The Little Red Caboose

Ah, the humble caboose. Always a fixture on the end of freight trains for more than a century. For most of the 19th century and the first few years of the 20th, most cabooses was the home for the conductor, at least one brakeman, and occasionally a flagman. The purpose was to provide a sheltered vantage point from which these trainmen could watch the cars ahead, cook and eat their meals, and where the conductor could attack an always growing stack of paperwork. Before the era of the automatic air brakes, the engineer signaled by whistle when he needed to slow down or stop. The rear end brakeman's job was to climb over the moving train and make his way forward, turning brake wheels that rose above the car roofs. The head-end brakeman, riding the engine, would work his way rearward. They did this regardless of the weather. (How would you like to be the tallest thing on a train running through a thunderstorm?) When the train finally stopped, the flagman detrained from the caboose and walked back a prescribed distance to signal approaching trains that a stopped train was ahead. Once underway again, the caboose (or "rear end") crew would sit up in the cupola and watch for smoke from overheated wheel journals (called hotboxes) or other signs of trouble.

The name may have originated with a French or Dutch word. Originally describing a deck cabin on a sailing ship. However, railroaders, always masters of language, called it by dozens of slang names: 

Cabin car, crummy, shack, way car, brainbox, shanty, hack and of course....bobber.  

 Bobber is a generic term for any short four-wheel caboose. Many mainline and short line railroads operated similar four wheel cars around the turn of the 20th Century, as they were easy to build, cheap, and easy to maintain. The car got its name from the way it would "bob" and weave down the track. Its tracking was so atrocious that several states enacted laws prohibiting the use of bobber cabooses (although by then the railroads had already stopped buying them). By 1900 most railroads opted for a caboose with two trucks and eight wheels, much to the relief of their crew's spinal columns.

 

I've always had a fondness for bobbers. At this point I've collected six of them. Earlier this year, the Ebay store  "The Train Shop" released a really neat bobber caboose kit that I couldn't ignore. It was modeled after the the DSP&PRR (Denver South Park Pacific)'s 3 foot gauge waycars. The carbody, frame, and all parts are printed with a high quality 3D printer. The kit comes with a full interior, including benches, a coal stove, conductor's desk, coal bin and a coal scoop. For those who enjoy adding lighting to their models, there are holes strategically placed throughout the interior for wiring purposes. There's even a tiny pad and pin sitting on the desk!

The kit arrived very well packed (see, mummified) in plastic wrap. In fact, the only complaint I had was a fear that while ripping the tape off the wrap, I would break the delicate parts. However, careful planning and patience freed the kit from it's imprisonment.  

The parts were cleaned in isopropyl alcohol and rinsed with soapy water. Then, they were painted. I broke from my previous traditions and painted the car an classic red.  The interior provided so much fodder for fun decorating. Being the home away from home, I chose to make the car both a workplace, but with little touches of comfort. From a carpet on the floor (To which the conductor must raise an eyebrow whenever a brakeman plods his dirty shoes into his caboose) to drapes in the window over the conductor's desk. To some more...risque posters hanging on the wall. (1880s pin ups were so scandalous...her ankles are showing!) 

Once the car was painted and the interior pieced together, it took little to put the whole kit together with a few spots of glue. Snap some wheels and Kadee scale couplers in place. Then the car is pretty much a finished product. I did add some additional detailing. Such as the emergency chain hung on hooks on one side, and the air hoses. I also replaced the kit's brake-wheel with my preferred tichy substitute. 

The car embodies that neat whimsical look that I admire. As a kit, it was well designed, easy to put together, and the end result is magnificent. I highly recommend this car to anyone interested in 3D printed resin models.

New Locomotive! The Jarla

A sweet eBay deal netted me a new locomotive. At any given time there's four or five Bachmann New Tool 4-4-0s on the 'Bay. Now and again one appears in a price range that I can not ignore. Such was the case for this one. The model started out life as a B&O 4-4-0 in the "Royal Blue" paint. 

I liked the Royal Blue colors, and decided to keep the basic color scheme, but "W&Aize" it. The result is a striking locomotive. The model was dull-coated to a matte finish, and a slew of detail parts were added atop the re-decaling. 

 

The name "Jarla" comes from 'The Sight' book series by David Clement-Davies. An ongoing source for names for my locomotives. I left the stock DCC/Sound chip in her for the moment. Although that might change as future finances allow. She's a sharp locomotive and will look good at the head of either a mail train, or a crack passinger train.

 Hmmm....might have to work on fixing up a few passenger cars now for her to haul. 

The Outlander (W&A Story)

October 1893, Marceline Georgia


The sound of a steam whistle, low and melodic, echoed from outside the building. To dreamers and wishers, it was an age old invitation to adventure, to others simply a wake up call.

The air in the pub was thick with the scent of cigar and cigarette smoke, a physical cloud visible hanging just below the tin plated ceiling and surrounding the gas light fixtures in a hazy veil. Standing behind the great oak bar, one would find a mid-20s lioness, scruffier than average with a short bang that fell between her ears. Vitani leaned back against the great wide mirror behind the bar. Looking over her little kingdom. Grabbing a damp washcloth she began cleaning the inside of a set of recently clean but still damp glasses, then setting them up on a rack hanging above the bar to fully dry. Taking a moment for her blue eyes to drift down as she examined herself in the looking glass. A habit she had gotten into just to be sure that she looked something akin to presentable. She rose a hand to gently brush out the breast of her white cotton shirtwaist. It fit snugly against her chest. It's fabric outlining the natural curves of her torso. The young lioness didn't particularly like her job, working the counter at the tavern which was aptly named “The Watering Hole,” it made her feel trapped. Constantly seeing the many faces and hearing the many stories told by the railroaders, teamsters, and farm laborers who frequented that particular dive had the effect of seeing the word run by while she stood in place. Yet she didn't fully dislike it either, the ends of her mouth turned up in a smile as she took a breath, then turned to face the inside of the counter.

The room was a great symphony of voices mixed with an orchestra of silverware and glassware from the crowd that occupied the popular pub. It was a small establishment, purposefully kept local and out of the way, its wood paneled and newspaper-wallpapered walls known mostly to railroad and steamboat men. Vitani's time was spent between the rush of lunch and dinner, and depending on the day of the week, the madness of the evening crowd.

Being a barmaid paid well and it meant that she did not have to deal with her overbearing mother. Unfortunately it did not pay enough for her to be able to strike out on her own, a fact which she greatly lamented. Vitani had come to hate life in the time-haunted old plantation she had grown up on. Born the middle child with a perfect younger brother and an unstable mess of an older brother she found her time working in town to be all her own. Getting away from her mother's snarls made working late nights at the counter worthwhile even if it meant she was filling glasses for an unruly gathering that catcalled her behind her back.

There were, however, other incentives. One of which she found was a bright beam of light on an otherwise gray existence.

“Hiya 'Tani!” A familiar male voice called, instantly drawing the lioness's attention. “Good to see you!”

With a sly smile and a roll of her eyes Vitani finished sorting the glasses, only then sauntering over to the lanky, scruffy mutt that had called her. “Hey Scamp, good to see you're back in town. The usual?”

Scamp's triangular ears flopped forward as he plopped himself down on a bar-stool. Vitani couldn't help but eye up the handsome mongrel. Countless men came to her bar, most of whom she was friends with and had no qualms about getting chatty. However there was something different about Scamp. Perhaps it was his seemingly eternal optimism? Although some, including the lioness, would call it foolishness. He reached into a pocket on his cotton shirt and quickly produced two coins which he slapped down on the hardwood counter-top. “Yep, two glasses if you will. Just got into town an hour ago, Angel is still down in the yard cleaning up so hold her's until she gets here,” He flashed a white toothed smile, “It was a rather slick trip, if I do say so myself.”

“Which way did you guys go?” The lioness grabbed two clean glasses off the rack, and ducked one under the fountain nozzle. Her thin tan tail whipped back and forth from the seat of her black rainy daisy skirt. “North or South?”

“South, to Atlanta,” Scamp spun around in the bar-stool and leaned back against the bar, placing the back of his arms on the counter-top. “Spent the night in a hostel, then back today. If I can I plan to not leave this bar-stool for the rest of the night.”

Vitani grinned, rolling her eyes playfully before placing a glass down next to the mongrel’s open hand. She couldn’t help but feel a slight upbeat at the handsome mutt’s presence. “You're welcome to it, be nicer company then most of the rats that pop in this late. Just try not to go all blotto on me.”

“No promises,” Scamp grabbed the glass and tilted his head back, taking a quick sip. “How are things since I've been gone? Going well with your folks?”

Vitani's ears flattened and her scowl told Scamp everything. The feline's tail whipped against the back of her legs as she let out a snort. Standing back, she put a hand on each of her nicely curving hips, while her long tail rigidly hung high. “Mother's doing her usual thing, wants me to find some nice male lion with dough so she can inherit something. I think Nuka's finally lost it from working in the plantation fields. He's convinced that the mansion is haunted and claims that spirits are following him around and causing mischief. Honestly, the guy is clumsier then a bull in a china shop and I'm pretty sure he's bringing it all upon himself.” She wrinkled her nose and gave her head a little shake. “So yeah, I think I'd rather spend my time in town.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Scamp's ears flicked forward and he gave her a cheesy grin from over his shoulder. Vitani could hear his tail whipping against the back of the bar. “If nothing else, it’s nice to come back to a cool drink and a warm face,”

“Good to know I’m appreciated! Especially by someone who is willing to put up with frequenting this dump to do such.” The lioness crossed her arms over her chest and smiled, it was so hard to not admire that cute puppy face. “So, how was your trip?”

Scamp huffed, blowing his wandering bang out from in front of his face. “It went pretty well until Mom gave Angel the throttle. Just for practice you know.”

“Right, Angel has been talking about wanting to move onto engine crew at some point.” The lioness felt a slight hint of jealousy about the idea that Angel was starting to forge a better life for herself.

Scamp’s tail began to wag against the barstool. “Well, she brought the train into the yard all stretched out, set up the brakes and brought the head end to a stop. Apparently she looked at my mom and said 'Wow, I got that stopped like a pro!' and then WHAM!” With a wide grin plastered on his face the mongrel held his hands out and gave an almighty clap, mimicking the railcar couplers bunching up. “The slack rolled in and banged the locomotive so hard it tossed Angel out of the engineer’s seat. My parents were not amused.”

The lioness chuckled. Scamp had a way of showing such expression. He was so outgoing, far removed from those she usually had to associate with. From outside came the low wail of a steam whistle. The Watering Hole was located close enough to the railroad yard that it wasn't uncommon to hear the goings on from the bar. Vitani had actually worked long enough to start recognizing the individual whistles. “So, if Angel is moving up to the cab are you planning on changing ends of the train too?”

Scamp arched an eyebrow, his head tilted as if he was thinking, making one floppy ear stand up at an odd angle. “Nah, I don't think so. I like being a conductor, the money's swell and I like being in charge of the train,” He rubbed a hand on his chest and that toothy grin was back. “Did you know the conductor is actually fully in charge of the train?”

“Mmmm, is that so?” Vitani wasn't sure why, but she was blushing badly under her fur.

“Yes, indeed. It's not a job just anyone can handle, lot's of responsibility that falls on my shoulders.”

“Yeah, responsibility that you like to skirt. Right tenderfoot?”

His big ears swiveled back as Angel sauntered up to the bar. Vitani flicked one ear at the sound of Scamp's nervous laugh, despite her words, Angel’s fluffy tail was wagging playfully front the seat of her brown trousers. As she slid into the barstool next to Scamp she plopped a small notebook on the bartop. Vitani couldn't help but notice a smudge of coal dust on the blonde furred dog's cheek. No doubt a small trinket from being tossed from the engineer's seat.

“Hiyah Angel, just you know...talking shop.” The young mongrel tried some spin control however little seemed to pass Angel. Vitani turned away to fetch the two ordered glasses, but kept an eye on her two customers. She felt herself deflate slightly at Angel's presence.

“Yeah, well maybe next time you'll take responsibility and do the car count instead of leaving it to me. After-all,” She fluttered her eyelashes. “You are the conductor, the big dog in the caboose.”

“But Angel, I figured you would need to walk the train anyway. If nothing else just to be sure you didn't smash any couplers on that roll in you did. ”Angel rolled her eyes and playfully shoved Scamp hard, sending him almost falling out of the barstool.

The two railroaders laughed as Scamp pulled himself back upright. The lioness secretly loved watching the pair. Even though they were always picking on each other everyone knew that the two railroaders were very much in love. Vitani couldn't help but feel a slight envy at the chemistry they seemed to have. She had no interest in such grungy and hard work as that of the railroad. Yet it seemed like Scamp and Angel were a glow of light and warmth set before such a harsh world. Her envy though, seemed to be more towards one member of the duo than the other. As she returned with two glasses full of refreshing hard drink she silently wished she had someone like that in her own life. It would make dealing with her mother and her family far more bearable.

"Oh, Scamp, when will you learn?" She asked as she placed the glass in front of him.

Angel burst out with a gruff and happy, “Oh, I don't think he'll change anytime soon. Either way, he'll always be my tenderfoot!"

The handsome gray mongrel nodded in agreement, bringing the glass back to his lips. As much as she wished she could stay and spend time with these two the lioness could see another customer finishing his glass, while yet another saddled up on another barstool. She sighed, her maw wrinkling and ears flicking back. It was going to be another long day.


*********

The sun had long vanished from behind the Appalachian range that ringed the town of Marceline when Vitani started her way home. Flipping the sign on the front door to 'closed' she plucked a fob-watch, sans chain, from her breast pocket and sighed. Another day wasted behind the bar counter and not much to look forward to on the return home. Brushing off her weather-beaten skirt and blouse the lioness started to silently plod down the sidewalk, her eyes drifting down to the cobblestones. A cool wind fluttered her skirt and pulled on the fur of her tail. A recent rainfall had left puddles in the street and long lines of standing water in the gutters. Turning the dirt roads into a surge of mud and muck. Reflecting back the glow of the gas-streetlamps.

