimpse of the puffing locomotive and saw the coaches
and three freight cars behind it. Suddenly she stopped,
and her mouth flew open.
“Grandpap,” she cried, “what is that thing?”
The sturdy old man halted and wheeled around. Molly
was pointing to one of the freight cars, which had on it
a big crimson and gold contraption, reflecting the spring
sunshine in a new coat of red paint and gilt scrolls. On
the boiler was a picture, which gleamed so brightly that
the people stood and gaped at it instead of finding their
seats in the cars.
_‘J


I30 THE GOLDEN FLASH
toihomestead in Oregon. Grandpap twisted around and
started a conversation with a stout man and his wife who
sat behind them. \
“Yes, sir, I’ve lived these twenty years in Kentucky,
but now I’ve sold my store, and my granddaughter here
and I are heading for Califomy. My son Matt’s out there.
Writes that he is raising cabbages as big as barrels.”
“It’s a long trip, though.” The stout man shook his head.
“And when we leave Missouri we leave civilized countiy
behind. We’re going to Oregon ourselves. Been a bad year
for everybody, and my farm was full of nothing but rattle-
sna.kes and fever and stones.”
A' burly fellow pushed his way down the aisle, kicking
aside bags and baskets. He shouted at Grandpap:
“Going to Pike’s Peak?”
“No, sir,” bellowed Grandpap, "Califomy for us.”
After a time conversation died down, and the rattling
wheels became a drowsy hum. Tabitha curled up in
Molly’s lap, and the little girl, very tired from her joumey,
dropped ofi to sleep. When she awoke shadows were
lengthening outside the window, and a trainman was
lighting a small oil lamp hanging from the center of the
coach ceiling. At first Molly did not know where she was,
and a small panicky feeling seized her. Then she remem-
bered and gave her head a shake and thrust out her chin,
which Grandpap said was “a mite too stubborn for com-
fort, sometimes.” Molly tumed to Grandpap. The seat was
empty.
For a moment she was scared, and then she decided
that perhaps he was visiting with somebody in the coach.


FAR LANDS ACROSS 331
A sudden unpleasant thought struck Molly. She popped
the protesting Tabitha into her basket and placed it 'on
the seat. Then she rose and walked down the aisle. There
was some loud talking and laughing from that direction.
The hanging lamp swayed with the bumping little coach,
and cast queer lights on the faces of these strangers. She
heard a booming voice.
Then she saw Grandpap sitting with that burly Pike’s
Peaker and two other men. They had a carpetbag on their
knees, with cards spread out on it.
Molly, choked with fear and rage, mlled in a furious
whisper, “Grandpap, you promised me not to gamble.”
Her grandfather scowled and bit his It was then
Molly noticed that the man sitting opposite him was the
handsome stranger who had rescued Tabitha for her. He
was smiling and was flipping the corners of a small stack
of greenbacks, counting them. A terrible thought smote
her.
“Grandpap, have you lost all our money?”
“Now, Molly,” stammered Obediah, “don’t take on. I
just thought I would have a friendly game. I might have
doubled our pile. You just run along now, and I’ll be with
you in seven shakes of a possum ‘in a gum tree.”
But Molly thrust out her chin and stood her ground,
holding on to the back of a seat as the train lurched
around a curve.
“Grandpap, have you lost all our money?”
“No, I’ve got a little left, Molly. You run along now.”
He looked sheepishly up at her from rmder bushy gray
brows.


FAR LANDS ACROSS 133
VVhen the train pulled into the St. Louis station, Molly
was so cramped and weary from a night in the bumping
coach that she stood on the platform with her grandfather
and thought longingly of her old home behind the store
in Crooked Comers. But Crandpap was brisk and cheer-
ful, and pushed his way through the crowd into the street.
Molly followed, trying to hold onto his coat with one hand
while she held Tabitha’s basket in the other.
This town was a brawling, moving mass of packed hu-
manity. Her ears rang with the shouting of mule skinners
and bullwhackers, driving their wagons and carts through
the muddy streets. Pigs squealed and dogs barked, as they
dashed between the hoofs' of the mules and horses and
oxen. There was a constant sound of long whips snapping
and the singsong chant of fruit and fish peddlers mingled
with the loud cries of clothing hawkers along the side-
walks. Everything seemed to be moving, or getting ready
to move, westward. A wagon passed them, with a huge
sign painted in red on its white cloth top, “Pike’s Peak
or Bust!” In fact, everything in the city seemed to be
labeled for the gold fields._ Stores sold Pike’s Peak boots,
Pike’s Peak pans, Pike’s Peak grms. . _
Yet Molly was glad to_ see that some of the prairie
schooners had signs, “Oregon—God’s Country,” and that
women in sunbonnets were perched high on the lazy
boards while children thrust their towheads between the
back flaps. There weren’t many going all the way to Cali-
fomy now, except the rich folks who traveled by stage-
coach, and it wouldn’t be easy to get passage in a wagon.
It was hard to find a room to stay in ovemight in this
city, but at last Grandpap located one where the people


134 THE GOLDEN FLASH
were just leaving. He told Molly to get some rest, while
he. went scouting. Molly curled up on a lumpy bed with
Tabitha and went to sleep, too tired to worry any more
about their plans. When she awoke it was dark, and she
lay there a moment trying to remember where she was.
The little room smelt close and stuffy. Tabitha was lazily
stretching and yawning. Outside the window Molly heard
the cracking of whips and the creaking and groaning of big
wooden wheels, rolling from the river. She got up stiffly
and lighted an oil lamp on the table. The small room was
unfamiliar and frightening. Molly fed Tabitha and tried
to eat a piece of pone with some cold cooked bacon, but
found it hard to swallow. just then she heard big boots
tramping up the_ stairs, and a familiar bellow as the door
burst open.
“Molly,” cried her grandfather, “I’ve bought passage in
a wagon rolling westward at daylight.” A little sigh of
intense relief escaped Molly’s lips, for she couldn’t bear
the thought of staying in this town another day. The open
country w0uldn’t frighten her, but this noisy place did.
In the gray dawn they went quietly down the stairs,
paid their bill for the night’s lodging to a yawning woman,
and stepped out into the street. Grandpap guided Molly
around the corner toward a hotel and pointed trirun-
phantly to a covered wagon, which lurched a little side-
ways in the mud before the hitching rail. Squatting on
the railing was a lanky man with a crooked nose. He was
chewing on a plug of tobacco, with his big Adam’s apple
moving up and down, and every so often squirting a
stream of brown juice from one side of his mouth out into
the mud. Molly grasped her grandfather’s sleeve.


FAR LANDS ACROSS 135
“But, Grandpap, we were going the Oregon Trail to
Califomia.” She pointed to the side of the ramshackle
wagon, where a crude sign read, “Pike’s Peak.”
Grandpap, with a frown between his bushy brows,
patted her soothingly on the shoulder. “Now, gal, don’t
take on. I know we meant to go the 'Oregon Trail to Cali-
fomia. But this way will get us there too. We haven’t got
any choice. I made a deal to help with the driving.” A
gleam broke loose in his eyes. “Maybe I can take a couple
of bags of gold dust with me to help Matt out in Cali-
fomy.”
Molly’s braids jerked violently, as she thrust out her
chin and muttered frniously, “Grandpap, you know Uncle
Matt didn’t stay in the gold fields of Califomy. You know
he wrote that a farnr was the place for all of us.”
“Yes, but, Molly, we’ve got to get to Califomy. It’s the
only way. we can get there. And if I do a little digging and
pick up some gold we can buy a wagon and team in Den-
ver, where lots of folks are selling out, and go on our-
selves.”
Molly sighed and tinned to climb into the wagon. She
said nothing more, for what was the use? It was all set-
tled. But when that man with the crooked nose slouched
over and Grandpap introduced him as jed Williams, the
owner of the wagon, Molly’s heart dropped ‘into her new
tasseled boots.
“I know that man’s not much, and neither is this broken-
down wagon,” whispered Grandpap as he stowed their
carpetbags inside with Molly, “but he’s got two good oxen
there. That’s what’s most necessary for a trip across the
plains.” _


