Old Shag
By BOB FARNHAM
There's no knowing what a man can
do until the chips are down—especially
with a helper like the shaggy man!
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, March 1960.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Maybe a guy shouldn't believe everything he hears, but the trouble withsome people is that they don't even believe a true story. Let me buyyou a beer and tell you about it.
After working some years in the baggage room of the local depot, Idecided to transfer to the train service, and made application for it.The application was approved. I was sent to the city offices for thecourse of study and training which all trainmen undergo, and aftera time I was sent out as brakeman on a freight. I stayed for a yearand a half. Then I succeeded in being assigned as head brakeman on afast food special called The Red Ball Special. It made no stop betweenChicago and New York except for water and fuel. The big Diesel in whichI rode as head brakie was a high-speed locomotive, used exclusively forhauling the food special.
Our first stop was Detroit, where we cut off all but three cars, andtook on five more scheduled in New York at 9 the next morning. In NewYork, I strolled along Broadway, gawking at the sights exactly like anyother yokel.
After a twelve-hour rest, the return trip began. I stood in my place inthe big Diesel till we had cleared for the main line, and then settledback to enjoy the ride.
It was close to midnight. I sat at the cab window half asleep, mysenses somewhat dulled by the steady rhythm of train movement. I'dfinished an extra good cigar and had started to doze off when theengineer gave a low moan and toppled from his seat to the floor of thecab.
The fireman, much against the rules, but feeling safe with the engineerand myself to watch in his place, had gone back to inspect a suspectedleaking air hose without waiting for the train to stop.
I got the engineer back on his seat. He was dead.
I tied him in place and then began pulling on the whistle cord likemad. It was not my work to operate a Diesel. I'd not troubled to learn.
I wondered why the fireman did not get back. I was going to jump,although I didn't like my chances at that speed, when I suddenlydiscovered a strange man in the cab with me. He was a pretty ordinarylittle guy, except for a wild, shaggy head of hair.
"You chump!" he squeaked at me. "Maybe next time you'll obey the rules,and not sneak by without finding out things! See that short rod withthe spring-clip? Squeeze that clip and pull the rod back. Move, youfathead!"
I did as the shaggy man told me, and felt the speed of the trainslacken slightly as the power went off.
"Now, that brass handle sticking out of that pipe—move it to the rightslowly. Slowly, you dunce!"
Nine cars and the Diesel ground slowly to a stop. The wheels shudderedand skidded slightly because of my inexperienced hand, but the traindid stop.
The stranger nodded in satisfaction. "When you get back home, bone upon things. But right now you go take a close look at the manifest cardon the sides of the second and third cars...."
I jumped to the ground to go back and look at the second and thirdcars. As I passed the rear of the Diesel I saw why the fireman had notcome back to the engine cab. All that was left of him was the lowerpart of his body. He had slipped, caught on