She had long known that she had a crush on him, just his happy outlook on life and his seemingly bottomless level of optimism drew her to him. These were two things Vitani felt she needed more of in her life however he was happily with another girl. A fellow dog who seemed to match him in every way possible. The lioness had no reason to openly dislike Angel, other then the fact that she was with Scamp. They were a cute couple and the three had been friends, or at least acquaintances, for a long enough time that she felt reprehensible for her developing affections.

Her ears perked up, and her eyes glanced up as the wail of a steam whistle reached her ears. She wasn't far from the W&A RR's yards. Lonesome and melodic, it sounded like a cry from somewhere in her heart and for a moment the very ends of her mouth turned up as she imagined that it was Scamp, calling out into the night for her. The town was closing up for the night, other then the railyard and the distant clopping of the occasional horse-drawn wagon echoing down some distant street one could be forgiven for thinking that Marceline was abandoned.

“Shit, I have it bad,” the lioness tiredly whispered to herself. Admitting openly for the first time that something was happening her mind was so preoccupied that she misjudged the drop from the sidewalk to the muddy street. Her foot twisted and her eyes burst open as her leg turned out from underneath her. Vitani stumbled forward, throwing out her hands to keep from falling completely into the mud. She landed on her side, hands sinking into the muck as she fell to the street.

“Oh, for god's sake,” Vitani moaned, laying sprawled out in the gutter. Mud splattered on her skirt and blouse. Looking down at her leg she found that one of her heels had snapped, the old worn material giving way to leave her muddy and unbalanced for the rest of the way home. It was enough to break the poor girl's heart; her lower lip trembled as she balled her fists up and did her best to keep from roaring out in anger. She could no longer keep her head up, her shoulder sagging in defeat and dropping her head down. Her eyes fluttered shut as she lay prone in the gutter.

But she would not remain that way for long as a dark skinned, slender-as-toothpicks, very human hand slid under Vitani's chin and slowly forced her head to rise up. She saw no eyes as they were covered by the rim of a black and red hat, only a roguish grin with a thin black mustache welcoming her.

“Looks like you could use a hand there 'darlin'.” Those were the hauntingly friendly words that hummed out through this sinister smile, "How'ya doin'?"

Vitani instantly recoiled. Eyes narrowed and teeth set, she whipped her head out from his grasp and scrambled back in the mud, a dirty hand fumbling into her blouse for a blade she tended to keep there. The man stepped back, holding his hands up for her to see that they were indeed empty. That smile, sharp and thin, never wavered.

“Now hold up there little one, no cause for alarm. Allow me, if you please, Miss Vitani,” He plopped the hat back atop his head, then extended a hand for her to grab.

Vitani's expression turned to one of shock. “How did you know my...”

“Your name? Why sweetie, it's all in the cards.” In the glow of the street lamp's flickering flames, the man cast a long shadow against the brick building facade. Vitani hesitantly slipped a hand into his, and allowed him to pull her out of the puddle. She quickly discovered that he was a lot stronger then he initially appeared. Once she was upright, and attempting to wipe the muck off her blouse and skirt the man pulled his top hat off in a greeting, revealing the square-shaped hair-style of his.

“Excuse me?” The lioness started to back away, her steps uneven due to her broken shoe heel.

“The Cards, the Cards. The Cards will tell...” He laughed, with a roll of a hand, soon, a set of tarot cards were in his hand, all the suites and Arcana visible as he fanned them out perfectly, before closing again, to which they vanished. Another roll of his hand and a new card appeared. “Allow me to introduce myself, here's my card.”

Taking the card and looking it over Vitani read it out loud, an eyebrow raising as she took in it's odd wording. “Dr. Facilier, Tarot Readings, Charms, Potions...” Looking up from the card she saw from the corner of her eyes the dark form of his shadow behind her, the way it moved odd to the lioness's own motions. "Dreams made real... I must say I'm skeptical.”

Dr. Facilier chuckled, curiosity killed the cat. Leaning on his cane, he looked to Vitani with a gaunt grin. "Yes ma'am, my power is unmatched for miles! I can see your future, change it around some too and I can see you have a dream for sure. One that perhaps I can help you abide to.”

Vitani pressed the card back at the man then stumbled past him with a roll of her eyes. “Yeah, I don't think so.”

“You don't think you deserve him?” His voice stopped the girl in her tracks as she turned her head to look back at the strange man from over her own shoulder. “There is nothing wrong with desiring the company of someone your heart yearns for, especially when life can be, well, less then pleasurable.”

Vitani opened her mouth to retort when the evening air was split by the shriek of a steam whistle. The way it blew, with such a lonesome wail her mind made it out to be Scamp's train, calling to her in a voice that used no words. The lioness closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her nostrils flaring while the card somehow found it's way into a pocket. “Dreams...made true?”

The Shadow Man nodded ominously. “Mmmhmm. What's his name, if I may be so bold?”

“Scamp,” His name fell from her lips as a tender whisper, her head bowing to cast her gaze at the sidewalk. “He's just, such a nice guy. Goofy! But...well...”

His movement was oddly quick, suddenly putting an arm around her. "Say no more. Why, with a little encouragement my dear..." he promised, tapping her chest with the head of his cane. Almost instantly his shadow shifted from his feet, grinning devilishly as it rubbed its thin fingers together. "Ain' nothin I can't do, with the right connections! All it takes is the right price."

“I don't have much money,” Vitani started to say.

“Leave that to me,” The Shadow Man whispered before giving his cane a spin, and bringing it down on the ground. In an explosion of purple smoke and light Dr. Facilier's shadow seemed to swirl around the glow of light from the nearby street lamp, protracted onto the brick wall of a building facade. Vitani's head whipped side to side, peering up and down the deserted street to see if there was any other witnesses to what seemed to be occuring.

“Don't be alarmed, parlor tricks, my sweet feline friend,” The man laughed. “But, like a good magician, their secrets are not to be told. Now then, let's look at the cards, shall we.”

With one arm wrapped around her shoulders, he held her close, his hand before her face suddenly had three cards between its thin fingers. The center one was flipped around with a twist of those digits, the image on its front showing a very stylized heart with a sword through it.

“Ah, love. So sweet and innocent,” the man began. The right hand card turned and to the lioness's bewilderment showed a portrait of the smile tousled face and floppy ears of Scamp. This had to be magic, either that or some crazy fluke. Regardless, she saw the pup she admired in those chocolate eyes, no matter if it was intended or not.

“Scamp...” Vitani whispered again, feeling emotions well up in her chest.

“He would be perfect for you miss. Such strong features and healthy spirit, oh the good it would do to have him in your life...oh, but what's this?” The final card turned, its image being that of a set of lovers, hand in hand. “Why, it would would seem that he's already spoken for. Someone else stands in your way! A jezebel incarnate!”

“Her name is Angel,” The lioness admitted, feeling all resistance to admitting the truth slip away. “She's his girl, she has been for as long as I've known them.”

“So he needs a nudge, I think I have just the thing,” The cards vanished with a fold of his hand. In their place, his fingers unfolded to reveal a small glass vial. Vitani's eyes widened and her ears flattened back, her long tail flicking back and forth behind her legs. The vial seemed full of a pink liquid that gave off a similarly colored glow, the vial had a cork in it's flute and it's glass surface was etched with strange runes. “Just a few drops of this and your face will be all he will be able to think about.”

Vitani felt her heart in her throat as he slipped the vial into her hands and closed her fingers around it, letting go of her and stepping back. It felt so light, as if she was holding nothing at all, yet she could feel it pulsating with heat. “Just a few drops?”

“Just a few,” His shadow mimicked chugging down a glass on the wall behind them, “And he'll be all yours.”

“Wait! What about Angel? Surely he won't just forget about her?”

“Hmm, well....don't worry about her.” His grin split his face and sent a shiver down the lioness' spine. On the brick and glass facade of the closed store, in the glowing orb of light cast from the streetlamp, the shadows began to swirl and morph. Creatures slithering along the very edge while in the center formed a remarkable shadow silhouette of a particular female dog. Vitani recognized the folded ear and curly tail. The figures danced around the shadow dog, pointing and jeering without noise while the ghostly Pomeranian stood stock still, as if trapped and bound in place. “Magic is never free however nothing says someone else can't foot that bill...”

The shadows swirled, curling around 'Angel' like a serpent till only her head, screaming silently was visible. Vitani's heart skipped a beat as the edges of the circle of light closed down atop the phantasmal image of her romantic rival like the closing jaws of some great beast.

“Wait, this won't hurt her?” Vitani's tail whipped around one of her own legs as she took a step forward, stumbling slightly on her missing heel.

The Shadow man gave an exasperated gasp, dramatically planting a hand against his chest. “Ma'am, you offend me. Of course, nothing will come of Miss Angel.”

Vitani couldn't see the laughing shadow behind her back. She looked down at her hand, where the cracks between her fingers pulsed with pink light. “Scamp...”

“Will. Be. Yours,” The Shadow Man's smirk never died. “C'mon, don't you think you deserve that? Someone in this world who actually cares about you and will give you something to live for. A bright spark in an otherwise dull life, sandwiched between an insane mother and a retarded brother...Vitani, this is all for you.”

“All. For. You.”

Her hand slowly released it's grip and the vial seemed to call with the song of a siren. Her own eyes glowed with the same deep pink hue, throbbing in time to the vial and it's strange brew. It would be so easy. Then, just as if a gust of wind blew past her, she felt her skirt rustle and the light from the gas streetlamp flickered. Looking up from the vial, breaking whatever spell it seemed to hold, she saw that the strange man had vanished. Vitani's heart was by now thundering in her chest, her ears perked and she whipped her head one way then the other, the tuft of fur between her ears flopping as she did. The street was deserted, only her own footprints in the mud could be seen. It was as if he had never been there to began with, only his final three words echoed about her skull.

She quickly dropped the vial into the breast pocket of her blouse right next to his card. It would be a long walk home and on a broken shoe no less. Taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, she pulled her skirt up so that it wouldn't drag and catch her foot and started her way home. The clouds moved from in front of the moon and their shadows seemed to creep along the building fronts and streets making Vitani feel all the more as if she was being watched by many eyes. She could feel the heat from the vial palpitating against her chest.

******************



The reflection that looked up from the polished bartop showed a level of fatigue that matched the churning inner realms of Vitani's gut. Drawing her rag over the surface, distorting the reflection, the lioness let out a soft grunt. Returning home the previous night she had dropped the vial into a drawer in her room, trying to put it out of her sight and out of her mind. All night, the lioness tossed and turned in her lonely bedroom, it was as if the vial called to her with a silent siren's song. It would be so easy to just let a few drops into Scamp's drink the next time the mongrel came by the Watering Hole. Angel would be fine, she was a strong canine and would support Scamp no matter what choices he made.

Even if those choices were not his own.

What would happen to Angel afterwards? The Shadow Man's words rang around the cat's head...what was the price Angel would be forced to pay? The same loneliness that haunted Vitani? That was something Angel could have! Or, was there something more? The vial seemed so unnatural. By morning's light, she grabbed the vial without thinking and quickly washed up for her first shift. The scent of cigars and cigarettes seemed thicker then usual, and the young lioness felt seemingly more aware of the shadows that filled the corners of her bar.

“You look like death rolled over,” A familiar voice snapped Vitani out of her string of thoughts. The lioness looked up, her ears flicking back and a hand drifting to the back of her head to rub her fingers down her own neck nervously.

“Oh, uh, hello Angel,” Her throat was raw and she could practically feel the trepidation rising in her chest.

Angel sat bent over at the bar, one arm laying causally across the counter top. Her head was tilted, making one floppy ear stand up at an odd angle while an eyebrow rose. It seemed the dog could see something was off. “Wow, anything I could do to help?”

“Oh, it's nothing,” Vitani brushed it off. Pulling herself up and quickly swallowing, her eyes darting around the blonde furred railroader, looking for the very soul she was dreading seeing the most. “Where's Scamp?”

Angel shot her friend a questioning look but answered anyway. “Still in the yard. He'll be here soon, we have a small rest before we set out on a coal train this afternoon.”

Vitani gulped and her heart skipped a beat as she clearly saw the shadows start to grow from the corners of the building behind the dog, slowly spreading from the corners of the windows and above the door. The lioness' ears perked as she wondered if anyone else could see them, or if she alone was to bear witness. The vial sat in her pocket, seeming like it grew heavier every passing second. “Oh, well can I get you anything while you wait?”

“Yeah, my usual,” Angel rapped her fingers on the bartop, her curly tail giving great swooshes side to side above the seat of her pants. “In fact, pour a glass for Tenderfoot!”

The lioness' heat skipped a beat. A glass for Scamp? The vial felt like it resonated a pulse that echoed through the girl, she wasn't sure if that was real or if she had just imagined it. Vitani put her back to the Pomeranian as she reached over the back counter for the glasses that hung over the great mirror. Seeing beyond her own reflection and the look of fatigue that seemed etched into her thick feline muzzle, her throat became dry as she could see the shadows behind Angel stretchering towards the unsuspecting dog. “S-sure, coming right up” she stuttered.

Two glasses were pulled off the rack, set down on the counter with a soft “clink”.

“So, you and Scamp. You guys have known each other for a while?”

Angel's ears perked up and the dog let out a soft chuckle and playfully rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“But you had a life...before him? Right?” The cork was removed from a bottle.

“Oh sure. When I first met him he was this little mutt who spoke endlessly about adventure and being a wild soul and traveling the world.” The end of Angel's mouth cocked up in a sly smirk. “He tried so hard, it was beyond adorable.”

“I can imagine that,” The very tip of Vitani's tail flicked back and forth as the girl shifted her weight from one leg to the other. A hand reached for the vial, tucked away, was she really going to do this? “So, and forgive me from asking...but could you go back to that life? Without Scamp?”