136 THE cormnu FLASH
The country was beautiful as they rolled across Mis-
souri, with its farms and rolling green hills, and good
weather held. Nights were cool and crisp and spangled
with stars. Molly enjoyed the singing at the campfire, and
watching jigs danced on the tailboards of wagons. She
listened to tall tales told of Davy Crockett and how he
grinned a coon down out of a tree, or of Indian fights, or
encounters with grizzly bears. But when the talk tumed
to gold and the wonderful strikes men were making in
Kansas Territory in the mountains near Denver, she got
up and went to bed. Molly knew that the diggings were
not for them. They had to get to Califomia, and Uncle
Matt.
Several times Molly caught sight of the gambler, riding
on a fine chestnut horse, but though Grandpap was
friendly with him, Molly felt her face bum with rage
every time she saw him. She avoided this Mr. Lance Car-
ter and hoped that he would leave their wagon train at
the point where some of the travelers turned north to
Oregon.
At last the wagons rumbled into the crowded little town
of Westport, Missouri. From this place you could look to
the west, and the plains stretching out endlessly, like a
vast uncharted sea. Ied Williams tumed the wagon over
to Obediah Hawks to take to the camp grounds outside
the town, while he disappeared into the saloons. Molly
was glad to see him go and hoped that he wouldn’t come
back, until Grandpap told her that if he didn’t arrive by
leaving time they couldn’t go without him. Molly got
acquainted with a few women who were going with them
to the gold fields and was thankful that she would not



. _ “lfllg1/,
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be the only female in a whole train of men. Most of the
families were camping toward the north, making ready
to leave on the Oregon Trail, while of those here in the
grove she found that one group were traders who for
years had ridden the Santa Fe Trail with their goods.
The new gold strikes in the Cherry Creek region near
Denver had brought swarms of reckless adventurers along
this route. At Pueblo the trail tumed south to Santa Fe,
and it was possible to travel northward from there through
the foothills, past Pike’s Peak, to the gold diggings. This
was April, and still cold on the northem plains. Many of
the travelers had camped here for weeks waiting for the
grass to spring up fresh green on the plains, to feed their
stock on the way.
Early next moming, while the day was still a pale gray
promise in the eastem sky, Molly shivered out of her


138 THE GOLDEN FLASH
quilts and heard bull whips cracking, the clanking of
hamess, men shouting, and the good smell of hot mush
and bacon. She remembered, with a quiver of excitement,
that today was leaving day. As she emerged from the
wagon, Mrs. Adams, one of her new friends, called, "We’re
off to find the elephant, Molly.”
“W'hat’s the elephant?” asked Molly, rapidly braiding
her hair.
“Why, I thought everybody had heard of the elephant.
VVhen you go to a circus what do you go to see? The ele-
phant, of course. That’s the best thing to see, and the last.
Well, folks starting west talk about seeing the elephant.
Here it’s gold they mean. . . .” _
“Molly, where in tamation are you? Get a move on, gal.
We’re ready to roll,” boomed Grandpap a half hour later.
Molly ran for the wagon and climbed in. jed Williams had
returned the night before, and she could hear him now
cracking his long bull whip on the seat beside Grandpap.
As the wagons drew out to the trail and creaked and rat-
tled off, Molly stared back with solemn eyes at the world
she was leaving behind.
At Council Grove, on the N eosho River, the wagon train
stopped for several days to pick up supplies and make re-
pairs. This was the last town on the trail where anything
could be bought. Molly walked down the main street with
Obediah, looking fearfully at the Indians who idled about
the place, though Grandpap told her that these were
friendly Kaws from a reservation near by. When Molly
returned to their camp outside of town she saw the Santa
Fe traders just leaving with their long lines of laden mules
and wagons. She thought that their own train was the


FAR LANDS ACROSS 139
worst mixture of people she had ever seen. Most of them
were crazy for gold, headed for the diggings with very
little thought for anything but getting there quickly. Those
on foot were starting out ahead of the wagons, with packs
and pans and picks strapped on their backs. Some pushed
handcarts, and others rode horses, like Mr. Carter, or drove
mule wagons. Their wagon was one of twenty canvas-
topped prairie schooners, and Molly was glad that these
had friends, such as kindly Mr. and Mrs. Adams in them.
As she sat in the wagon, peering out through the flaps
at the back, Molly suddenly thought of poor Tabitha, shut
in her basket. She crawled back to get her and then settled
herself comfortably on a pillow with the cat in her lap.
Molly drew the flap farther back and saw something that
made her eyes pop wide open. just behind them was a
wagon drawn by four stout oxen, and on the wagon, with
its glittering wheels removed and lashed on beside it, was
the Golden Flash engine. Around it were piled supplies
for the long joumey. There was a clatter of horse’s hoofs,
and Mr. Carter pulled up his horse alongside the engine.
His face was pale with suppressed anger, and his eyes
glittered furiously. He spoke quietly, but each word was
like the snap of a bull whip.
“Wooly, I told you to take my engine by the Oregon
Trail, where I would meet you at Cheyenne Pass later.
What are you doing here?”
There were two men on the wagon seat, one a burly old
fellow with white whiskers, looking like a confused sheep,
and the other a man with a long face, wearing a black frock
coat, a high wing collar, and a tall beaver hat. The man
with the whiskers leaned forward over the dashboard.


FAR LANDS ACROSS 141
That night Molly asked her grandfather, as they stood
watching the engine drivers, “Is that Reverend a
preacher?” ‘
The old man laughed. “No, he never was a parson, gal.
He just looks like one. I saw him with that Wooly at the
levee at St. Louis, hawking his patent medicine. I’ll bet he
never intended to go farther than the mining camps.”
As the two lines of slow wagons bmnped over the plains,
they left the trees behind and saw small groves only close
to some rivers. At night the women had to gather dried
buffalo chips for fuel for the campfires. Molly caughtiher
breath when she first saw antelopes, and watched the herds
of buffalo in the distance. Her grandfather went out with
parties several times, charging old Dan’l, his gun, with pow-
der and ball, and came back with buffalo meat and skins.
One evening as the wagons rolled down to a river, Molly
waved happily at a grove of cottonwoods. She had seen
nothing but the endless plains for so long that trees seemed
like old friends to her. When she jumped from the wagon
she ran to the river and stood on the shore looking over, a
little scared at the thought of crossing it. Obediah went
down to the river bank too and looked intently across.
“Here,” he shouted to the other men, “I can see logs and
rafts lying up on the other shore, left by the Peakers who
crossed last. We’ll go over and bring them back. The rafts
will get those hoofers over.” He pointed to the group of
foot travelers and pushcart men who had joined them
when the wagons had caught up with them several days
before. “And we can lash the logs on the wagons to float
them over. But first we’ll have to caulk up the cracks
again.”


142 THE GOLDEN FLASH
The men with horses swam them over and brought back
the logs and rafts, but when Obediah got the tar and
turpentine buckets from the wagon, where they hung on
the sides, to caulk the cracks, jed slouched over, grum-
bling. He was followed by some of the other Peakers, who
scowled at Obediah.
“I could swim the wagon over without all this cussed
time and work spent on caulking and lashing logs,”
muttered jed, spitting a stream of brown on the grass.
_ “Maybe you could,” said Obediah, “but you’d be taking
an all-fired chance of sinking her. This is the deepest river
we’ve crossed, and it’s got the swiftest current.” He
pointed to a branch swirling downstream and tumed to
Mr. Adams thoughtfully, “Adams, I think it would ad-
vantage us to chain these wagons together. Keep ’em
steady.”
jed glanced at Obediah and snorted. “Oh, you do, do
you? What gives you the idea you know so much? You’ve
been trying to hog the bossing of this wagon ever since
we started out. Whose wagon is it, mine or youm?”
As Molly stared at him, white-faced, and Obediah and
Mr. Adams stood scowling, jed leaped into the, wagon,
grabbed the reins, and snapped the bull whip over the
oxen. They started downhill and splashed into the water
before the astonished crowd could make a move.
“Whoopee!” yelled jed, “Git up thar!”
“jed,” roared Obediah, “come back here! You can’t
make it. That wagon’s too rickety.” But it was too late, for
the wagon was well out in the stream and was filling with
water. Obediah flung himself into the river. The wagon
swung &I'0r1Il(l at a crazy angle, downstream, dragging the


