Glover had spent the day without incident or excitement on the Wind
River branches, and the evening had gone, while waiting to take a train
west to Medicine Bend, in figuring estimates at the agent's desk in
Wind River station. He was working night and day to finish the report
that the new board was waiting for on the rebuilding of the system.
At midnight when he boarded the train he made his way back to look for
a place to stretch out until two o'clock.
The Pullman conductor lay in the smoking-room of the head 'Frisco car
dreaming of his salary--too light to make any impression on him except
when asleep. It seemed a pity to disturb an honest man's dreams, and
the engineer passed on. In the smoking-room of the next car lay a
porter asleep. Glover dropped his bag into a chair and took off his
coat. While he was washing his hands the train-conductor, Billy
O'Brien, came in and set down his lantern. Conductor O'Brien was very
much awake and inclined rather to talk over a Mexican mining
proposition on which he wanted expert judgment than to let Glover get
to bed. When the sleepy man looked at his watch for the fifth time,
the conductor was getting his wind for the dog-watch and promised to
talk till daylight.
"My boy, I've got to go to bed," declared Glover.
"Every sleeper is loaded to the decks," returned O'Brien. "This is the
most comfortable place you'll find."
"No, I'll go forward into the chair-car," replied Glover. "Good-night."
"Stop, Mr. Glover; if you're bound to go, the Lalla Rookh car right
behind this is dead, but there's steam on. Go into the stateroom and
throw yourself on the couch. This is the porter here asleep."
"William, your advice is good. I've taken it too long to disregard it
now," said Glover, picking up his bag. "Good-night."
But it was not a good night; it was a bad night, and getting worse as
Number One dipped into it. Out of the northwest it smoked a ragged,
wet fog down the pass, and, as they climbed higher, a bitter song from
the Teton way heeled the sleepers over the hanging curves and streamed
like sobs through the meshed ventilators of the Lalla Rookh. It was a
nasty night for any sort of a sleeper; for a dead one it was very bad.
Glover walked into the Lalla Rookh vestibule, around the smoking-room
passage, and into the main aisle of the car, dimly lighted at the hind
end. He made his way to the stateroom. The open door gave him light,
and he took off his storm-coat, pulled it over him for a blanket, and
had closed his eyes when he reflected he had forgotten to warn O'Brien
he must get off at Medicine Bend.