Angel's big, floppy ears went backwards for a split second at the abruptness of the question but she perked them back up. “I've, well, never thought about that. He's just such a part of my life. Why?”

The lioness started to pour the two drinks with one hand while the other had it's fingers wrapped around the vial. If she was going to do this it would have to be slick. With her back to Angel, the blonde furred railroader couldn't see what the lioness was up to while Vitani had a full view thanks to the mirror of both herself and her victim. “Just, you two seem like you work so well together.”

Angel had an eyebrow raised in her direction now, clearly wondering where all this was leading towards. One end of her mouth tipped up in a slight smirk as she reached out with a guess.

“You like someone, don't you?”

It was like she was hit with lightning, the sudden jolt that rippled through her body caused Vitani's hand to shake spilling a small amount of drink on the counter. The feline looked over her shoulder, the look in her eyes saying everything.

Angel was quiet for a while the sounds of the bar's few patrons becoming faded background noise. Barely registering. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft.

"I see everything in him, he's my entire world," Her blue eyes were sparkling while the weak sun caught her fur through the dirty window, making it shine a bright and beautiful gold. The shadows that swirled around the back-wall seemed to retreat at that. "He saved me from the streets, I couldn't imagine anyone I would want to be with more." She went on warmly.

“Saved you?” One of Vitani's ears perked in interest, the vial held tightly between her fingers as she slipped it out of her pocket. The lioness realized that for as long as she had known the two railroaders she had never once asked about their past. “That bad, huh?”

“You wouldn't believe it,” Angel motioned with her hand. “Let's just say that I was not in a good place. Scamp found me and I found him. Together, we found the railroad, we found a future.”

Vitani could feel her heart pounding in her chest and she looked down at the vial, its substance seeming to pulsate in time to her heartbeat. She wanted Scamp, oh how badly she wanted him. To be saved herself, much like Angel had been.

All it would take was one drop.

Her thumb passed over the cork in the lid, pressing up till the cork popped free. Looking up into the mirror, the lioness gazed at her own reflection, holding the vial over the glass she intended to give to the mutt. Behind her sat Angel, casually tapping a finger against the rough wood of the bar top unaware of the shadows that crept towards her figure from behind. Could she even see them? Or where the specters Vitani's personal hell?

“That's what I want,” Vitani's voice was low and wistful so that one she could hear, her head bowed slightly. “A future...”

“So, who is he?” Angel's voice, upbeat at the prospect of hearing some news, cut through the lioness's thoughts like an arrow. “Is he one of our railroaders?”

She put the vial down on the counter-top and turned around to face Angel, planting a hand on the counter to each side and leaning back. The shadows appeared like arms, fingers outstretched over Angel's head. She couldn't do this, could she?

“Do I know him?” Angel's voice was innocent.

The lioness opened her mouth to answer when a familiar tousled maw appeared behind Angel. The shadowy spectators retreated back into their corners. The pom looked over her shoulder at him as he slid up to the counter, a big goofy smile plastered across his face. Vitani felt her heart sink at the sight of him. From those warm brown eyes to that bang that fell between her ears, she just felt a natural attraction. The vial behind her seemed to cast a heat into her chest from the base of her tail on up.

“Hey 'Tani! Angel. What's up?” Scamp yipped as he plopped down on a bar-stool. Vitani felt sick at the fact he mentioned her first.

“Fashionably late as always, eh Tenderfoot?” Angel reached out and gave a playful tug on Scamp's sleeve. “Had you been any later I would have taken your drink for myself.”

“Hey, I was late cleaning up your mess Miss Engineer-in-training. You know how much sand you threw on the ground getting that cut of cars moving? I had to help hand buckets up to load that dome again,”

Angel visibly blushed causing Vitani's heartbeat to pick up instantly. She wondered if Scamp's ears could detect the sound she was sure it was making. On the wall behind the lovebird pups the shadows showed two silhouettes, one of Scamp the other of Vitani. Sitting side by side, arm in arm.

“Well, perhaps I should buy your first round them, provided we don't distract Vitani any more then we already have.” Angel playfully rolled her eyes.

“Right, I'm on that,” Vitani blurted out before swiftly spinning back around.

She grasped the vial in her shaking fingers, looking at it's patterned glass and the liquid it held. There was Scamp's glass. There was Scamp. One drop and she and he would be together. Did it work instantly? Would she have to explain to Angel why her boyfriend suddenly got affectionate to her? What would happen to Angel? At this point Vitani was sure that whatever the price to pay was, Angel would suffer. Emotionally for sure...and perhaps worse. Those shadows seemingly spiraling on the walls and in her head were pushing her, telling her it was alright. They might have been real, or figments of her imagination however their actions certainly drove her. Making her hand slowly move the vial over the glass.

One drop, just one drop.


*****************


“See you later 'Tani!” Scamp gave a smile and a wave of his hand and he and Angel passed through the door to the pub.

The sun was starting to drop and as the door closed behind them the lioness could see them through the big window as Angel slipped an arm though Scamp's, leaning her head to rest on his shoulder. The two were off into the evening. Off to wherever it was that railroaders went when they waited on their next assignment. In so many ways it was like Scamp and Angel both gained their wishes. Angel got her rescuer, Scamp his adventure. Both facing life together while Vitani faced it alone.

The lioness took a deep breath, there were still some customers in the dining room however she couldn't really focus on them at the moment. Instead, she dropped her towel on the counter and swung around to walk through the door that led to the kitchen. As soon as the door shut behind her, it was like a flood of shadows suddenly swirled around the room.

“STOP IT!” The lion screeched, waving her arms in the air, attempting to disperse them. They flew to the far corners of the room and she reached for a door that led out back to the ally behind the pub.

If the shadows inside had been bad, outside in the setting sun it was worse. The alley may have been empty, aside from the number of casks, crates, and garbage bins that lay scattered around its stone slabbed avenue. Looking around the dark alley Vitani felt as if the great shadows looked down from the buildings, glaring at her, waiting for something. Glancing up she scowled and opened her arms as if to say 'now what'. Reaching into the pocket in her shirtwaist she pulled the vial out, instantly her face was lit by the ebbing pink glow as she held it up. She felt her face drop slightly as she took in it's phosphorus glow.

She couldn't do it, as much as she wanted to she just couldn't. Angel did not deserve whatever fate would have awaited her and if Scamp was to become attracted to her, then she wanted him to do it under his own volition. Not one that was created by a cursed object. Vitani took a deep breath, settling her nerves. Dropping to a knee, she leaned over and gently placed the vial on the stone pavement.

For a few seconds, she sat there, on one knee as if she was proposing, looking at the strange vial and the pink ripples of light it cast on the damp stone of the alley-floor. She rolled her lower lip and softly bit it, her tail curled around a leg. She could try again, just lay in wait until she had enough courage.

As soon as that very thought crossed her mind Vitani stood up, her shoulders steady and a determined look on her face. She raided a foot, and the heel was pressed against the vial with a sharp 'tink' of glass. The lioness closed her eyes and felt her heart swell, the corners of her eyes growing moist as she recognized that her only sure fire chance was about to be scattered. With a shift of her weight, she heard the vial crunch before her foot sank down suddenly.

It was like a great wave washed through her body, Vitani kept her eyes clamped shut feeling energy surge through her body. She didn't know what was real and what was imaginary or what forces she had unleashed. Her back arched, and her arms felt as if they where pushed up as if she was falling into a body of water. The rush of air moaned as if a thousand voices called out and where suddenly silenced.

With a great exhalation of air Vitani's eyes snapped open and her mouth dropped in a wide “O”. She was alone in the alley other than the shards of broken glass underneath her foot. There was no sign of the substance inside the vial or anything out of the ordinary. Her eyes slowly passed around the brick and wooden walls that made up the urban valley she stood in. The long shadows of the end of the day were steady and still, no figures danced and no eyes glared down at her. Just the final rays of the day slowly retreating.

A hand absentmindedly rose up and down an arm and one ear slipped down. It was as if an immense weight had been released from her while a small smile lifted the ends of the feline's mouth. She wrinkled her nose while she gave her head a little shake. Hands coming up to rub at her eyes removed any remaining traces of wetness from the corners of her eyes and cheeks.

Taking one final deep breath and a sigh of content, Vitani spun on her heels and passed through the rear door of the Watering Hole. Her shift would end soon and she had a long walk home. Leaving behind a few traces of broken glass and gaining a resolve to bring change in her own way, and her own time.

Somewhere, not far away, a steam whistle blew.

The End 

Rail Moment: The First Train on the W&A

It was Christmas Eve in 1842, when a locomotive and a single car pulled out of the city of Atlanta on the first historic journey of the state-owned Western & Atlantic Railroad. The locomotive on that historic journey was named the Florida and was on her second life. Having been purchased second hand earlier that month. Standing firmly at the throttle in a coat and tophat, no doubt dusted in embers, was Mr. William F. Adair. Who the fireman was in unknown, although some sources indicate the man chucking wood was a Mr. Jim Rustin.

The Western & Atlantic was, on paper, a functioning railroad. Although it would be another three years before some real semblance of regular operations would began. For starters, a great big hole existed on the map...or really, the lack of one. But for those riding out of Atlanta on that misty day, they were as much explorers as Jason and his Argonauts. One passenger on this maiden voyage wrote of Atlanta; “The place appears to be well selected for the connecting of other roads with it,” the letter writer also noted that “…There is some magnificent scenery along this State Road, natural as well as artificial. To see a steam car walking like ‘a thing of life,’ through these mountains, and over rivers and creeks and ravines, is grand to look upon.”
 

The locomotive at the head of this train, the Florida, was built by Matthias Baldwin in 1837. She was of the 4-2-0 design, with a haystack firebox and large balloon stack for burning cord-wood. She initially served on the Georgia Railroad and Banking Company. When the Western & Atlantic needed motive power for their line, they purchased the little steamer. She entered service on the latter in December 1842. Of course, things couldn't be that simple. There was a little problem in that there was no way to relocate the locomotive to Atlanta by rail. The Georgia Railroad itself having yet to reach Atlanta. So, The Georgia Road ran her to their terminus in Madison, Georgia. There, workers dissembled the locomotive and loaded her on a cart. Where in a scene from Gulliver's Travels, a team of 16 mules hauled her to Atlanta where she could enter service on the Western & Atlantic.

The "Florida" and the "Alabama" were similarly arranged.

When the train reached the wooden bridge over the Chattahoochee River, it stopped. Passengers disembarked because they feared the bridge, which was a mad affair that seemed to be made of spider's silk then firm timbers, would not support the train. They walked across the trestle; and took watch on the far bank, some expecting to see the Florida take a drink and Mr. Adair get some swim practice. Yet the locomotive glided across “like a being of the clouds,” a letter writer to a local newspaper recalled in February 1843. The bridge held, and the iron scamp's adventure continued.

A gentle mist fell as the train pulled out of Dalton, Georgia, en route for Tunnel Hill. It must be noted that on these early journeys, the very act of riding on a train was itself spellbinding. It would be a while before the spell wore off and passengers would request some basic comforts...like seats. It's unknown if the single car hitched to the tender of the Florida was even a coach. Some indications are that it was either a boxcar, or an open flatcar with men and women clinging to it for dear like like some perverted Aladdin's carpet.

When the train reached Tunnel Hill, passengers discovered the great gap in the map. It would be another five months before the Tunnel through Chetoogeta Mountain would be ready for travel. However, like proper Victorians who are enamored by things like a half dug hole in the earth, those gathered spent an hour exploring the “wonderful structure and passing through its entire length,” as a correspondent for the Daily Constitutionalist of Augusta, Ga., wrote of the event.

They ostensibly boarded a second train on the other side of the gap. At the head of this train huffed another Baldwin-built 4-2-0, the Alabama. This locomotive was built in 1838 and entered service on the State Road in September of 1845. She was used primarily in construction on the other side of the tunnel, having been shipped in pieces up the Tennessee River. By the 1850 report, however, the Alabama was used for ditching and was running out her final miles. She was abandoned by the latter half of 1852, according to records.

Before too long, the locomotive Alabama began steaming toward Chattanooga with Jon. G. Eckman at the throttle. With much wheel-slip, and throwing of sparks and thick clouds of wood smoke, the train passed through the rainy North Georgia countryside and slipped like a apocalyptic horse into the little town of Ringgold. There people like Col. Edward R. Harden, editor of the Ringgold Republican newspaper joined the cavalcade.

He wrote: “Here too, additional passengers crowded on the cars, and no room was left for the vast multitudes who, in despite of the rain, thronged the wayside to enjoy the ride and witness the ceremonies about to be solemnized at the opening of the Road to Chattanooga,”

The atmosphere on the train became rather party like. From somewhere bottles and flasks appeared, and not even the cool chill of the rain could dampen the heat of the dancing mosh-pit riding the flatcar behind the Alabama. The close quarters allowing an excusable amount of brushing of both male and female instigation. Someone's ankles may have even been exposed! No longer concerned for their safety and perhaps in need of a cold bath, “Every bridge that was passed called forth expressions of admiration and loud cheering,” Mr. Harden reported. “Upon passing the last bridge, the ladies joined in cheering, and the welkin rang with loud applause.”

At noon, the train pulled into Chattanooga, with more than 300 people somehow clinging to locomotive and cars alike. Once the Alabama shook of her infestation of liquored humans, the group then made its way to the Tennessee River to participate in the Victorian tradition of long self congratulatory speeches. Including one by Mark A. Cooper, a prominent industrialist whose smelters along the Etowah River were just starting to fire off, and William L. Mitchell, the chief engineer of the Western & Atlantic. During his speech, Long ceremoniously mixed water from South Carolina, Georgia and Tennessee in a symbol of unity.

The riders gave three cheers for the Western & Atlantic. It would be five months before the railroad officially opened, but on that chill Christmas Eve, what would become the State Road of Georgia hiccuped into life.

As for the Florida, By the end of the decade, the locomotive was used more sparingly. Between 1847 and 1848, she was used for passenger service, but only reported 8,800 miles in service. In the 1848 report, she was listed simply as “laid up”. She then saw no miles in service between 1848, and 1849, and was similarly listed as “laid up for repairs” in the 1849 report.