FAR LANDS ACROSS 14']
can get a job mending hamess, even with a busted leg.
And in the summer we’ll start for Califomy again.”
But that night they sat close about the fire, and not even
Grandpap talked. Molly looked fearfully at the darkness,
thick as ink beyond the firelight, and tried hard not to
think of redskins. Several times, just before reaching the
river, they had glimpsed Indians on the horizon, riding
slowly along, and once had seen a line of statuesque figures
watching them from the distance. These were fierce
Comanches, who wouldn’t attack a wagon train on the
crowded trail. But two lonely whites, and one of them in-
jured? That was different. Molly stole a look at Grandpap
and saw that his hand rested firmly on old Dan’1.
“What was that?” Molly stiffened with terror at a sound
from across the river. It was a rattling and jangling. Obe-
diah sat tensely, gim raised. Then they heard a hoarse
voice bellow across the stream:
“Hey, over there! Be you there?
‘Obediah shouted back, “Yes, who are you?”
“Wooly, Carter’s bullwhacker,” came the answer. Molly
and Grandpap stared at each other, dumfounded.
In a few moments the teamster slouched up to them.
Grandpap held old Dan’l ready and aimed at the man.
“Put down the The teamster’s sheeplike face came
into the firelight. “Carter sent me with his wagon to git
you and bring you up. We’ll cross the river at daylight.
Him and the Reverend are putting the wheels on that en-
gine, a piece up the trail.”
Molly looked at Grandpap, and Grandpap looked at
Molly. But Wooly was already stretched out by the fire,
and so they rolled in their blankets and went to sleep.
7’


FAR LANDS ACROSS I49
flicking a whip over the backs of the slow oxen. Lance
Carter mounted, and Obediah leaned out to shout:
“Much obliged, Carter. I hope your engine will make it
all right on her own wheels.”
The gambler nodded, and then, as Molly tlnust her
head out of the wagon and smiled at him, he raised one
eyebrow and called out to her, “Maybe she will, and
maybe she won’t, Miss Pigtails. It’s all in the tum of the
cards.” .
That day they passed a whole crew of disgruntled Pike’s
Peakers, returning eastward. And in the lot was one wagon
now labeled, “Pike’s Peak—and Busted.”
It was two days later that Molly saw far ahead of them
a long line, like a narrow white-capped river.
"Look Grandpap,” she called excitedly, “it’s the wagon
train.”
From then on the trail grew more difficult. Mosquitoes
stung them, as the wagons wound along the creeks, until
Molly’s face felt like one great red welt, and nobody could
find enough wood to make a smudge fire. They had to
sleep with covers over their heads, nearly suffocated. Mr.
Carter rode ahead of the wagon train most of the time,
but they saw him sometimes at night, when he came to
get supplies, for their wagon had to carry everything for
the three other men. Once Molly heard Carter cussing out
the Reverend for spending more time selling his pain-killer
and pills than looking after the engine.
“You double-jointed scoundrel! I’d fire you if I had
anybody else to drive my engine.”
“Well, you ain’t,” drawled the Reverend, grinning slyly
as he strolled off to the fire.



For days they traveled westward. They saw wandering
Utes and Apaches several times but were not molested by
them. But there were more and more disgusted Peakers
retuming. Then one moming Molly glimpsed ahead of
them a group of gray adobe buildings, built within walls
that looked to be two to four feet thick and at least fifteen
feet high. The heavy plank and iron gates were open, for
it was midday, and the wagons rattled into a large court-
yard guarded by a square watchtower. Molly looked up,
her eyes round with interest, to stare at the blue uniforms
of the soldiers. This was Bent’s Fort, where the ‘Indians
came south from plains and mountains to trade furs, and
<..-


FAR LANDS ACROSS 151
the traders came north from Santa Fe with their wagon
trains. The courtyard was thick with wagons, mules, goods
of all kinds. There were fierce-looking Indians, trading
buffalo robes, and buckskin-clad trappers. Soldiers went
about their business, as Peakers crowded the enclosure
and Mexicans spread their bright goods from their mule
packs.
This was the most exciting place Molly had seen. She
stood beside Grandpap and heard him talking to a soldier,
who wore the yellow scarf and wide-brimmed hat of a
cavalryman. Lance Carter strolled up to them, and the
trooper asked, jerking a thumb toward the Golden Flash:
“What’s that picture on her boiler? Why is the girl
golden?”
Molly drew in her breath sharply. That was something
she had wanted to know ever since she had first glimpsed
the engine on the railway cars. But she hadn’t wanted
to ask Mr. Carter.
He smiled, answering, “That is supposed to be King
Midas, who got his wish when he asked that everything he
touched be tumed to gold. He touched his little daughter,
you see.”
“Oh,” gasped Molly, glancing fearfully down at her red
calico skirt as if she was afraid that she had tumed into a
golden statue. The men laughed, and Grandpap grinned
at her. “Don’t get fussed up, Molly. My wishes aren’t an-
swered that easy, and if they were I wouldn’t want that
sassy tongue of yours to tmn to gold.”
Carter asked about the Indians. The trooper shrugged.
“Redskins? There’s not much danger of a real uprising
right now. The mountain tribes, the Utes, aren’t exactly


152 THE GOLDEN FLASH
peaceful, but they usually fight the plains tribes instead of
the whites. It’s only the Comanches that have given us
trouble lately. They sometimes attack small groups of
Peakers and steal their stock. Let ’em alone and watch the
stock, and they’ll let you alone.”
Carter, flicking his boot top with his riding whip, said,
“If they come too close to my horse, or my engine, they’ll
get something for their pains.” He strolled away, and
Obediah frowned but said nothing.
Next day as they rolled out of the fort and toward the
high mountains, Molly looked back at the thick walls and
wished that they could have stayed there longer, where it
seemed so safe. How long a road they still had to go, all
the way to Califomia! And who could tell what would
happen to them before they saw the “elephant.”
The road grew flinty and hilly as they climbed the
Potato Hills and passed through sagebrush as high as
their heads. johnny, the little Phelps boy, was bitten by
a rattlesnake when he wandered off into the sage, and
Molly cried and tumed away her head as the boy’s father
tied a cord tightly above the wound and sucked the venom
out. But it wasn’t long before johnny was running along-
side the wagons again, as well as ever.
Then they saw Pike’s Peak. It rose, with its cap of snow,
against a sky as bright as blue paint. The eyes of the
Peakers glittered with joy, for they all believed that they
were lucky and would find their fortunes in the mountains
to the north. At Pueblo the engine party, as it was called,
split up. Six wagons that had to have repairs laid over a
day and a night, while all of the others whipped up their
beasts and decided to make this lap of the long joruney as


FAR LANDS ACROSS 153
quickly as possible. Wooly had to put in some new spokes
in a wheel of their wagon, and the engine needed to have
an axle mended. Molly saw Mr. Carter watching the
blacksmith at Pueblo as he worked on it, and the gambler
frowned as he saw the red paint chipped, and the wheel
mended with unpainted wood.
Early next moming the wagons left the fort, followed
by the Golden Flash, with Carter riding near by. Molly
climbed down and thought that she would walk a while,
for the air was still cool. Along the trail grew the strange
plants called Spanish bayonet, or yuccas, with spiky leaves
and white flowers. On her right the arid plains stretched
away eastward, covered as far as she could see with curly
buffalo grass. And over to the left were the foothills and
the mountains, with Pike’s Peak standing like a sentinel
to the weary travelers. The little party joumeyed into the
foothills, until the landmark peak was behind their left
shoulders and they entered a gulch.
This was a cool green place, with fragrant spruce and
pine growing along a swift stream of clear water. The
gulch led westward for a time, and then tumed north into
the hills. The wagons drew up under a high bluif, where
a rocky trail led steeply to a plateau. The Reverend drove
the engine to one side and left it near the stream. The
travelers gathered around a big fire, to prepare their
dinner, and as Molly worked she took deep drafts of the
cool mountain air. Obediah sat near the fire, and Mr.
Carter dropped down there beside him.
Molly tumed her head as she heard a little rustling in
the bushes and gasped. Three brown savages had calmly
waded across the stream and were standing staring at the


154 THE GOLDEN FLASH
fire engine. The men and women of the party drew silently
together, and the men reached for their guns. Molly could
catch a glimpse of three ponies behind the bushes and
wondered how the Indians had come so silently that they
had not been heard. They must have crept up, leading
their horses. Molly felt her heart thump violently in her
chest. She saw Mr. Carter, on his feet now, watching in-
tently as the Indians approached the engine.
“What’s going on, Molly?” barked Grandpap grufily. He
was behind a wagon and couldn’t see the engine.
“Indians,” gasped Molly, “over by that engine.”
“How many and what-kind?” snapped Obediah.
“Three, but I don’t know what kind. They left their
ponies on the other side of the creek and are looking at
the contraption.”
Grandpap sighed in relief. “If they got down off their
ponies and are just a-looking at that thing it’s all right.
They’re friendly. But we had better get all our stock in-
side the wagon corral tonight and post a strong guard.
They may have come to see how many oxen and mules
we’ve got, so they can make off with them later.”
He twisted around toward Mr. Adams, who was load-
ing his rifle. “Adams, don’t rile those savages. If they’re
friendly, give ’em a poke of sugar as a present. We’ll post
a heavy guard tonight.”
Hank Adams nodded. “Good advice, Hawks. That’s
what we’ll do. But I don’t like it just the same. This is a
dangerous spot, in the gulch. They could shoot down at
us from the bluffs.”
He moved over toward the engine, and Molly followed.
just as they reached the group they saw the three Indians


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move silently forward, their eyes fascinated by the sight
of the glittering red and gold thing. One young brave, with
more assurance than the others, stepped closer and
reached out a brown hand, touching the golden picture
of King Midas.
A gun barked sharply, violently. The Indians sprang
across the creek to their ponies.
As the sound of their horses’ hoofs died out, Grandpap
roared, “You fool! You dad-blamed omery idiot! Shooting
at friendly savages! They’ll massacre us.”
“I didn’t hit him,” said Carter, shrugging. “I fired to
scare them away.” He went over to have his engine moved
closer to the other wagons, throwing back over his shoulder
contemptuously, “They won’t come back.”


‘§\”$ \y‘‘j
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hitch their oxen, while Molly ran for the wagon and for
Tabitha, to pack up. She glanced over her shoulder and
saw Carter talking to Wooly and the Reverend.
Wooly was growling through his curly white whiskers,
“You can stay here with it if you have a mind to. But the
Reverend and me—we are going up with the wagons.
I’ve crossed to Califomy a many times, and I say it’s
7’
dangerous here.
Molly stopped in her tracks to watch, for she had never
seen such white rage on anybody’s face as she saw now
on the gambler’s. Then Carter’s tight muscles began to
relax, his face smoothed out, and he shrugged.
“All right, it’s all in the tum of the cards, and the


FAR LANDS ACROSS 159
still on the steep trail, “Come on, men, step lively. Get
here—fast.”
Molly was too paralyzed to nm when Grandpap shouted
at her, “Go get in the wagon, gal.” The last wagon was
coming up now, with the owner snapping his whip over
the oxen, yelling at them at the top of his lungs. They made
it. The wagon lurched around the top boulder and rattled
across to the others.
The engine! Molly stared down, her nails biting into
her pahns. The engine was starting up. Around the gulch
swept a band of Indians, and the air was split with their
hideous war cries. Molly clapped her hands over her ears
and watched in horror. The oxen were struggling upward,
with Carter and the Reverend on either side. The Rev-
erend was cracking a long bull whip, and Carter was
yelling them on. The engine rocked sideways, once almost
tuming over.
Molly heard her own voice shouting, “Oh, hurry. Oh,
hurry.” It sounded strange in her ears, as if it belonged
to somebody else.
“Hold your fire,” shouted Adams again. “VVait till they
attack.”
The engine was at the top of the straight steep part
of the trail, just before it curved around between boulders.
The Indians bunched at the foot of the trail, reining in
their horses sharply. Molly saw Mr. Carter give a long
look upward.
“You can make it!” bellowed Obediah. “Come on.”
Molly felt a cold shiver run down her back. If they
hadn’t come up they would be dead by now, all of them.
And it looked as if they didn’t have a chance up here


1
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either, for they couldn’t hold off that many Indians, even
in the open. Down below the Indians were staring in
amazement at the engine, poised above them. What was
Carter doing? Why didn’t he come on? He and the Rev-
erend were tmhamessing the oxen. Now the beasts were
free and struggling up the trail. The two men held the
engine pole with all their strength. A brave let out a
savage yell, flomished his gun in the air, and started his
pony up the trail.
“Ready. Let her go!” yelled Carter.


FAR LANDS ACROSS 161
They gave the Golden Flash a mighty push. Down it
rolled, faster and faster, its gold glittering. The horses
reared up, terrified, and the Indians gave a wild howl
of fright. The brave on the trail was thrown to the ground
as his pony bolted with the others for the mouth of the
gulch.
Crash! The Golden Flash turned a little sideways and
struck a boulder at one side at the bottom of the trail.
Molly whirled around to see the Reverend and Carter
standing near her, staring down at it. Two wheels of the
engine spun madly, then slower and slower. The other
wheels were smashed to splinters on the rock. Lying
against the engine was the body of the dead Indian. In
the distance Molly could hear the pounding hoofs of the
ponies, growing fainter and fainter. And below, looking up
straight into the sun, was majestic, sad-faced King Midas
and his perpetually smiling, golden princess.
Molly spoke through stiff lips to Lance Carter, who
looked grimly at the wreckage of his plans. “Why did
you wreck your wonderful engine? You could have gotten
it up. Grandpap held a bead on that Indian.” .
He smiled slowly, and one eyebrow rose as he said,
“Thought it would throw the redskins in a fit, and get
rid of them for good. There were too many for us. Oh, I
know—we might have held them off up here and made
it to Denver all right. What’s the difference? It’s all in
the tum of the cards.” He walked away and was sur-
rounded by the other men who were awkwardly thanking
him.
“Get going, folks,” wamed Obediah, as he was helped
to his wagon. “The savages might take a notion to try


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time—ah!” His teeth gleamed as if in anticipation of the
gold Pablo hoped to dig up.
Big-Foot spat disgustedly on the grass. “Ya, we were
almost rich. We panned all summer, got nothing. Then
you talked me into coming south to Santa Fe for the
winter, where you could be warm, and Walker and Riley
took our claim and struck it rich before we had left Den-
ver. Let’s get going. We’ll have to get jobs down there,
to make enough to grubstake us for next spring.” His big
mouth closed, as if astonished that so many words had
come out of it at one time, and he went to get his burro.
Pablo, always quicker on his feet, got his donkey ready
and was at the bluff first, calling, “Here is a trail down-
ward. Shake the foot, Big-Foot. We will descend our-
selves into the gulch from here.”
The big man and the little man, leading two pack
v


170 THE GOLDEN FLASH
burros, walked over to the edge of the bluif and found
a steep trail down between boulders. Pablo went first,
placing his feet carefully, shouting to his donkey, “Do
not slide down on my back, Golondrino. Si, si. Remember,
I go first. You go second.”
As Golondrino descended second his hoof dislodged a
stone, which hit the little man a whack on the leg. He
bounced up into the air and came down shaking a fist,
screaming:
“You throw a stone at me, Golondrino! You bite the
hand that feeds you! M uy malo, very bad—you ungrateful
beast.”
The donkey, unable to go on down because of the
furious little man in his path, braced his hoofs among the
stones, raised his head, and emitted a loud, “Heeeee-haw!
Heee-haw! Heee-haw!” The raucous bray rolled in waves
of earsplitting noise across the gulch.
Pablo’s angry face spread itself into a wide smile. Over
white teeth, his little mustache curled upward, and his
eyes snapped with pleasure. He climbed up a few steps
and patted the burro tenderly on his gray nose, mur-
muring, “Ah, for your beautiful song I can forgive you,
Golondrino, my little swallow.”
Big-Foot Nick, with his enormous boots planted se-
curely on the top of the trail, bellowed down, “Pablo, get
going. You and your donkey! Ya. At this rate we won’t
get to your Santa Fe before snow flies.”
As Big-Foot came down the trail, which curved aro1md
big stones and ended in a steep, straight slope to the gulch,
he saw Pablo standing at the foot staring at a strange
object lying against a boulder at one side.