By the 1850 report, the old Florida was listed as 'on the road in complete order,' yet she saw just 926 miles in service between 1849, and 1850. She returned to the shop in 1851, 1852, 1854 and 1857. She was listed as 'condemned' in 1858 and 1859 and 'worn out' in 1860. Where she vanished from the records and into railroad history.

Quarantine Project Boxcars

While under lockdown, I attempted to use my suddenly available time productively. I was able to land a number of Central Valley, Labelle, and Roundhouse/MDC kits. The CV and Labelle kits were craftsmen wood kits, while the Roundhouse/MDC kits were plastic and diecast. Sitting down, I started assembling these kits one by one, and in about a month, I had a nice fleet of new cars ready to enter service.

An Xacto knife and sandpaper is all you really need to put any of these kits together. The NWSL Chopper is nice, but not essential. I never used a miter saw for any of these. To help with the roof ends I made a carstock template to guide my carving efforts. One can make one from just a piece of heavy cardboard, or plywood, or Masonite, with the desired curve cut into it for the cutting blade. Use of a template helps to get both ends to look the same. Take it slow and frequently compare it to the provided documentation and you'll be OK. The worst that can happen is that you'll may end up building another piece of roof stock from leftover supplies on hand. (Don't ask me how I know that. Just know that I do.) Prototype wooden roofs were covered with a layer of canvas and then coated with tar. So, any mistakes can be simply covered.

Central Valley Ventilated Boxcar Kit.

Central Valley Boxcar Kit.

Central Valley Refrigerated Car Kit.

 

Central Valley kits are remarkably simple to construct and for their age are decent kits. These kits of Box cars, Reefers, Ventilated Box Cars, and Cabooses were basic wood kits which come with pre-formed and carved wood bases and blocks for the floor and car frame, the ends, and the roof. Traditionally these kits contained all the basswood and soft metal castings required. With pre-printed and pre-scribed wood sides, roof, and ends. The printing on these cars runs the gauntlet of quality. With some carsides being crisp and sharp. While others are dull and blurry. Metal details and the famous Central Valley Trucks with Snap on bolsters are included with each kit. The user was expected to buy trucks and couplers separately. Central Valley made the trucks, but alas they are no more, and it takes some scrounging to find appropriate trucks now-a-days. I tend to replace the metal details with Tichy NBW and brake equipment. As well as replace the brass rod with fishing line for the truss-rods. These make very nice cars that ride well and can be modified to fit a number of prototypes. On the downside, these are old kits. The printing on the carsides can be rather crude. The trucks that come with the kits are clunky and sometimes ride awkward and will require adjusting. A lot of the old casting have imperfections, and as I said before, I tend to use Tichy hardware for this very reason.

Central Valley Boxcar Kit

 

I've built a few LaBelle freight cars and while I love the results, the construction can be a bit of a headache. The kits came with everything except trucks and couplers. I found the destructions confusing, with drawings that are not scale to the parts provided, and the construction methods were straight forward, but made all the more challenging by wood parts and blocks that clearly were planed with old tooling. Warping, odd sizes, and uneven thicknesses abound with Labelle kits.
 

A LaBelle 34 foot boxcar

 

Labelle 34 foot boxcar

When it comes to painting these kits, one must remember that wood is porous. The varied grain of the scribed siding wood will absorb paint at different rates. LaBelle kits generally use a very good grade of scribed wood, but there is still a possibility that the grain will show through the first coat of any paint. Central Valley cars tend to be pre-printed, so too much paint will obscure detail and grain. One can either use a primer coat or a light application of your main color first - allow that to dry completely - and then a second coat. While the single coat may create a weathered appearance, that wood grain issue remains and I've found it better to use two coats of paint and then go back and apply light weathering if desired.
 

Also recall that dried glue does not absorb paint. Careful gluing is important on these kits to keep the glue from spreading out on surfaces that will be painted. The "second coat of paint" process can help to cover problems, but it is better to avoid the problem as the paint almost always appears more glossy on the spots covering glue. 

 

 

I also finished two more of the Crown Point flatcars kits. I covered these kits in an earlier review.  I put Tichy trucks under these ones. 

  

A few kitbash projects were likewise knocked off the shelf. Such as this tankcar built with a brass shell found in a parts bin at a local hobbystore atop a scratch built car-frame and body. The flatcar with load was built from an AHM flatcar lettered for the local "Stone Mountain Railroad" 

Roundhouse/MDC boxcar

Roundhouse/MDC, and later Roundhouse under the Athern banner, produced a number of 34foot wooden boxcars with trussrods. These cars are typical of 1890-1920 construction, while easy to backdate into the late 1880s. The kits are easy to put together, as they often come with a cast metal frame, plastic spru of parts such as the running board, queen-posts, and brake equipment, an a large body shell. I tend to replace the plastic parts with Tichy hardware, and use fishing line instead of thread for the rods. Otherwise, the cars go together as instructed. Sometimes with a few small details car to car. These are cheap and cheerful cars, and make fine runners. 

Well, that's all I have for this post. I'm back at work, so long spans of hobbytime are over. I have plenty of projects in the works though, and I can't wait until the pandemic lifts so I can return to the model railroad club and give my new freight train's worth of rolling stock some run time.

The Banker's Special

Based on the memories of Peter Adams.

Everything in this story is as accurate as I can make it using information available to me and from my own personal experiences within the Railroad industry. In some places, railroad terminology and slang is used, as well as the correct procedures in the operations of trains that are true to the time frame (1890-1911). I have done all I can to interpret without impairing the feel and atmosphere of the environment.

Lady and the Tramp and Fox and the Hound are copyright the dude with the mouse ears and the big castle. Balto goes to Universal. This is an 'Alternate Universe' and takes liberties with the movies and the canon from which it’s set around. Big vode of thanks to the user “LoneWolfSniper44” for helping me edit this.



********************

One of the more common aspects of railroading, especially in the days of yore, was its latent yet ever-present capacity for springing the unusual or unexpected. Weeks and months could pass in a placid groove and then abruptly the routine would be shattered by a clash of fates and leave those involved with the affair with a growth of knowledge, or a loss of nerve.

Smoke and steam hung in the air as the locomotive carrying the name“Dispatch” backed down the platform tracks toward the Marceline depot. A light rain had been steadfastly coming down all day, and into the night. The oil lamps of brakemen and the dim glow of gaslights inside the depot sent shimmering patterns of light across the damp rails and ballast of the Western & Atlantic Railroad. The great box-shaped oil lamp atop the locomotive's smoke-box highlighted the falling droplets as a multitude of silver threads cascaded downward ceaselessly. Fog lay over the city, and the platform of the depot was a crowd of passengers, all under the long shelters and silhouetted in the light coming from the depot's windows and open doors. As if afraid to step into the darkness of the night itself. Under the guiding circle of a brakeman's lantern, the diamond-stacked steam locomotive backed onto the head end of the passenger train waiting it's arrival. The knuckle coupler locking firmly in place between the tender, and the mail-car.

Lady Dear worked her way around the huffing locomotive, oil can in hand, tending to the many lubrication points along the running gear. With the drop in temperature, the graceful spaniel had a light canvas coat over her blouse and skirt. The only thing that seemed out of place on her otherwise pastel clothing was a black leather collar with a silver D-ring sitting firmly around her canine neck. She rolled her shoulders to toss her long silky ears behind her back, careful not to let them fall into the tallow cups she was so diligently filling with oil. The Dispatch would have time to pump up air for a brake test, allowing Lady to take her time as she checked the locomotive over. The old American type's paint gleamed and her brass-work glistened in the muggy weather. As greasy wet as the rails had been, she had been forced to handle the locomotive as delicately as she could to avoid skidding.

Her ear's perked as she heard the familiar crunch of boots on gravel. “We sure know how to pick them wrong, don't we Pidge?”

The spaniel turned around and cast a warm smile as an equally familiar figure stepped down from the cab. The Tramp stood with a long iron rod in one of his cloth-wrapped hands and a set of brass fireman's goggles in the other. The lenses were tinted green, perfect for staring into the corners of a working firebox. Like the spaniel, the gray-furred mix wore a coat over his vest and trousers. He held the rod out and slipped it into the locomotive's ash pan, between the great big red painted drivers. Using the bar to help knock any remaining clinker out while they stood at the depot.

“I sure didn't pick it,” Lady rolled her eyes playfully in reply. She motioned to the murky night sky, her expression turning a little grim, “Heavy train, light engine, wet rails. I'll have to really work her. I'll need as much steam as you can build.”

“Nothing too it,” With a great clunk of iron, a shower of red hot sparks lit up the air between him and her as a cloud of clinker fell between the rails. He pulled the bar out and stood it on end, one hand wrapped around it while he puffed his chest out in a show of mock heroics. “Besides, this is an honor of a job! The Banker's Special. Pride of the railroad!”

The Banker's Special was a fast passenger train that ran the length of the Western & Atlantic. Stopping only at Marceline for a change in locomotives. Tramp and Lady knew instantly when the callboy came knocking on their door that a fast night run meant the Special. Next to the Flying Dutchman, the Banker's Special was one of the highest priorities for the railroad to move. Made up of drawing rooms, saloons, and sleepers, the train was scheduled to run overnight and timed to arrive in Atlanta at the beginning of the banking hours. Due to this, the train was frequented by business personnel that wished to use the full workday for their professions, traveling by train overnight and getting a night's rest to awake fresh early in the morning.

Lady couldn't help but grin, softly shaking her head. “Never took you as such a company dog.” She slipped the lid down on the tallow cup,

“Anything for you Pidgin. I'll hold my end up as long as you require,” Sincerity entered his voice, and he gave his long time lover a firm nod of his head. He reached out a hand to help her climb back into the locomotive's cab before he tossed the bar up onto the tender and swung aboard himself. His triangular ears bobbing as he pulled himself aboard. Lady put the oil can away and checked over the many gauges that cluttered the locomotive backhead before slipping into the engineer's seat. Once seated, she put an arm on the windowsill and looked aft for the signal to make a full brake application in compliance with the rules. It was important that the train's brakes be tested now that the locomotive had been attached.

After making the required tests, Lady slipped a hand through the folds of her coat to pull her fobwatch and make a note of the time. The Tramp, having checked his fire, had moved over to the gangway and was peering down the line of polished wooden passenger cars. The spaniel slipped the watch back home and joined her mate in taking in the scene. Along the platform and under the station shelters porters and express handlers hustled to load sacks of mail and a small mountain of baggage, and a great many others were busy with the affairs of passengers, tossing smaller bits of luggage into the racks over the seats, and bustling here and there on short quests. Two railroad cops patrolled the platform in the vicinity of the mail and express car, which was evidence of some valuables on board, while an air brake inspector was shouldering his way through the crowd of passengers and checking the air brakes on each car. They were due to depart in seven minutes.

“Tramp, did you get a chance to count the cars before we got over here?”

Tramp perked his ears instantly. “She'll drop time if we have more then ten of these heavy sofa cushions,”

“I count twelve.” Lady said, in a voice as quiet and honey-smooth as the gentle tapping of the rain on the cab roof.

Tramp turned his head and looked down the side of the Dispatch herself. The locomotive was as well-kept as any of the other iron horses in the stable, however she was 37 years old. Trains had gotten heavier, and the schedules faster since the days she first graced the irons. “What do you think Pidge, Will she not handle twelve cars on the hills? We're not going into the mountains...”

“Oh, she might surprise us,” Lady said, “But if we stall you'll know what the matter is.”

“Stall?” Tramp snorted and shook his head so hard that his ears flopped audibly. “Well, if that happens we can cut off a few of those sleepers and stuff them in a siding and let the way-freight pick them up tomorrow morning. I'm sure those executives and their secretaries will never know the difference.”

“Oh Tramp, you scalawag!” Lady's stubby tail wagged. “I can't take you anywhere. Just the same, with twelve cars we will have to keep our wits sharp, or there will be grief to someone.”

“Hey, you can take the dog out of the street. But never the street from the dog. You know as well as I do Pidge, in this game, if it wasn't for the funny side we'd all be crazy.” He shuffled into the cab to wrap an arm across her shoulders and give her a firm embrace. “Even then, without you I think I would have gone crazy long ago.”

Thirty seconds to go, and Lady spotted a figure in a blue suit and a bowler hat trot out from the cloud of steam that hung in the air alongside the train. His short feathered body was round, with a chest that filled and puffed out his suit. He was a bird, a sparrow to be exact. Two beedy eyes and a small beak set upon a permanent scowl pressed across his yellow feathered face. As he came hurrying alongside the locomotive, Tramp spotted him.

“Here comes a bird brain if every I saw one,” the gray mongrel observed. “I have no idea who he is. But he has a railroad official's badge on.”

“Maybe he wants to ride with us?” The cocker mused.

Tramp snorted playfully. “If so, you better watch your smoke, and I watch my fire, lest we cross the line as an couple of mad dirty dogs and end up put on coal duties!”

The bird reached out for the grab-irons on the tender with a set of thick feathery hands and launched himself into the cab with an pompous expression and an anxious eye, as well as a huff of heavy breath. He barely came up to the Tramp's shoulders.

“The names Dinky!” he announced with authority as he stepped onto the footplate. “Efficiency expert for the...”

The newcomer's words where snatched out of his mouth as the bird tripped over a coal scoop that was leaning against the bunker of the tender, and struggled to find his balance. He bounced from one foot to the other while kicking the scoop back into the coal pile in the tender, in the process getting caught up in the remaining fireman's tools hanging on their rack.

“Efficiency expert?” The mongrel muttered to his mate. “Maybe this is a preliminary demonstration.”

“Tramp!” Lady softly nudged her mate with her shoulder. Despite the tone of her words, she couldn't hide the sly smile. “Behave.”

“Only funnin' Pidge. I swear,” Tramp laughed as he watched the bird fight dutifully for balance.

“We're getting the General Manager's private car tonight,” Dinky informed the two railroad dogs as he disengaged himself from the shovel, broom, and shaker bar. “Hows the fire, hows the coal, have you got her good and hot!”

Both Tramp and Lady said nothing. Tramp's brow furrowed into a hard glare while Lady just blinked her eyes incredulously. A glance about the cab would have answered all his questions. The fire-door was open to help prevent excessive smoke in the station, the needle on the big brass pressure gauge was sitting firmly at its mark. The coal pile was thick and full, black lumps tumbling out at his feet. Lady looked at Tramp and shrugged. She figured the newcomer didn't need her to help him look.

“Well, what are you two numskulls waiting for!” The bird went on. “Don't let the GM see you. He's a hard one! Grab your shovel gray dog and get a good big fire in her; get her hot; we'll be leaving any second now!”

Tramp turned to face the window and Lady could tell he was having difficulty keeping a poker face and not openly laughing. Any quick glance at the fire-doors would show a perfectly fine fire. She openly sighed in resignation.

“Our locomotive is all set, any changes to the fire and we might make too much black smoke here in the station. We'll then get the people in the town and our passengers complaining. That would never do.”

“Well, don't forget what I told you! We have the General Manager!” Dinky fixed his eyes directly on Lady, recognizing her as the engineer. “How are you fixed?” He demanded urgently. “How's this engine doing? Are the communication cords rigged? How's the whistle? You'll have to watch the crossings ya-know. How's the sand? The brakes? You'll have to be careful on how you handle her. Don't jar the GM or it'll be back to the farm for all of us! You got me?”

Lady didn't bother to answer the sudden inquiry that was launched at her. Instead, at this point Tramp stepped up, his ears perked forward, and he put his hands on his hips and frowned.

“Now, hold on. What is this, a quiz?” He barked. Resolution now clear in his tone. “We've got work to do and we don't need your beak stuffed into our throats. The locomotive is fine for her size. Otherwise, she had definite limitations. If you're smart, when we get going you will stay out of my way while I fire, and don't distract the lovely lady while she runs this thing. Otherwise there will be real problems. And I know the GM. Balto. He ought to know better then to tie his heavy car to this train. We have more then enough without it.”

“I can't help that.” Dinky said firmly. “What difference does it make how many cars we've got?”

The Tramp tossed up his hands in defeat. It was clear this bird was not one who changed his outlook easily. Dinky gazed about the cab, his head twitching rapidly side to side as if he was seeking some way out of a trap he had found himself in. The safety valves where starting to splutter, ready to set off . The locomotive having stood longer then expected the steam pressure had risen. The sparrow turned his eyes up on Tramp and snapped.

“Be quick, put some water on and cool her down. Don't let her pop in the station! Don't let Balto hear. He's a hard one.”

“No he's not, and no, I won't.” Tramp deadpanned. His eyes aimed out the side window watching the depot clock. “I have the water right where I want it. If I put any more in her, she might toss it out the stack when we start and clog the netting.”

“Well, c'mon wiseguy, do something!”

The Tramp's shoulders sagged and he looked at Lady, his eyes pleading with her to let him have his way with this. The cocker softly nodded her head, reminding him wordlessly to keep his behavior in line. With a disgruntled sigh, the Tramp turned and fiddled with the injector, just to make some noise with the knobs and make it gurgle and kick back to satisfy the bird. The safety valves hissed, but never did they lift, just as the Tramp had set them. “Maybe you should arrange for another locomotive to follow us. Or stand by in case of emergency action?”

“Hey, I thought you said she was alright?” Dinky turned his head sharply in Tramp's direction, peering at the dog with one fixed eye. Lady wondered if the bird was visualizing the railroad being clogged in both directions for several hours while heaven and earth was being shifted to rescue the stranded train.

“She's in shape,” Tramp said, knocking the injector off. “But I hope you appreciate that pulling these thirteen cars with a small locomotive on wet rails is as good as going fishing. You never know your luck.”

Lady turned her head and leaned her back out the cab window, glancing down the train, her brown eyes fixated on the big station clock. “When are we going to get started?”

“Right away, right away!” Dinky stipulated. “Just as soon as the GM's car is coupled. I'll go back there and see what the hold up is. We don't want to be late leaving!”

With that, the sparrow practically bounced out of the cab and scurried alongside the train, vanishing into the blanket of steam and drizzling rain as he headed to the rear. He took with him the air of urgency but in his wake left behind a stench of discontent and the silent huffing the locomotive's air compressor. Tramp crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. He looked at Lady and rolled his eyes. “How's the bell? Hows the sand? Hows your constitution...what a dimwit.”

“Easy dear. we don't need an argument in the cab,” Lady assuaged him. A hand slipping down the folds of her coat for the fobwatch. “Oh goodness, we're already five minutes late and we're not even out of the station.”

A sly smile crossed Tramp's muzzle. “I sort of hope he asks for another locomotive. Would love to see how well that flies with ol' Chief.”

“It will be ten minutes before we get moving,” Lady predicted, her delicate fingers slipping the watch back into her breast pocket. Her head shook while she eyed the air gauge, her tone austere as she mentally saw the seconds slipping by. The needle on the gauge suddenly started to depress, loosing half it's PSI in a matter of seconds. This was a clear indication that another car was being cut into the system. “We'll have to test the brakes again.”

The addition of the GM's private car at the rear constituted a change in the make up of the train and made it necessary to re-test the passenger train's brakes in order to comply with the rules. Already the Dispatch's air pump changed tone as it started to rapidly cycle and began to pump the air back up. Slowly the needle on the gauge rose. Six minutes later, Dinky returned to the locomotive on the run, practically landing on the footplate from a great leap. Right behind him, in the dark, Lady could see the swing of a white lantern. It was the signal to proceed. All forward!

“C'mon, highball!” Dinky fluttered urgently as he entered the cab. Feathers pointing at all angles. “Pull her out. Get going!”

Lady favored him with an inquiring glance. One of her eyebrows arched as she rolled a shoulder blade, sending a lock of ear-fur tumbling down behind her back. Her voice was low and sharp usually reserved for a mother getting ready to scold a child. “Well, not to be a nag. But are we not forgetting something?”

“C'mon. Pull her out!” The sparrow gestured to the throttle lever. Still, Lady moved not an inch towards it. The air pump had finished its work and quieted down. Dinky rolled his eyes in irritation. “Never mind the brakes. Balto says it's good to go. He doesn't want the Banker's Special to be delayed any longer.”

“We can't go until the brake has been tested;” Lady said stubbornly, turning her nose up at the bird. She could see the Tramp eyeing the exchange with curiosity. “That's the rules.”

“Pull her out, go on, get started! Balto said it's all right.” By now the bird was in a fever of excitement. Hopping from one foot to the other. “He's running this railroad. Pull her out!”

“Tell him I said it's all wrong!” The cocker snapped. “I'm operating this locomotive, not Mr. Balto. Not until the brake has been tested. ”

“Pull her out! He said it's alright I tell youze.” Spit practically flew from the bird's beak. A heavy northern accent on the “yous”

“I'm the engineer. I'm responsible and I will not let anyone tell me otherwise.” The cocker spaniel stated firmly from her spot atop the seat-box. “I wouldn't dare think of it, not with the lives that are back there. You should feel ashamed for trying to push their safety over a timetable delay that you and Mr. Balto caused! We will sit here until the brake is tested.”

She looked over at Tramp, who practically glowed with pride. By the look in his eye and the soft nod, she could tell he was thinking the same thing she was. That this was a test. After a few seconds, Dinky gave in. With a heavy heave of his shoulders and a wave of a feathered hand he headed for the gangway.

“Alright, set up the brake.” He dropped to the platform and vanished into the night.

Lady wrapped a hand around the brass handle and moved it into position with a rush of air. “Can you believe him? As if I'm taking any foolish instructions like that.”

“Pull her out. Pull her out,” Tramp laughed, mimicking the sparrow's voice. “Well he is a bird. But I thought it was only parrots that repeated like that. I'm willing to bet that was a stunt to catch us napping.”

“Perhaps,” Lady agreed. Her voice returning to it's normal tone as she saw the signal to release the brakes. “I wasn't going to do it just on principle alone.”

The lantern waved again just as Dinky reached the locomotive cab. Lady wasted no time, wrapping her hand around the whistle cord and giving two quick blasts of the chime whistle. Just as the bird tumbled into the cab she grabbed the big throttle lever and gave it a gentle tap. The whistle's cry was still echoing as the Dispatch gently picked up the slack and started rolling the Banker's Special out of the Marceline station. In starting this heavy string of sleepers and saloons, the engine breathed explosively. It gasped, and heaved, and bellowed. White steam filled the air, highlighted in the depot's lights as the cocker spaniel brought her locomotive to bare.

“The GM is boiling,” Dinky reported. “He wanted to know your names and why you wouldn't carry out his instructions.”

“Never knew Balto to be one to 'boil',” Tramp laughed. Dinky however was not as amused.

“He'll be watching your every move, mark my words! Don't jar this train or there will be trouble!”

The drive wheels where spinning badly on the wet rails, and Lady gave no response. Instead, she focused fully on the situation in front of her, easing back on the throttle and putting down a little sand each time the big red painted drivers would spin, the whole locomotive shuddering as a convulsive tremor shook the great steel frame. She tugged on the sand lever and nursed the train out of the depot track and onto the mainline. When they had gathered a little speed and built a slight bit of momentum, she made a running test of the brakes. She didn't quite trust the bird to have done anything useful at the station. Thirteen cars made a slight clank as the slack ran out and the train stretched. Before she could lose any speed, the brake was knocked off.

“Look now, go easy!” Dinky it seemed could not stay silent. “Remember, he asked me for your name.”

“Tell him she's happily married.” Tramp snorted as he slipped his goggles over his eyes, making one floppy ear stand up at an odd angle. “But if he's interested, we might be able to work something out.”

Pushing past Dinky he dug his scoop into the pile of black diamonds, snatching a load of coal to swing around to the fire-doors. Stepping forward he planted a boot firmly on a peddle, and with a click of mechanics, the clam-shell fire-doors slid open, revealing the hungry flaming maw of the firebox. The gray male's body was highlighted briefly by the pulsing orange light, With a quick upward swish, he launched his load of coal into the firebox. Lady kept her eyes focused along the glistening iron hide of the locomotive, sight-lining the rails ahead, her own green tinted goggles hiding her chocolate colored eyes.

Dinky was provided with no such eye protection.

**********************


The fog lay thick and it was difficult to observe switches and signals until the train was practically on top of them. There were thirty five switches to be picked before the Banker's Special would clear the Marceline trainyard, any one of which might have a red light. Lady was taking no chances and she proceeded with great caution, at least until they cleared the yard. Passing the town's junkyard to the side, the spaniel reached up, grabbed the whistle cord, and let out a few wails. Marceline was practicably on top of the railroad, wooden fences bordering the brick storefronts from the tracks in most places. But here, right before the depot, the line narrowed to just two tracks, and was open on both sides. Nothing but air divided the railroad from the cobblestone streets. The bronze bell began to clang as the Tramp joined Lady in alerting the upcoming crossing, his arm pulling down hard on the great rope that ran across the cab roof. Dinky stood at Lady's elbow, staying just out of the range of the the Tramp's swinging arm. He had a pocket watch in one hand, and a timetable in the other. His eyes examining each closely.

“Fifteen minutes late,” He chafed “It's up to you to get her going and try and make up the time.”

“It's up to the locomotive,” Lady replied calmly. “All I do is run her.”

The Tramp started to get busy with the coal scoop, and Dinky had to watch himself to keep clear of the swinging blade. The bird squeezed himself alongside the brake-stand next to the cocker spaniel and clung there. His sharp eyes darting around the cab to try and take in the controls all in one go. Completely oblivious to how Lady had scooched herself closer to the window to give herself a little breathing room. The exhaust out the stack grew louder as they cleared the yard and started to climb up the grade towards the river. It wasn't like the mountain grades that rose and fell in great humps. This grade was low but long. Harsher, fiercer, the roar at the stack became a bellow as the Dispatch struggled with her burden on the hill. The drive wheels slipped at intervals despite the sanded rails. Balto's private car was dragging like an anchor. The drizzle now turned into an all out downpour that filled the beam of light from the headlamp with millions of pearly slivers, threatening to stall the train.

“She ought to do better then that!” The bird urged. “C'mon pup. Get her going, get a swing on 'er! We're not even making ten miles per hour!”

“Excuse me, which one of us is the engineer?” Lady scolded. “She's out as best as she can be. Anymore and we'll need a miracle to get the train started again on the hill.”

“She's not going to stall is she?”

“If she slips again, there's no telling.” Lady kept a hand on the brass throttle leaver, feeling the locomotive surge. The motherly spaniel could hear her charge's wants and wishes as clear as she could her own pups. Her sharp ears picking up hundreds of little voices in every direction, whispering as the Dispatch throbbed and quivered through all of her hundreds of rivets. “If I put too much power down, she'll slip for good.”

“Well don't let her slip!” Dinky was clearly deaf to the locomotive's wants and needs. “Don't forget we have the GM.”

“We're not likely to the way you carry on,” Tramp barked.

“I can feel him back there, the way she's pulling,” Lady chimed in. Comenting on the weight of the extra car.

Slowly, with perceptible intervals between the notes of the exhaust, the Dispatch continued to move forward. The Tramp kept the head of steam, the fire pulsating in time to each beat from the stack. The Banker's Special moved at the pace of a snail, yet it never slipped again. When the train crested the grade, the exhaust beats moved together and they started their ongoing roll into the night. With the throttle eased, Lady adjusted her controls until the exhaust became music to her long fluffy ears. Five more minutes had been dropped in the battle to get out of town.

Just as it seemed they where gaining ground, Lady slipped the throttle down, and started to apply a little brake.

“What's up?” Dinky protested. “We're nineteen minutes late!”