THE LITTLE SWALLOW 171
“Big-Foot,” shouted Pablo excitedly, “see what my
little swallow has found! I do not know what it -is, but
it glitters in the sun like a golden dream.”
Big-Foot pricked up his ears at the world “gold” and
moved down faster. He peered curiously over Pablo’s head
at a queer contraption lying on its side, with two wheels in
the air, and two smashed under it. It was large, and bright
red, for; all its scratched paint and dirt, and it had an odd
golden picture on its side, surrounded with golden roses.
“What you think it is?” asked the little Mexican.
“Some kind of wagon, ya,” answered the Swede slowly,
pointing to the wheels.
Pablo turned his head from side to side in bewilder-
ment, as he walked from one end of the contraption to
the other, staring at the golden pictme.
“That looks like the pictures in the Church of Saint
Cecilia, in my village in Mexico. You think she’s a church
something or other?”
The big Swede frowned until his brows ahnost touched
his nose.
“Ya, she might be.” He leaned over and touched the
boiler. “But what’s this?” He squatted down and pulled
open the firebox door. “Looks like a place to build a
fire.” ~
The little Mexican leaped forward and poked his head
into the firebox. Drawing it out so suddenly that he cracked
his skull resoundingly against that of his friend, he danced
up and down, yelling, holding his head with his hands.
Then he smiled.
“Si, si. Now I know. That is a stove. A great, beautiful
stove such as they use in the palaces of Mexico City.”



THE LITTLE SWALLOW 173
saw with astonishment that his companion had an idea
growing in his brain, slowly but surely, like a pumpkin
in spring earth.
“That stove ought to be worth something, if we could
fire it up. Ya. If we could get those two broken wheels
fixed? If we could take it to a town? If we could sell it
to that new hotel they’re going to put up in Denver? Ya.”
He sw_ung' around, his mind made up. “I’m a carpenter.
I can make wheels out of that scrub oak over there, and
axles too. We could hitch the burros to her and take her
to Denver. That new hotel would pay us enough to grub-
stake us for another claim.”
Pablo dashed over to him. “Carambal Muy bien. Good
for you, smart boy. How long will it take you?”
“Maybe a few weeks. I’ll start now.”
The little Mexican’s face fell. “A few weeks! But this
is September. I do not like the mountain cold.” Then
he smiled again. “But you can do it faster than that. We
will get it to Denver before snow falls. I will unpack
the grub.”
Big-Foot got out his saw and axe, and prowled around
looking for good straight tree trunks, while Pablo un-
packed their supplies and frying pans, which also served
as gold-washing pans when they were prospecting, and
built a fire. From a clump of scrub oaks came the rhyth-
mical sound of chopping. Pablo laid their bedding rolls
beside the fire and sang a gay song about a Mexican
caballero as he mixed up the flour, saleratus, and water
for their pone. As Big-Foot came back and sat down to
strip the bark from his trees, Pablo called to him, “Indian-
bone Gulch. That is what we call this place.”






ii
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$ 1
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stove to Denver. I do not want to travel with frozen feet.
Do not take so long finding your spokes.”
And then it rained, a slow cold drizzle that soaked the
men to the skin and made it impossible to keep a fire
going. Pablo looked, under his poncho, like a miserable
chicken huddled inside its bunched-up feathers. He no
longer sang, but only mumbled to his Golondrino, in an
unhappy undertone. Big-Foot caught some words, how-
ever, that sounded to him like, “stubbom Swede, mule-
headed, dough-foot,” as well as Spanish that he couldn’t
understand but could guess. Then the wind began to blow.
Great gusts swept down the gulch from the Rockies, driv-
ing the rain into their faces like sharp cold needles.
Pablo sloshed over to Big-Foot, yelling, “Caramba! Do
I stay here and drown by the little act of opening my
mouth? Do I grow web feet like a duck? If you do not


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up half of the house, for they had built it around the fire
engine.
Big-Foot was very, very thorough. For long periods of
time he would sit and stare at the broken spokes and
splintered wooden rims lying on the earth floor of the
shanty, cogitating on the best means of repairing them.
Then he would pick up the iron tires and gaze at them.
He had supported himself for years doing odd jobs of
carpentry when other means of making a living failed,
and so canied his saw, hammer, brace, and bit with him.
Then he had to make wooden pegs for fitting the spokes
into the rims, for he had no nails.
Pablo kept prodding him with remarks such as, “Why
do We not cany the stove on our backs to that new hotel
to go up at Denver? That would be quicker than your
making of wheels.”
But if Big-Foot heard him he gave no sign, but only


THE LITTLE SWALLOW 179
“Snow!” he shouted, dismayed. “Big-foot, come look!
It snows, and we are not yet ready to drag the stove to
Denver.”
“Ya,” muttered the Swede, “ya, it snows. But what’s a
little snow? I will soon be finished with the wheels.”
But instead of speeding up his work the big fellow
seemed only to grow slower and slower, until the excitable
little Mexican felt as if he would burst a blood vessel just
by watching him. He went up to him, ‘holding out his
hands imploringly, moaning:
“It grows freezing cold here, amigo. Hurry, speed the
work, pronto. Do not you know what the word faster
means?”
“Ya,” said Big-Foot amiably, “ya, faster means quicker.
But fitting the spokes to the hub takes time. I will hurry.”
Then he squatted on his heels and stared for a long time
at the stove. “Now what would that long hose be for?”
Pablo spread his hands out despairingly. “I do not know
what that long hose is for. But I know that I shiver and
shake with the cold.”
The big Swede pursed his lips, then nodded. “Ya, she
is a stove. I will build a fire.”
Pablo rushed about gathering firewood. Big-Foot made
another smoke hole in the roof over the engine stack and
carefully laid the fire in the boiler. When it blazed up and
began to warm the shanty, Pablo smiled and rubbed his
hands together, and Big-Foot went back to his work.
But after a time the little Mexican got tired of sitting
around. He talked incessantly of Santa Fe and the beau-
tiful Mexican girls in the market place, of the warm sun-
shine, and the juicy fruits for sale. Big-Foot said nothing,


"rm': LITTLE SWALLOW 181
white flakes scattered down from the cold sky and piled
against the sagging doorway, drifting undemeath the
poncho Pablo had hung there. And still Big-Foot worked
on the wheels, and hammered and sawed away. One mom-
ing they heard a hoarse noise and looked up to find
Golondrino’s chilly nose thrust around the poncho.
“Ah, my poor little swallow,” cried Pablo, leading the
burro into the shelter. “And the patient Ole, he shall come
in to warm himself, too.”
Big-Foot turned and bellowed at his companion, “Now
you bring the donkeys into the house, do you? How can
we stay in here?”
“Si,si,” murmured Pablo soothingly, “the quiet creatures
will stand to one side. We can roll up here beside the warm
golden stove at night.”
So then Pablo sat and stared at the comer of the shanty,
where he had taken out a little earth. He couldn’t look
at the slow motions of the Swede and not feel as if ants
were crawling all over him, for the thought of going to
Santa Fe was like a beautiful dream.
“Why did I agree to stay for the fixing of this stove?”
he groaned. “It might make us some money, yes, but what
will be the good of it if we stay here until we freeze? I
had trouble enough persuading the Big-Foot Nick to go
south to Santa Fe for the winter. Now how will I get him
there at all?”
As he gazed disconsolately at the small hole, which he
had failed to fill in again, in the comer of the shanty,
Pablo saw that a stone was showing through the earth.
He waited until his companion had left the shanty to look
for another straight sapling, and then he went to work.



fists. He opened his wide mouth and a bellow like that of
a bull roared forth, shaking the walls of the shack.
“Ya, a thickheaded Dutchman, am I? Ya, a great stupid
fool?”
His fist shot out in a blow that would have knocked
the little man through the wall—if he had been in the
same spot when the fist got there. But he wasn’t. He side-
stepped nimbly, leaping over the almost completed wheels
and axles, jumping wildly up and down, squealing and
yelling, “Si, si. I am the small man. But I wring your neck
in one twist, like the rooster for the fiesta feast. Si.”
Big-Foot lunged at him, touched his flying jacket, and
missed him. Pablo got in a blow on the Swede’s jaw, but


184 THE GOLDEN FLASH
the big fellowdid not even wince. Pablo leaped aside, and
then Big-Foot boomed, “Got you in a comer now. I’ll make
pulp out of you, ya.”
“Ca-ca-caramba! I think you will, too,” said the trembling
Pablo, wedged into a comer of the shanty, beyond the hole
he had dug, his back pressed against the logs. The enor-
mous Swede, his face purple with rage, reached for him
with hands that looked to the Mexican like bone crushers.
Pablo’s popping black eyes were fixed as if hypnotized
on the big man’s violent face, and so he did not see a
black nose and a pair of gray ears thrust inquiringly
around the poncho. It was warm inside. The burro edged
himself in and tumed around. just at that moment Nick’s
big boot jabbed him on the leg. Golondrino heaved out
with a sharp kick, which landed square in the seat of
the big Swede’s pants, as he advanced on Pablo.
“Ahhhh!” bellowed Big-Foot Nick as he pitched forward
and landed, head first, in the hole‘that Pablo had dug in
the ground. Pablo’s breath came in a great gasp of relief,
then he doubled up with laughter, until the tears ran
weakly down his brown cheeks and his tiny mustache
trembled with glee. There, for a long moment, was Big-
Foot, stuck in the hole, with the seat of his trousers up
and his great feet kicking the ground. Then the little
Mexican jumped nimbly aside as his companion yanked
his head out. Pablo thought it safe to back to the other
side of the golden stove and peer around the smokestack.
But Big-Foot’s dive into the hole had cooled him off. Un-
demeath a coating of heavy black sand his face was
resuming its normal pink color, and his eyes looked quiet
again.


186 THE GOLDEN FLASH
dug and washed out the dirt, and for the next three days
until there wasn’t room to move around the holes. Then
they decided that the foolish stove was in the way. Pablo
no longer cared about the cold. He dug so furiously that
he sweated as in summer heat. The wheels were finished
now, so Big-Foot hastily got his tools, and this time he
really did hurry. He hammered at a great rate, while his
partner dug and panned out the golden grains from the
dirt behind him.
When the wheels were on, the two men pulled down
one side of the shanty, hitched the burros to the Golden
Flash, hauled her outside and some distance away down
by the creek. There they left her, her new wheels look-
ing clean and fresh on the snowy ground, and her red
and gold paint dirty and tamished above them.
A week later Pablo led La Golondrino to the top of
the bluff, and there, beside the scaffold where lay the
bones of the dead Indian, he mounted his burro. With the
nugget and a bag of gold dust in his pocket, he was off
to Denver to buy supplies and register their claim.
Down below, in Indianbone Gulch, Big-Foot Nick dug
and panned in the shelter of the makeshift shanty. He
raised his head and a slow, wide split his big face
from ear to ear. From the northward trail he heard the
raucous voice of the “little swallow,” lifted in a loud,
“Heeeeee-haw! Heeeeee-haw!”


188 THE 001.012»: FLASH
with shouts and curses and songs and the sound of tools by
day. The men who had made the first strike had the best of the
claims, and dug out enough gold that spring to exhaust the
small yield and leave for better fields. Nobody else had found
much more than enough to buy grub at the little town which
had sprung up at the entrance of the gulch, and which pro-
vided a trading center for all the new strike locations. Then
strikes were made in adjacent canyons, and the men left this
one. One day the place rang with noise, and the next day it
was left to the birds and the squirrels--and the deserted
engine.




T wAS Sunday, on a bright spring day in 1860 as a
I dusty prairie schooner rmnbled into the little mining'
town of Sweden, m westem Kansas Territory jude
Abbott, with his flaming red braided beard flopping on
his red flannel shirt, cracked a long bull whip like pistol
shots over the backs of the weary oxen. His wife, Faith,
sitting stiflly on the seat beside him, peered out from
Und6I‘ her blue sunbonnet brim somewhat fearfully at
the small town built against the foothills of the Rocky
Mountains. She called to a tall, freckle-faced boy who
walked alongside the wagon: ,
“Sammy, do you see any place for us to stay?”
“Looks like a hotel _up the street there a piece, Ma.
Anyway, there’s a longer hitching rail there than any-
wheres else.”
From a crate tied to one side of the wagon came a
191


192 THE GOLDEN FLASH
clucking of hens, and then a long “Cock-a-doodle-do!”
Sam grinned around at a skinny red rooster’s head and
neck thrust between the slats.
“Hold your noise, Nebuchadnezzar; we’re most ready
to stop.”
This was a real mining town all right. jude Abbott’s
face was swathed in a grin as he saw miners’ supplies
stacked up on the plank porch before a general store, and
watched the men swinging little bags of gold dust as they
bought shirts and boots and hats from hawkers and auc-
tioneers along the wooden sidewalks. But Faith’s eyes
clouded, for she was looking at the log and plank shanties,
daubed hastily in the chinks with mud, and at the piles
of trash and garbage that littered the small yards and the
street. Pigs dashed squealing between the hoofs of mples
and oxen.
They passed a larger house with the moumful strains
of a hymn issuing from the open door and window. It had
a sign on the front: “Church today, and next Sunday too,
if in the meantime I do _not find new diggings.” It was
signed, “The Parson.” Faith winced as she heard raucous
voices singing in a saloon, and then the sounds of a fight
as they rattled by. just as their wagon passed the place
a hefty miner sailed through the door, propelled by sev-
eral booted feet, and landed in the dusty street. Nobody
paid any attention as he scrambled up, dusted himself,
and limped away.
Sam’s eye was caught by a thimble-rigger, who was
tricking the men out of their pokes of gold dust with
his little wooden thirnbles and a pea on a barrel top. Then
the boy jumped closer to the wagon as two horsemen



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galloped wildly down the street, firing six-shooters into the
air, yelling like Comanches.
With some difficulty jude drove his wagon to the hotel
hitching rail, through the crowded street. He was just
getting down from the wagon, as Sam tied the oxen to
the rail, when he wheeled around. Men were running
from all directions into the street. Sam dashed to his
father’s side as they heard a wild pounding of horse’s
hoofs coming toward the town from the foothills that rose
just beyond.
“Whoopee! Gold! I’ve struck it rich,” yelled a dirty old
man and fell off his horse in the middle of the street. More
men were pouring out of houses, yelling and bellowing


194 THE GOLDEN FLASH
toward the sound. They took up the cry, and from all sides
Sam heard howls of glee.
“Strike! New strike at Sage Creek.”
The hymn broke off in the middle of a word, and the
preacher got out ahead of his congregation, for he leaped
through the window. The excited old prospector dashed
for the claims office, and then for a supply of flour and
bacon and beans. Sam stood bewildered at the violence
and the suddenness of it all, for in the space of what
seemed to him only a few minutes the prospector was
back on his horse again and was pounding toward Sage
Creek. He was followed by a stream of men, hastily sling-
ing picks and pans and flour and beans onto their horses
or mules, onto their own shoulders.
Sam’s ears still rang with the hoarse voice of the pros-
pector, as he had climbed back on his horse, yelling,
“I’ll call it Strike-It-Rich Gulch, boys.”
Sam heard a noise at the wagon and tumed to it. Faith
was sitting on the wagon seat, staring in dismay over her
shoulder at her husband, who was throwing his tools and
some food supplies over his back.
jude’s blue eyes were blazing with excitement as he
called to his wife, “Faith, you go in the hotel and stay
there till I get back. ’T won’t be long. Girl, I’ll dig you a
pile of gold as high as that mountain over there. Sam, you
look after your ma, and the team.” He handed Faith his
wallet.
Already horses, mules, and wagons had disappeared
in a cloud of choking dust. jude joined the mob of men
starting off on foot. Sam and Faith watched his red shirt
and red head until they could no longer see it. Suddenly