“There's a slow order on this bridge ahead,” Lady said, not even turning to face the bird.

Just outside of town was a long wooden trestle. Suddenly, the Dispatch was rocking atop the eighty-foot bridge without a guard-rail like a hunted cat on the top of a fence. The bridge was infamous for its light construction and thin deck. Just big enough for the train to occupy, as Scamp and Angel had discovered one night long ago. Down below them, hidden in the fog the churning waters of the river flowed. The sparrow clicked his beak as Lady slowed the train down to five miles per hour until the private car at the rear had cleared the span. Then presently the music at the stack was heard again.

“We lost another minute!” Dinky estimated, quickly counting with his feather fingers before snatching a pocket-watch from his vest. “Twenty one minutes late now. Balto-”

“Set that speed restriction himself,” Tramp growled. He tossed the coal scoop into the tender bunker. “Don't worry about him. He can't wire ahead for a firing squad as long as we keep moving.”

The sparrow started to bounce up and down alongside Lady. “What are you two dogs waiting for then! Pull her out! Get her going. She'll do better then this.”

“She's out,” Tramp slipped between the bird and his mate. Crossing his arms over his chest his brow furred and his mouth cocked to the side. His eyebrows shot up, “Do you wanna sit up here and take hold of her?

“Not me; I'm no engineer!”

“We all established that,” Tramp grunted. “You're just a mystery.”

“Balto -”

“Is in bed, if he's smart. Let him rest.”

The fog had thinned a little, but the night was black and the rain continued to fall. Down a short grade and on the level, the Dispatch found her footing and her drive rods became a blur of motion highlighted by the palpitating fire light from her ashpan and firebox. Balto's car swung around the curves like the flayed end of a whip. Ordinarily there was a chance to make up several minutes here just outside of town, and Lady was making the most of it. Now and then a wet leaf would get stuck against the glass of the headlight and toss a flying shadow on the track. The spaniel leaned out the window and into the wet slipstream, peering through her goggles back at the train as the wind caught and tossed the long fur of her ears. In the darkness the cars behind her appeared as dark shapes with blazing yellow squares. A number of which where steadily dimming as the occupants in the sleepers turned in for the night. The private car at the rear had one light lit within it.

“Not him!” Dinkly snapped back at Tramp. “He'll be watching every move.”

Tramp's eyes rolled. “In that case, maybe we should give him something. Otherwise he'll be disappointed. Up all night with nothing to do.”

“Don't be stupid. I'm done talking to you.”

“That's news worth hearing!” The mongrel laughed, shaking his head slightly side to side. “Help yourself to a seat then, and stay out of our way.”

Lady watched the exchange from the engineer's seat-bench, trying not to let it distract her too much from the job of running the train. While she didn't condone such forward behavior, she was glad that her mate had finally shut their visitor up. The bird stared at the gray furred dog. Unwilling to let his gaze drop as if he was in a challenge of his dominance. Finally, after a few seconds of beak clicking he crossed the cab and sat down on the fireman's bench.

The Tramp grabbed the fireman's scoop, and started working the fire once again. They where moving at a brisk pace now. Lady leaned forward and peered through the fogged glass of the front window, not that there was much to see. A swatch of illuminated fog whirled and spiraled in their headlamp's knife like beam, leaving a wall of darkness on either side. Switch lamps, train order signals, curves, cuts and road crossings all passed in a swift and hazy parade. They had long since left Marceline, and the train was rapidly descending a long downgrade. Lady slipped the throttle shut and let the locomotive drift. She pushed one of her long ears back and peered over her shoulder back at the train. She had been running the locomotive in such a way that she generated a lot of smoke, and while she was sure that it was invisible in the night sky, a lingering uncertainty was if Balto's observations included cinders falling at the rear.

The Tramp tossed a few more scoops of coal into the firebox, then slammed the doors shut. Despite claims to the contrary, the Dispatch was hot and full of water with a sturdy fire. He cleaned up the cab deck with a sprinkler hose and a broom. Lady knew he could tell she was getting anxious. Just by the relaxed nature of his work. He put the broom up and slid up alongside her.

“Don't worry Pidge. I know ol' Balto. He's a fine fellow,” He flashed her a dapper smile, and placed a hand delicately on her shoulder, his body swaying with the rock of the locomotive. “He's a friendly sort. He knows what it's like and how it is. I promise that he won’t make a big deal over it.”

“That's good to know,” Lady answered, shuffling slightly. Her next words were spoken quietly, almost to herself. “Just wish our friend was the same.”

Tramp gave a slight nod before moving in and planting a light kiss on the cocker's forehead. He then glanced up at the steam gauge. “We're not licked yet. I'll give you all the steam you'll need to make up the time.”

The speed increased, and so did the rain. It came down in sheets over and around the cab. Leaving the engine crew riding in a bubble of air as the heavens opened up in a grand torrent. With the throttle closed, the safety valve started hissing, threatening to lift again. So the Tramp opened the fire-doors to help cool the Dispatch down a little. The orange glow lit up the cab and showed Dinky clinging tightly to the injector handle. His watch was in one hand and due to the motion of the locomotive he appeared to having some trouble remaining seated. Unlike the Tramp who seemed to flow between the tender and the firebox, tending to the locomotive's many wants and needs.

Faster and faster, the exhaust at the stack roared as the train heeled to the curves and rode the tangents like a cradle. The locomotive shied like a frightened steed, and shook in every iron muscle. The flanges shrieked against the rails, the cab swayed and cracked, and the very earth seemed to tremble. The long, heavy train that swept down the landscape might fitly have been likened to some winged dragon flying low to earth, so appallingly flight-like was the motion. Lady eyed the water-glass, and gave a silent nod to the Tramp. The boiler was filling up with water. Soon the mongrel had to shut off the injector and this deprived the sparrow of his handhold. Instead, he reached out to wrap his wing like hand around the fireman's shoulder and clutch his arm tight.

“It's too fast!” he complained. “Tell her to put on the brake.”

“She's running. Isn't that what you wanted?” Tramp barked back.

“It's too fast you dim-witted dog! You need to check the speed!”

“She's alright as long as we clear the trees,” Tramp grinned. “When the locomotive starts knocking them down then perhaps we'll slacken the speed.”

Dinky had only one ambition at the moment. He worked his way across the swaying cab, clutching at this or that to prevent a fall. Until he stood next to Lady, one of his hands holding onto the edge of her seat. “Put on the brake, we're going too fast,” he wailed. “Do you hear me?”

Lady perked her ears instantly. One ear flopped and fluttered in front of her face, forcing her to pull it back with a gloved hand. She paid him no attention for a few seconds, focused instead fully on what little track she could see ahead. She glanced around the gauges briefly.

“Sometimes we do fifty five here with a passenger,” She said matter of factually. Her tone as if speaking to a young a pup. “It depends on the train. Mr. Balto's car is holding us back a little tonight. We're only hitting fifty.”

“Put on the brake, pup! Balto will be raging.”

“Please do excuse me, but if Mr. Balto wished he could pull the air from the rear. That is, if he think his judgment is better then mine.” The delicate spaniel turned to face the front window again. “And please do refrain from calling me that. I'm not a pup. I'm a full grown dog. A mother even.”

The Tramp swung the clam-shell style fire-doors shut. The pressure has evened out, and the exhaust became a rhythmic beat that seemed to match the rock of the Dispatch. Together the and his lover coaxed, cajoled, threatened, and goaded the wheeled monster as, like a veritable thing of life, it worked every nerve to do their bidding, and whirled them faster and faster. Grabbing a hold of the injector handle, the gray furred mutt laughed and in a great baritone voice that called over the rush of the wheels over measured rails, started to sing:

“Oh, can you hear the mournful cryin'

That's soarin' through the summer breeze

The haunted wailin' of a steam train

It takes me back and sets my spirit free!”

Lady's voice, warm and full of serenity joined him from the engineer's seat.

“I still can hear the steam escaping

And see the mighty souls who made her go

The smoke and fire hung in the air and called out to my soul

Pointing to the path I had to go.”

Dinky's bowler hat looked as if it was going to topple down from atop his head, so high did his eyebrows rise and his beak drop. He had all the appearance of someone who had just walked into an insane asylum, stuck between the two mated dogs, who where clearly relaxed in this chaotic environment and masters of its course.

“Holy smokes, are you two crazy?”

The Tramp's laughter echoed about the cab, and Lady rose a gentle hand to cover her mouth politely as she grinned. She kept a hand firmly on the throttle nonetheless, and the Banker's Special continued on it's rain-and fog-swept voyage. A locomotive doesn't ride as comfortably as a coach, however this is due to the essential difference in design and construction rather then to speed. The crews are accustomed to it. Nonetheless they can tell instantly if someone had never spent time on the footplate, as was the case with their current rider. Lady had steam on, and they were driving down through the rain and fog as fast as that sturdy American class could turn her wheels.

“I should have stayed in the baggage car,” The bird shook his feathery head. “At least back there I would have some protection if we derailed.”

“If that's the case then you might want to say a prayer friend,” Tramp suggested. “If she ever leaves the irons then we've had it. Have to keep the speed up. You said it yourself. If we don't roll into Atlanta on time Balto will want the full particulars.”

Lady nodded her head eagerly in agreement with her mate. “It wouldn't do if I was to tell him you lost your nerve and ordered me to cease and desist from making the time. That is, unless you want me to.”

Dinky's beak dropped as if he wanted to spout something. Only to click it shut and let out a shiver that flustered his feathers. The sparrow held on tight to the hand railing that stood against the inside of the cab wall. The wheels savagely ground the rails at every curve, and made them shriek as iron hit iron. They had him pinned and they all knew it. Lady did not ease the throttle in the slightest. She knew her locomotive, knew her mate, and she was in her element.

*********************


A few miles up was a water tank, and the Dispatch was a thirsty horse with a light cistern. After a few more moments of their rapid gate, she began to slip the throttle closed and prepare the locomotive to make the stop. Slowly, the sound of the stack eased back from it's roar to a soft spoken hiss. The water tank was a notoriously hard one to stop at. It was on the opposite side to the engineer, and around a curve just beyond a way-station on a slight downgrade. Sometimes engineers missed it completely. Other times they stopped just short. In either case the brake would have to be released and the train re-positioned so that another stop could be made with the tank's spout lined up with the water hatch on the tender. This could cause an engineer to be a little rough with their stop, which while permissible on a freight train could lead to complaints on a passenger run. It required some skill and perhaps a little good luck to bring a fast passenger train to a smooth stop on a dime under the best of circumstances. Most engineers would have a landmark on such cases. A fence-post, mailbox, telegraph pole or some such which could be aligned with the window on the locomotive to make an accurate stop.

Lady had one such mark; an old stump that was on her side of the track. Her delicate fingers wrapped around the brass brake-handle as they approached the water tank. It's form appeared as a great black mass in the dreary smoke-filled night. The Tramp wrapped his hand around the bell cord and started to ring the engine-bell as they slowed.

“Take it easy now. Don't forget about Balto! He'll be watching your every move,” came the predictable caw of their guest.

Lady had her head out the window, her long ears tumbling about her shoulders in fluttering cascades of red fur, and glanced back. There where several hundred souls back there besides the General Manager, whose light had gone out in his private car. Most likely joining the others in slumber. The spaniel swung back around to fully concentrate on her task. The Banker's Special slowed to an even five miles per hour when Lady stood up and slipped her upper body out the cab window. Her skirt fluttering alongside the cab, buttocks resting on the sill. With one hand on the windowsill to balance herself, her only grip became on the brake-handle in readiness to make the stop when she glimpsed her landmark.

It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that there was nothing anyone could do about it. Lady leaned out a little further then she should have, straining to see through the fog, and there was a spot where the roadbed under the tracks was a little soft due to the runoff from the water tank. One side of the engine first mounted upward, like a ship rolling upon a wave, then suddenly sank, as if engulfed. Dispatch made that lurch just enough to send the cocker tumbling out the window with a sharp squeal. In the process, she swung the brake-handle into the emergency position and the Banker's Special came to an abrupt stop with cars bouncing off one another in a clash of iron couplers and safety chains.

Dinky was thrown forward and knocked aside as Tramp, quick as a flash, was over at the engineer's side. His hands wrapped around Lady's skirt and keeping her from tumbling fully out the window and to the ground. Her legs in the air next to him, kicking. “I gotcha, hang on Pidge!”

He hauled Lady back through the window and into the cab. The cocker wrapping her arms around him once she was safely inside. Her fur was a mess, long ears wrapped around her neck, her goggles sitting across her muzzle askew.

“Oh, thank goodness! Thank you Tramp!” The spaniel sighed with relief.

“Are you hurt?” The concern in his voice was genuine.

“No, no. I think I'm fine. We just hit that rough spot in the track just right is all.”

Tramp hugged Lady, running his muzzle up the side of her head in a moment of personal affection. Had she gone out the window and the train kept moving, she could have been tossed under it and crushed. It had happened to more experienced engineer on better days.

“You two are going to sweat for this!” Came the aggravated voice of the Efficiency Inspector.

Dinky had recovered the power of speech, yet the rest of him was in poor shape. The Tramp had pushed him into the coal pile in his haste to rush to Lady. “Balto is going to give both of you a paddling for standing everything up on end like that.”

“I didn't know he was into that,” Lady snarked back, earning herself a sly grin from Tramp. “Is he not married?”

The sparrow's eyes narrowed darkly. Sure enough, a few lights had turned on back in the sleeping cars. One singular light blazed in the private car.

“Now see here,” Tramp started, releasing his mate. “I know that dog. He's not the sort to make something that shouldn't be.”

“You'll see! Just look at me and the state of my clothing!” Dinky stretchered his arms out at full wingspan showing off the condition of his wardrobe. His bowler hat had a ding in it, his vest was splattered with oil from an overturned can, and there was a stray glob of engine grease from where he had stuck his hand and used a lubricator to stand back upright. Tramp snorted.

“I told you to hang on. If you want to ride this locomotive then you are going to take your chances with the rest of us. Look at the little Lady. She took a tumble out the window and she's still immaculate.”