196 THE GOLDEN FLASH
to see a man, and a wiry little girl of about his own age,
whose hair was cropped very short so that it stood out
in a dark mop around her face.‘ It was her voice berating
the hotelkeeper, and she was now pounding on the table
with a small but energetic fist so hard that the old fellow’s
feet came down with a thump. He tried to regain his
balance, tipped sideways, and his chair slipped out from
under him. As he hoisted himself to his feet he mumbled
at her in an undertone. Faith and Sam couldn’t help
laughing, and the man behind them chuckled too, though
he spoke reprovingly to the girl.
“Now, hold your fire, daughter, hold your fire. What
you are declaiming so eloquently is true, so true. But it
will do you no good to yell it at Bamaby here. I shall
write an editorial today about the outrageous high prices
and the deplorable condition of this town.” He tumed
to Sam. “You may read it in the Sweden Weekly Bugle,
young man, tomorrow.”
“Oh, no, he won’t, Pa, for the Bugle won’t be printed to-
morrow, and you know it. Spike left for Sage Creek with
the other fly-by-nights. Without our printer you and I
can’t get the paper out for three days.”
The editor straightened his black string tie over the high
collar, and groaned. “Tina, you are right again. I had for-
gotten that Spike took out with those other idiots. But
we will do it, girl. My editorials are all that make this a
decent town. They must be printed.”
Tina whirled around to Sam’s mother, who smiled at
her, for Faith Abbott was overjoyed at the sight of an-
other female in this masculine town, and looked it. Tina
smiled back, with a quick grin that included Sam.


rnurn 197
She said impulsively to her father: “Papa, why can’t
this lady sleep‘ with me? My bed’s big enough, and our
house is clean. That’s more than it is here.” Her black eyes
twinkled at Sam. “He looks husky. We need a helper in
the shop.”
The man advanced with hand outstretched. “Good
idea, Tina, my girl. Good idea.” He pumped Faith’s hand
up and down, and then the hand of the surprised Sam.
“My name is Russell Gardner. This is my daughter,
Clementina. Young fellow, how would you like a job? As
Tina says, we need a new helper. I can teach you to set
type and operate the press. Your mother can stay with
Tina, and you can have Spike’s bunk in the shop.”
Sam said nothing but looked at his mother. She stared
a long moment at their new friends, then smiled warmly.
She liked their looks. The girl was impulsive, but likable,
and her father’s eyes were kind as well as intelligent. She
nodded to Sam.
“I think that is a good suggestion, son. Your grand-
father was a printer. I’ve always had a notion that you
would like printing.”
“All right, Ma—” Sam tumed to his new employer-
“but I can only work for you till my father needs me. I
reckon he will want my help later on his claim.”
“Hurray!” cried Tina. “Come on. Our house is next
to the newspaper office. Right across the street.”
Sam looked at Tina as if he had never seen anything
like her before, as indeed he never had. She wore a red
dress with bright yellow stripes around the skirt, and her
bare feet skipped around so fast that it made him quite
dizzy. Sam was used to his mother, very neat, and very


FAITH 205
Bugle now, and his daughter. Ma’s taken to baking pies
for sale, and I got hired to help print the paper.”
jude scowled and snapped angrily, “You seem to be
doing all right for yourselves. But you and yom' ma won’t
have to do that long. I’ve found signs of gold here, and I
was planning to come back to get my tools and build a
sluice box to get along faster. I can use those old boards
from that broken-down lean-to up the gulch. I want to
register my claim too. Those fly-by-nights who dug up
here last year just scratched the surface. I think there’s
a vein here, if I work hard to find it. The Mexican and
the Swede struck it rich. I don’t believe they got it
all. I haven’t found much, but I’ve got hopes for this
claim.”
The two sat down to eat, and ]'ude talked about his
plans for a homemade sluice box, called a long tom, which
would wash down a lot of dirt at once, leaving the flakes
of gold caught with sand in the riflles of the box. Sud-
denly Sam pointed toward a gleam of crimson that he
could see in a clump of bushes.
“What’s that, Pa?”
His father shrugged. “Oh, that’s just an old fire engine
somebody dumped down here. They say that's what the
Swede and the Mexican were using for a stove when they
found a nugget as big as a potato. Maybe it wasn’t that
big, but that’s what they say.”
Sam went over to pull the branches of the bushes aside
and stare in amazement at the engine.
“ ‘The Golden Flash.’ It’s kind of rusty and dirty, but
it’s got fresh-made wheels on it; leastways they are newer
than the rest of the contraption. It’s on a slope here. If I


FAITH 209
.w”~
was unhitching the oxen when he heard a wild yell from
Sam and looked up.
“Yippee!” yelled Sam, “I’ve done it, Pa.”
Jude grinned, then cocked his head to one side. “Now
you tum her off, boy, and stir your stumps back to town.
Your ma’ll think a grizzly has got you by now. And you
promised to get that paper out. I'll work it till you get
back.”
Sam reluctantly shut off the engine, wound the hose
back on its hooks with great care, and started to town.
He heard jude calling to him, “Come back soon as you
can, Sam. We’re going to make a gold strike here that’ll
make the Golondrino Mine look like piker’s stuff.”
Sam’s thoughts were swirling with engines and huge
piles of gold. As he loped into the shanty town of Sweden,
he found he was starting to run in his excitement. He de-
cided that he would tell Mr. Gardner that he was quitting.
They could get along without him. He dashed up the steps
and into the house, calling:
“Ma! Ma, where are you?”
Suddenly Tina popped out of his mother’s room and
closed the door gently. Sam’s next shout died on his lips,
for Tina’s whirlwind movements were gone. Her dark
clouds of hair framed a face as white as milk, and she
spoke quietly, soberly.
“Sam, your ma’s been taken sick, very sick. Pa says it’s
mountain fever, and that the filthy conditions of this town
are responsible. He’s out now looking for old Doc Turnip-
seed. Trouble is, if the Doc’s sober he’s in the diggings, and
if he’s in town he’s drunk. But Pa says if you can catch
Doc sober he’s the best sawbones in all Kansas Territory.”


212 THE GOLDEN FLASH
the table, and without knowing that he had slept at all he
opened dazed eyes to see pale light filtering in through
the kitchen window. Suddenly he heard a hoarse voice,
a sober voice, snapping:
“What’s the matter here? Who’s sick?”
jude and the editor grabbed the old doctor, who reached
for his bag, and hustled him into the bedroom. Sam
clenched his hands together and waited wordlessly. Pres-
ently the door opened again and jude and Mr. Gardner
came out. They said nothing but slumped down on kitchen
chairs to wait too. After a time that seemed endless to
Sam, the door opened again, and the old doctor, with his
little white tufts of hair standing on end, appeared.
He nodded, saying calmly, “She’s going to be all right.
F ever’s going down fast now. Keep her in bed, and feed
her soup, chicken soup.” He rolled out of the front door
and disappeared toward the other end of town.
A great sigh seemed to escape Sam and jude at the
same moment. They all got up and went creaking on the
toes of their boots into the bedroom. There lay Faith,
pale and with her eyes dark smudges.
But she smiled at them and said weakly, “Lor, I’m just
like a greased pig in fair time.”
Tina laughed. Then Sam laughed. Then jude gave Sam
a clap on the shoulder that sent him staggering forward a
step. Then jude laughed, a joyous roar that brought an-
other smile to Faith’s face. But Tina hustled them back out
again and told them all to go to the shop while she cooked
some breakfast.
In a few days Faith was able to sit up in bed and eat
more of the chicken broth that Tina brought her. Every


r-".-urn 213
other morning ]ude killed one of their hens, and they all
rejoiced that Faith was getting well so rapidly. Since Tina
was so busy in the house, Sam went back to the newspaper
shop and worked hard all day with Mr. Gardner. The
editor was saying again, “Thoughts are crowding me,
boy, thoughts are crowding me.”
The thoughts came to Sam for setting up in type, and
he read the editorials with interest. There was a fiery one
on the unsanitary conditions of the town, one on the fact
that the buildings were ramshackle, and the miners care-
less, and that the place could be a firetrap. There was
one called, "Why Not Build for the Future?” foretelling
that, unless the people of the town got down to hard work
and building and planning instead of this wild scrambling
around for a few flakes of gold, they would soon have
nothing here but another ghost town.
Sam frowned when he read that and looked across at
jude, who was getting restless and morose now, with the
gold fever gnawing at him again. Sam knew that Mr. Gard-
ner thought there was no real vein of gold in this region.
Once he had asked the editor why he came here if he
didn’t want to prospect for gold himself.
“Boy,” exclaimed the editor, “I hauled my press out
here in a wagon behind teams of oxen because I like
new places. I wanted to start a newspaper here. This is a
fine country, best in the world, I believe.?’T won’t be long
till we’re part of the United States, and have schools and
real churches and courts of law. There’s a sawmill already
built up north of here, put up last year. As for the diggings
—not for me. I don’t chase butterflies, however bright
they gleam.”


2l4 THE GOLDEN FLASH
But now Sam saw jude getting restless with the itch
to get back to the diggings. Sam was getting restless him-
self. He had wanted all of his life, he thought, to have
some kind of contraption to tinker with himself. Now he
had it—the Golden Flash.
One day Faith was at the dirmer table again, and look-
ing first at Sam and then at jude. They were eating the
last hen, which Tina had cooked with dumplings at Faith’s
direction. jude tumed to Sam and spoke gruflly. “Sam, old
Nep has to go next. Doc said to give your ma chicken, and
old Nep’s the last one we’ve got.”
Sam bit his lip hard and tumed his head away. Nep
seemed like a member of the family. But he said nothing.
He just stopped eating the chicken dumpling.
“Go on, eat your dinner, sormy,” said his mother, smil-
ing. ‘Tm well now. I’ve had all the chicken I want to eat
for quite a spell to come. We’ll eat some of the bear
meat Poky Moss is selling over at the store, or rabbits.
We couldn’t eat old Nep. He’s too tough.”
Sam picked up his fork again, his appetite suddenly re-
tumed.
“And jude,” said Faith quietly, “you and Sam better
get back to that mine before somebody jumps your claim.
Sam’s itching to start that engine again.”
Early next moming as they were getting ready to leave
in the wagon, Sam said to Mr. Gardner, “I’m sorry to
leave you, sir. But I reckon Tina can do as well as I can
on the paper.”
The editor pursed his lips, and then shrugged. “You’d
make a good printer, boy. I’m sorry to lose you.” He
turned on his heel and went to the shop.


murn 217
"Yes, son. We’ve got no way to haul that contraption
to Oregon.” He pulled himself heavily to his feet. “But
let’s give her a last good try today. We can drive in town
tonight.” .
Sam scrambled around the rocks, gathering more wood
for the fire. He stoked up the firebox and set it going with
his flint and steel, watching miserably as the steam pres-
sure mounted. *
His father looked over at him, calling, “You wash down
all day today, Sam. I’ll do the diggings.”
Sam stared so hard into the rifiie box looking for the
glittering specks that his eyes hurt. It wasn’t gold that he
cared about so much as keeping his engine. He had
worked and sweated to get her going, and been pretty
smart about figuring it out too, and now he had to leave
the Flash to the rain and sun to ruin. He sighed and
tumed the nozzle into the sluice box again.
jude, who was a little farther down the creek toward
the east, raised his head suddenly, listening. Sam listened
too. Horse’s hoofs were pounding up the gulch, clattering
wildly on the stones. They saw a flash of red and yellow,
and that was Tina, her hair flying and her vivid skirts
billowing on the back of a black horse. She was shouting
something as she pulled the horse to an abrupt stop.
“VVhat did you say?” bellowed jude. “On fire! Town’s
on fire.”
Sam sniffed. He realized now that there had been a
smell of buming in his nostrils for a while, but he had
paid no attention to it.
“Look!” shouted Tina, pointing to the hill that stood
between them and the town. Soft gray smoke rose above it
_~



and disappeared in the clear sky. ‘Those drunken miners
knocked over a lamp in one of the saloons. Pa wants you
to help move his press. Looks as if the whole town’s
going.”
jude made a dive for the wagon, and the oxen and
the hamess. Sam stood, looking rather foolish, holding
the nozzle of the hose with the water streaming out on
the ground around his feet. Suddenly he seemed to come
to life, as an idea hit him.
“Pa,” yelled Sam, “Pa, we’ll take the engine.”
He dropped the hose, ran to tum off the valve, and
then grabbed the horse’s bridle from Tina’s hand, as she
stood beside it.
“Pa,” yelled Sam again, “can we hitch this horse to the
engine?”


FAITH 221
“Are you all right, Ma?” called Sam.
Faith smiled through a layer of soot at him, and nodded.
“Faith,” cried jude angrily at her, “what in tamation
did you want to risk your life for that cock for?”
“We brought him all the way from the States," shouted
his wife, “and he looks like home to me.”
jude shook his head furiously.
“Women! Women are the unlikeliest critters that ever
walked the green globe.” He wheeled around, “Sam, you
and Tina’ve put out her pa’s shed fire.”
“Can we get that engine up to the street to tum the hose
on my hotel and saloons across the street?” yelled a man
in Sam’s ear.
Sam shook his head. “No, we can’t do it. To shoot the
water we’ve got to have this other hose in the creek.”
He walked as far as he could stretch the hose and kept
the water trained on the buildings on this side. They had
to watch the buildings on the other side of the street bum
to crackling ruins. But they kept moving the engine along
the creek, tuming the hose on the buildings on the rear
side. The general store, which was next to the newspaper
office, was partially bumed when they got the water to
it, but they put out the flames and saved the main building.
“Look!” called Tina, grabbing Sam by the arm. He
turned to look up the street. The men were still hauling
barrels and boxes from the store, wiping their hot faces
with the backs of their hands. Everybody stopped work
and tumed' their eyes to the street too.
“Oh, the poor fellow!” gasped Faith.
Weaving down the middle of the littered street, his feet
dragging in the dust, with his high beaver hat perched


FAITH 227
wvrvv .[\"w-vv~v~ ‘ ~ _-
Iude hammering and whistling. The store had rooms be-
hind it that they could live in till jude could get time to
build a house. Sam leaned his brush broom against the
wooden counter and thought of it all . . . he was going to
school, he was going to be a printer, and he was going
to be chief fireman of the first fire department in all the
westem country. Outside jude was moving cans and boxes
around, looking them over.
“Faith,” he roared, “Faith, come here and see what
I’ve found!”
Sam and his mother ran outside. jude was holding up
a large can in one hand. In an opened box were a dozen
more of them, just alike. They were labeled, “White
Paint.” In his other hand he held a box of flower seeds.
Sam grirmed at his mother. Faith laughed.
“Lor,” she chuckled, “that sight makes me feel like the
wife of the President. I’ll live in a white house myself,
come next summer.”
Down by the creek the red and gold engine stood,
with two of its wheels in the stream. And on top of the
boiler perched a scrawny red rooster. Though it was late
aftemoon, and dawn long since past, he stretched out a
skinny neck and gave out a joyous, “Cock-a-doodle-do!”
As the sun went down behind the mountains, a warm
light deepened and spread and touched the faded picture
until the cheeks of the little golden princess caught and
held a rosy, living glow.


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