Lady was readjusting her goggles when Dinky pulled out a pad and a pencil. “I'll be taking my statement right now. That way I'll have it ready when Balto asks.”

While she was sure they could shrug it off, Lady would have been stretching the truth by saying she was not a little nervous. Looking aft along the train, a concerning number of lights were now on. The private car at the rear in particular was blazing with light along its length. The Tramp stepped in the gangway and for the first time that night, he wore a look of consideration on his tousled face. They could both see their conductor, dismounting an end platform and walking alongside the train towards the locomotive. The mongrel looked at Lady and gave her a solid nod.

“Terrible.” Dinky huffed. “Roughest stop on record. You've knocked several hundred people out of bed. They'll be claims for the next six months and a black eye for the company. What do you to have to say for yourselves?”

Lady felt herself shrink a little. While she disagreed with his attitude, the sparrow was right. Tramp however, drew back sharply and curled his lip in disgust. “Tell Balto, or whoever cares, to put a lantern on that stump! She couldn't see it because of the fog! If she had let go of the brake-handle when the locomotive lurched she would have gone completely out of the cab and something far worse could have happened. We're stopped, we're lined up with the tank, what more do you want?”

“She should have never put herself in that position!” Dinky turned to Lady. “It was your fault. You were careless.”

“I had to!” Lady's voice came out in a defensive squeal. “I had to stand up and lean out the window, I couldn't see the mark!”

There was silence for a few seconds, with only the sound of the airpump cycling to build air back up for the brakes, and the soft hissing of the standing locomotive. The rain had now turned into a gentle drizzle that fell lightly but constantly outside the cab.

The gray mongrel rubbed the spaniel's shoulder. “Go on Pidge, go tend to the locomotive. I'll take care of the water and see what the boss wants.”

The Tramp climbed over the coal pile and lowered the spout down so that water would flow from the tank into the thirsty locomotive’s tender. Lady meanwhile took a piece of cloth and polished the gauges and sight-glass in the cab, watching out of the corner of her eye as the sparrow started to jot down on his pad. Not wanting to think anymore about it, she slipped down from the locomotive, her skirt fluttering around her legs as her boots crunched in the wet gravel and mud. Oil can in hand; she examined the panting machine with a motherly delicacy. She rolled her shoulders to toss her matted ears behind her back once again, careful not to let them fall into the tallow cups she was so diligently filling with oil before running a gentile hand, palms flat, over the rods. Feeling for any slop or heat. Her docked tail wagged as she bent over to examine the cross-heads. Finally, she heard the tank spout slam back into the raised position, and she started back just as the clang of the tender latch lid closing echoed down from above.

As she started up the stirrups into the cab, she saw the Tramp taking a slip of paper from the conductor on the other side. Dinky snatched the message from the dog's hands and quickly scanned it before thrusting it into Lady's chest. “What did I tell you? It's addressed to you. Not me.”

Lady held the slip of thin onion skin paper up, her long ears dipping as she read the hastily-jotted words out-loud. Her heart starting to pick up pace in her chest.

“You will arrange to explain reason regarding rough stop at this water tank. Balto. General Manager, W&A RR.”

Dinky handed Lady his personal pad and pencil. To which she looked to Tramp, wondering how she should proceed. Her gave her a soft nod of his head and she exchanged the note from the rear for the writing material. Whatever she said, he would back her up. She leaned the pad against the cab wall and started to dictate while she wrote.

“On account of poor visibility I could not see the landmark, which is a tree-stump, when spotting the locomotive at the tank. I was standing up-”

“Don't tell him that!” The sparrow snapped.

Lady looked up from the pad.

Tramp spun on his heels, snapping; “Don't tell him what?”

“That she was standing up.”

“But I was standing up...” Lady countered.

“Don't tell him so!”

“She can't say she was sitting down!” Tramp barked. At this point the normally cool and level headed dog was clearly agitated. “It wouldn't be in accordance with the facts! She was nearly pitched from the damn cab!”

“Both of you, settle down!” The cocker snapped. “I will not have such behavior on my locomotive. It says an immediate explanation and I'm not going to lie. We don't want to be here all night and we're already late enough as it is!”

Both males took a step back. Dinky deflating visibly while Tramp cocked his mouth. “Go on Pidge, You have this.”

Lady resumed dictating as she wrote. “I was standing up in the cab and leaning from the window trying to spot the stump. Owing to rough conditions at this point I was tossed off balance from the cab and-”

“Don't write that!” Lady closed her eyes and sighed annoyance as the sparrow's voice echoed about the cab. “It's a criticism.”

“A rough spot's a rough spot. He knows it's there,” Tramp returned, his ears perked forward aggressively. “Let him fix it!”

“He won't like it.” The bird remained firm.

Lady rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I can't say I enjoyed it much either. Please, let me finish.”

The conductor was still waiting for the response. He was an Irish wolfhound that neither Tramp nor Lady knew personally. Standing in the starched uniform of the captain of a passenger train, he tapped his foot impatiently.

“Owing to rough condition of the roadbed at this point,” Lady resumed “I was tossed off balance from the cab and I was pitched out the window. I hung onto the brake handle to keep from being tossed to the ground. The handle was moved to the emergency position before I could prevent it. Causing rough stop.”

Lady signed the message and pushed past both the bird and the dog to hand it down from the cab to the conductor, who dashed off. Turning around to face her mate and their visitor, she put her hands on her hips and shook her head side to side.

“I wouldn't have told him that,” Dinky said matter of factually.

“He wanted the facts, he got them...are you going back to the baggage car now?” Tramp looked the bird over. Oil, grease, coal dust and a shattered bowler hat.

“Not now. I have to be here to get the facts for whatever happens next.”

Tramp threw up his hands and crossed the cab to help Lady slip back into the engineer's seat. While waiting for the signal from the conductor he spent the remainder of their time silently running his hands over her shoulders. Checking her for any injuries. To which she closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat, relaxing under his loving grip and trying not to think about what 'next' could be.

***************************

After a moment or two a lantern was sighted swinging from the rear of the train. Signaling 'all clear'. Two blasts on the whistle and the clanging bell accompanied distant thunder as the Dispatch began to roll downhill, the train tenderly in tow. Lady was very careful when she let off the brake so that the slack was drawn out as gently as it could be. Throwing a cloud of smoke into the rainy night sky they soon left the water tank and the old stump behind them.

The Banker's Special was not scheduled to stop at any of the stations along the route. It flew by sleepy depots and sidings, and swept through empty platforms guided by clear train order boards. The stern arm of a semaphore signal never made the train pause even for an instant. There was always a clear track. Lady took a quick glance backward to see the faint yellow blocks of light from the cars marked on the dark ground. One by one the lights in the sleepers went out again. The cocker started feeling better, and before long she had the train making up time on the downgrade. A quick look at her pocket watch told the grim tale. They had clawed back ten minutes, then lost fifteen at the water tank. The watch went back into her blouse, and her eyes focused on the rails. She eased back on the throttle only at the curves. The Tramp was a blur of motion as he swung from the coal pile to the fire-doors and back again. Soon, the fire was blazing hot. A few pokes with the spreader bar, and Lady found she had all the steam she could have ever wanted. The fire-doors clattered shut, and the Tramp plopped himself on the fireman's seat, pulling out a pipe and a wad of tobacco. He lit the pipe off and calmly smoked, his eyes watching the water sight glass on the boiler before peering into the dreary night as well.

The tracks bottomed out, and then started to climb again. Their momentum gave them a good head start, but on the first uphill curve the driving wheels slipped. Lady backed off the throttle and applied sand. However each time the throttle was opened again, the wheels slipped again. The Dispatch rattling and rolling while the beat of the exhaust went wild. They may have been joking about it at the depot in Marceline, however when the real thing appeared both Tramp and Lady became focused. It was clear the sand had cut out. The spaniel leaned far out the cab window, bracing herself on the window ledge, and looked down at the spinning drive wheels.

“We're going to stall,” she called out. “No sand.”

Tramp grabbed a wrench from the tool box, and then he opened the running board door and climbed out. "Keep her steady for me Pidge."

“You shouldn't go out there!” Dinky called out as Tramp vanished outside the cab. “If you fall off and hurt yourself it will delay the train!”

“We need sand on a night like this,” Lady replied. “If we stall here we would never get her started again. We would have to back up half a mile and try again. Is that your idea of efficiency?”

Sand was stored in a large dome atop the boiler, which kept it dry and free flowing. It ran in tubes down each side of the locomotive to be deposited on the rail head just in front of the drive wheels. The Tramp grabbed hold of the hand railing that ran along the boiler and he clung there for a dizzy moment. The drive rods and wheels pounded in the Tramp's ears intermittently as Lady tried to keep the train moving. They quickly lost their momentum and the train seemed destined to stall. Slowing to a crawl while the drive wheels spun uselessly.

Tramp was experienced in this job, and compared to his past adventures, this was nothing. Steadying himself, he eased firmly along the running board while the rain plastered his triangular ears to the side of his head. He tapped the sand delivery pipes with the handle of the wrench, loosening up the contents until they flowed freely down to the wet rails. In a few seconds, the drive wheels bit and the exhaust became steady, albeit slow. By the time he swung back into the cab, Lady was advancing the throttle and slowly taking up the speed, careful so as to not encourage a slip again.

“We're losing time...” Dinky clicked his beak. “Oh, it doesn't matter. Balto has enough as it is.” He removed the bowler and wiped the grim and coal dust from his feathers. He tossed the handkerchief into the firebox when he finished with the oil that was on his vest. “Thirteen cars, I might have known it.”

“We're not beaten yet!” Lady assured. Her skilled hands ran between the throttle and Johnson bar, advancing the throttle back inch by inch until the locomotive crested the grade. An astute smile slowly spread across her muzzle as the Banker's Special rolled over the brow of the hill, with the throttle wide, the fire seething in the iron steed's vitals with volcanic fury. They were starting to pick up speed again, and they had priority over all other trains. The schedule called to meet a freight in a siding just a few miles ahead. They would pass the freight at speed. Then Lady would have a chance to claw back time on the big downgrades. “Lost five, gained ten. As long as we gain more then we lose we stand a chance.”

With ten cars and fair weather the recovery of the list time would not have been too difficult. However thirteen cars at night in fog and with soaking wet rails to contend with the outlook seemed grim. Lady knew the score. Her chocolaty eyes focused on those two ribbons of iron to the point where she wondered if she would be seeing them in her dreams when she finally got some rest. Experience told her where to put her nose into the bone, and where to pull back and play it safe. She knew her locomotive well, and she trusted the Dispatch as much as she trusted herself. The Patterson-built standard type may have been an elderly locomotive, yet all that meant was that she was worn in all the right places. Her brasses and bearings showed no hint of running hot, and Lady had oiled all the rods so diligently that they sailed along with nary a clank. As the track became smoother, the engine grew calmer; but her barred tongue of a pilot licked up the flying space for many a mile before the momentum of that perilous descent was lost. The exhaust beats began to merge into one great roar as they picked up speed, the locomotive swaying side to side in an even bob.

Running south carried the train away from the mountains. The grades may not have been as harsh as they would have been running north, yet they ran long and steady. The pine forests on each side of the right of way turned into open fields. High above them, the sky was growing steadily brighter, the deep outlines of rain-clouds visible against a rich backdrop of dark slate. The Tramp opened the fire-doors for just a moment, then shut them with a clatter. He had his fire exactly as he wanted. As long as the pace was kept steady, there would be no need to stoke heavily. His own pocket watch appeared and vanished a number of times, just enough to get an idea on their race against time.

There was a loud report and a flash of fire from beneath the locomotive's wheels. Akin to a firework, followed instantly by another. Both Tramp and Lady knew without thinking what it was; two torpedo signals. The coin-sized devices secured to the top of the rail exploded when crushed by a passing train. They were warning devices, alerting the crew to problems up ahead. Lady eased back on the throttle and leaned out the cab as Tramp did the same from his side.

“Careful you two!” Dinky bounced. “It's bad enough as it is, if we jar Balto again there is no telling what will happen!”

“Would he rather we plow headlong into whatever is up ahead?” Tramp deadpanned. “Won't have to sack anyone if we're all dead.”

Lady brought the train to a dead crawl until she saw the glow of a red fusee burning through the haze. One touch of the air-brakes and the Banker's Special drew to a grinding halt, couplers stretched, just before the fusee. As long as the fusee burned, they would be unable to pass. In accordance with the rules, the freight train's brakeman stood track-side with his lantern. As they drew to a stop, the brakeman swung himself onto the tender stirrups and stuck his head into the cab.

“Sorry to stab your schedule. We seized a journal box while getting into the siding. They should already be in there by now, but have an eye!” Lady rolled her lower lip and bit it upon hearing that an axle bearing, or journal box, had overheated and locked up. The time needed to cool the bearing enough to move the freight train into the siding meant yet another delay in their progress.

The fusee burned out, and the train was allowed to proceed slowly ahead. All three members of the head end leaned out the gangway and respective windows, peering into the night to see what the situation was just out of the reach of their headlamp. The siding was far up the line, and the twin beads of light from a set of class lamps illuminated the dark silhouette of another locomotive sitting in the side track. Along with the bouncing orange balls of light from crew lanterns. The freight train's iron horse was huffing a hot breath impatiently, the headlamp already shaded so as to not blind the crew of the oncoming Banker's Special. The whistle was sounded, and a lantern signaled the train to proceed with caution. The switch just ahead of the freight's locomotive was lined for the main. As they passed the freight's locomotive, Lady gave two quick 'pop's of the whistle as a greeting.

The freight train's cars loomed as great shadows to the side as they slowly passed. The light from the headlamp highlighting and then passing over each car. Dinky had his pocket-watch out and was eyeing the time. He was joined by the cocker engineer, whose fob-watch sat in her hand as she watched the valuable minutes she had picked up slip away yet again.

“It's a good thing for us they were late,” Dinky said, looking up from his watch as they proceeded. “We can blame the delay on them. What a bother, there's going to be paperwork a foot high.”

“Now, now, we're not beat yet,” Lady gently reminded, although she was starting to have doubts herself.

“Are you thick in the skull?” Dinky's head snapped towards the cocker spaneil. “We'll never make up the twenty minutes now. And what with testing the brake back in Marceline, and that rough stop of yours at the water tank there's no question about what will come of this mess!”

“Hey,” Tramp snapped from the fireman's side. “If the little Lady says we'll make it, then we'll make it. We can at least make up ten minutes. The other ten are up to Balto, since he delayed us with his car.”

The sparrow threw up his hands, the chain from his pocket-watch snapping from his ruined vest. “No good kid! Balto won't answer for the delay.”

“Okay, then we'll make up twenty,” Lady replied assuredly. She could see the end of the freight train hiding in the darkness. They had gotten the goods fully into the siding and the switch was already lined for them. One of the freight's brakemen was giving them the 'all clear' with a green lantern. The spaniel began to inch back on the throttle. As they rolled past the caboose, she slipped the fob-watch home. “We'll make it in on time.”

*******************

The Dispatch began to bark, and the miles started to slip back under the big red drive wheels. As soon as they put the depot by the siding behind them, Lady eased the throttle back and let her locomotive bite into the bone. They had forty miles to go, and less then forty minutes to do it. They would have to do it at over a mile a minute. A speed that would be just on the edge of the allowable restriction. However, the two canine members of the crew knew their own railroad. It was downhill, and the curves were gentle. The rain continued, dripping from the eaves trough above Lady's head. She had to shake water from her long ears from time to time, keeping her head leaning out the window to give herself a little extra view around the boiler. The aforementioned fluffy banners of fur cascaded around her head. They were flying now. Signals, signs, and grade crossings loomed swiftly in the fog-dimmed glare of the headlamp, winked by, and were gone. At each grade crossing, the whistle sounded, it's wail echoing across the landscape while a white feather of steam erupted from the chimes to sweep back over the cab roof.

Dinky braced his back against the inside water leg of the tender, staying out of the way of the fireman. His eyes darted side to side, clearly concerned about the speed. Yet he said nothing, having learned to stay silent and keep a tight grip. He had his pad in front of him and was trying to take notes as best he could. Every few miles he would rip off a sheet and stuff it into his vest pocket. Likely he would never be able to read his own notes, and Lady found herself smiling thinking about Balto trying to decipher the speed-streaked scratches.

The Tramp swung back and forth in a smooth fluid motion between the tender and the fire-doors, his gray triangular ears bobbing and the muscles on his firm arms rippling. His lover needed steam, and he was going to give it to her. As he turned to the firebox, his foot found the peddle each time and the clam-shell doors clanged open. The red hot heart of the locomotive highlighting his handsome features for a few seconds as he launched his scoop of coal into the inferno. The fur around his muzzle twitched and fluttered from the blast of hot wind that roared from the firebox each time the doors clanked open. The sound of the exhaust turned into a steady holler, and the steam gauge was flicking in indecision as it slowly rose higher and higher.

The sky was continuing to brighten. The gray morning was wet and sickly, with dark rain-clouds and rumbling thunder covering the sky from the horizon to horizon. In twenty miles they had picked up eleven minutes. The music at the stack became a frenzied symphony interspersed with notes from the whistle and the clang of the bell. Lady gave up trying to sound the correct sequence of whistle blasts for the grade crossings, instead just hanging onto the cord until the charging iron horse cleared each one. Fog and darkness, hill and dale, the kindly spaniel had them rolling. Minus the lights and some yards of glistening rails, the landscape was only a blend of black and weird shapes that sank to the rear in a hurried march. The dark loom of a house trackside quickly dissolved before the eyes. A station with its lamps became a broad yellow band that, to those aboard, was only a few yards in length. Below, in a deep valley, a silver glare on the waters of a river made equal time with the train.

Lady eased back on the throttle as they saw the city of Atlanta start to emerge in the distance. Tramp closed the fire-doors one final time, and tossed the scoop into the coal pile with a clatter. Exchanging it for a broom to quickly sweep the cab floor, and the water hose to sprinkle down the coal dust. The hard work was over, and as they passed over streets and rolled past the brick and mortar mills, foundries, homes, and businesses of the state capital the Tramp slipped himself into the fireman's seat. His pipe found itself back between his lips drawing and a gentle smoke as they slowed down for the railyards. The last seven miles would see them traversing the yard and rumbling towards the big central station. Gliding at a speed that was still high but rapidly decreasing, the train curved to the left, and swung down a sharp incline, to move with an imperial dignity through the railyard. There was a maze of switches, innumerable engines noisily pushing cars here and there even at this early hour. They had one minute left on the mile-board and as the speed dropped off, Lady found herself starting to think about their situation. She could see lights starting to turn on in the staterooms of the saloons behind them, as their distinguished passengers cleaned up and got ready for the day ahead. At the very rear, Balto's private car glowed with light.

She had only met the wolf-dog hybrid one time, although he and the Tramp seemed to be on good terms. His daughter, who was the Western & Atlantic's own chief mechanical engineer, was always an understanding presence around the roundhouses, yet Balto was not his daughter. Those instructions to forgo the brake test back in Marceline weighed heavy on the spaniel's mind. They were either a gesture of authority or or a shrewd attempt to test her obedience to the rules. Did he know that their locomotive was pulling too many cars for her class to handle satisfactorily under the schedule? The Dispatch was powerful for her age, and Aleu knew what their fleet was capable of. Did Balto know too? Did he know what sort of proposition it was to handle such a train smoothly at the speeds she had been forced in order to keep to the schedule? Lady's lower lip curled inward and she found herself chewing on it anxiously. Would he consider the things she couldn't control, such as the fog, the weather, rail conditions, the rough spot in the roadbed, the slow orders, being flagged by the freight train and the delay in getting his own car onto the train? Lady found her heart rate starting to increase as she wondered if these were all mere excuses for what could be seen as her own poor train handling.

The cocker felt a hand on her shoulder. Gripping it tenderly, she turned to see Tramp standing by her side, a warm smile on that furry face and a spark in his amber eyes. The gray fur was tinged with a slight black of coal soot. He squeezed her shoulder blade reassuringly. No doubt he knew her well enough to know what she was thinking. “Don't worry Pidge, you've done all you could do.”

A wide and splendid collection of signal-lamps flowed toward the engine. With delicacy and care the train clanked over some switches, passed the signals, and then there shone a great blaze of gas lamps, defining the wide sweep of the station roof. The very southern most point of the Western & Atlantic Railroad, Terminus Station was called “A Cathedral of the New Age”by the local Atlanta papers. Too the outsider, it was a modern structure that, with its high-arching elegant glass vaults and cars sheds, blended the aesthetics and technological achievements of the re-born city. The W&A’s own office facilities where located behind the car shed, with an large suite of offices overlooking the platforms on the second floor of the terminus. It was only accessible by a staircase leading up from the station platforms. The activity below was in plain view of the operations department, whose offices had glass frontings.

A fine mist of rain beat against the windows of the passenger cars of the Banker's Special as they slid under the big covered train shed in the early morning glow. Usually they would shut off steam and let the train roll to a stop at the platform. This morning however, Lady set the brakes and worked the steam against them. Taking the train in a little faster to ease back those final seconds, as well as keep it stretched. She was busy judging speed and distance, and ignored the big station clock. With one final twist of her wrist on the brake-handle, Lady brought the Special to a gentle stop at the platform.

“Pidge...look,” Tramp grinned ear to ear, and pointed at the clock. Lady leaned out the cab window and instantly felt herself awash with relief.

They had made it with one second to spare.

Tramp laughed and swung around to Dinky. “Well, how about that? We made it!”

“Won't do you any good,” The sparrow spat, shaking his head side to side. His brow furrowed as he got his notes in order. He drew the wad of papers from his pocket and began to arrange the numerous sheets in order. The carefully-prepared report to hand off was as good as a sentence of execution for Lady and the Tramp. “That hard jolt at the water tower will be remembered.”

“Well, you're a bundle of optimistic nerves,” Tramp snorted. “We're here safe and sound and right on the dot. What's a little jolt or two between friends?”

Lady was more inclined to agree with the bird, despite her mate's reassurances. She sat in the engineer's seat with her hands in her lap like a schoolgirl sitting at attention in class, her head held high, the collar around her neck sitting perfectly level. Her mouth was a thin line, the calmness betraying the thundering heart inside her torso. She took a deep breath to settle her nerves, and looked down the platform with nervous eyes. Already the porters were handling luggage and passengers where hurriedly moving from the cars to the platform with their bags, valises, and dressed in fresh clothes. Having received a night's rest most would be rushing from the station with only a quick stop at the Newspaper stand for the morning edition. Turning around, she looked up at the railroad's offices. There, standing at the iron railing and peering down at the newly-arrived train, was the General Manager himself.

“If Mr. Balto has been back in that private car...” Her ears dipped. “Why do I see him up in the offices?”

Tramp swung himself over to the gangway and looked up. Dinky likewise poked his head out the side window. Both males had a look of pure bewilderment. The stocky wolf dog that had been the cause of her torture that night took note of the train below him with a raised eyebrow that touched the brim of his fur-padded hat. Balto watched the proceedings below him with his hands held in his vest pockets.

“Is someone playing a joke on me...” The sparrow openly asked, his sheaf of papers wadded in his hand.

Tramp leaned back into the cab and shrugged. It wasn't common for Lady to see her mate speechless. He looked back to their passenger. “Did you see Balto, at all, during this trip?”

“Well...no...” Dinky scratched his head, lifting up the battered bowler hat. “But that's his private car back there, and we had that official message from him. That's what told me to lose the brake test. So, if he wasn't back there...who was?”

“Just someone who carries his blood,” came a familiar female voice from the platform. All three members of the Dispatch's crew swung their head in unison to see a set of sharp blue eyes and wide grin set against a wolfish muzzle. Aleu, the company's chef mechanical engineer, was walking alongside the tender towards the locomotive. As she stepped up onto the stirrups to lean into the cab, her thick bushy tail flicked back and forth behind her clean trousers. “Good morning, I apologize for last night's interruptions. Had I known how full the train was to be, I wouldn't have lashed papa's private car to the tail.”

“I can't say it's not a relief to see you Aleu,” Tramp laughed. “Didn't take you for a plush rider,”

Aleu shrugged. “A girl needs her sleep now and again. Although based on last night's adventures, I would say maybe I should have come up to the cab...but then again, I think you guys had it handled.”

“Did we pass your little test at Marceline?” Lady chimed.

“With flying colors.” The she wolf smiled before extending a hand to shake Tramp's, before leaning in to give Lady a pat on her shoulder. “And must I say, congratulations on a splendid run under such adverse conditions. My respects, or perhaps my sympathies, to the two of you. Hope you're alright after that tumble about the cab at the water tank.”

Dinky forced his way between Tramp and the gangway, pushing the canine to the side roughly. His brow was furrowed and eyes beady. “Young lady, don't think your father won't hear about this! Adding an extra car onto a train beyond what the locomotive can carry, using company resources, your father's private car and signing orders in his name. Oh, I'm sure Balto will hear about this.. ”

“Oh, I intend to make sure he hears all about it,” Aleu grinned. She craned her neck and gave a little wave to her father up on the office balcony. The wolf-hybrid in question, unknowing of the amount of trouble his non-existent presence caused that night, gave her a smile and a nod of his head in return. “Including the bit where you tried to push a train out of the depot without a brake test. Nothing like a little rules violation to push up efficiency. Besides, I'm the keeper of the power. I know what these locos can handle, and after tonight I don't think that anyone could argue against this as being one of the best crews on the whole railroad.”

The bird's mouth began to twitch, and he took a step back in the cab. He didn't wait to respond to the wolf's bluff. Instead, he took the papers he had in his hand, stomped on the peddle to open the firebox doors, and tossed the full report he had prepared inside, where they vanished into the beating heart of the locomotive. Gathering his hat and coat, the bird pushed his way through the cab and down to the ground. Aleu gave him a small wave of her fingers and a smile as he passed her, and passed into the crowd. Before he vanished, Lady could just hear him mumble; “I should have ridden in the baggage car.”

“You know Pidge,” Tramp said as he watched the bird's broad back disappear down the platform. “Even a officer of the road can show a few stray roots of sense when someone digs down deep enough to heave them to the surface.”

“Tramp!” Lady playfully gasped. “Now, now....behave.”

“Only funning around, I promise,” His gray ears bobbed “But I'll bet a bright new penny to a rusty one that Dinky won't bother Balto with tonight's adventure.”

“Even if he does,” Aleu climbed the stirrups and stepped into the cab. “I suspect he ought to be a new man when he gets back from the cleaners. You two did all the work and he looks like he rolled in the coal.”

“Speaking of which,” Tramp grabbed the coal scoop and held it out for Aleu to take. “Considering all the trouble you caused us last night back there, perhaps you wouldn't mind tending to the Dispatch for a bit while Pidge and I rustle up some breakfast.”

Aleu's ears perked for a few seconds as she took in Tramp's charming smile. Lady wondered briefly if the master of power would decline. With a shrug, the wolf-hybrid took the scoop from Tramp's hands and gave the two railroad dogs an exaggerated curtsy. “Go grab some grub. I'll keep the old girl hot for you. Once you get back and we tie the train up in the yard, I'll make sure you don't get called for a full day. Least I can do.”

“Oh, thank you Miss Aleu,” Lady said as she hopped down from the seat-box.

Tramp took her hand in his and helped her down from the cab to the station platform. While she was fully capable of dismounting on her own, Lady knew he just wanted to show her the affection. Always her gentleman. As the morning rays shown through the rain speckled glass canopy of the big station, Tramp and Lady walked hand and hand from their huffing iron horse. Their first stop would to the washroom to clean up. After which a warm and well deserved breakfast awaited.





THE END.