Analy High School - Azalea Yearbook (Sebastopol, CA)

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prevent the impending fate of the “Gilt Edge,” for its time had come. “Deadshot Bill” Branden had done his work. With hat drawn down over his eyes, and an apparently careless manner, Branden made his way, tie by tie, rail by rail, back to Lone Shanty. There in the shadows of the old freight shed he waited. Waited so patiently and yet so nervously for the coming of the “Gilt Edge.” Prudence told him he ought not to lose so much time, for every minute lost might mean discovery and capture. But the desire to see the “Gilt Edge” go to its doom, a desire which had been kept alive for ten long years, was not to be downed so easily. Therefore he waited. Darkness fell, lights burst forth in the station windows and the animals of night crept forth. Soon the humming rails and the gleams of light that raced before an approaching head¬ light, told Branden that his vigil was over. With a shuddering screech from the brake shoes, a mighty exhalation of steam and air that choked the atmosphere, the great “Gilt Edge” ex¬ press came to a grinding stop. How Branden’s eyes feasted upon it! How he gloated as he look ed in at its lighted windows and saw the well dressed, contented passengers reposing so easily among its beautiful furnishings! Yes, they soon would pay for this comfort and Branden was glad. Yea, delighted. Conductor Sterns appeared from somewhere with a mail sack in his hand. From the cover of the shadows Branden shook his fist and bared his dog-like teeth at the figure of the haughty conductor. On second thought he smiled, for Sterns’ glory would be short. Yes, it was the happiest moment of Branden’s life. A shiver ran through the whole train as Stems, throwing his right arm skyward, gave the signal for departure. How Branden’s heart thumped as he watched each coach glide slowly by him. Suddenly, and without warning, Branden uttered a weird cry, clutched desperately at his heart and his face grew as pale as death. He acted as one who had seen a ghost. Then suddenly he sprang forward after the ever faster receeding train, but, seeing the futility of overtaking it, he turned and flew toward the path that ran over the hill to El Amigo. But why this change in “Deadshot’s” attitude? As he had stood gazing at the passing coaches, his attention had been ar¬ rested by a face framed in one of the windows. It had only been for a second, but in that short space of time Branden had recog¬ nized that face. It was a person whom Branden loved better than 22

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platform yet it had some comfort. For the “Gilt Edge” express, that far-famed train, condescended to stop before its door and deposit a dilapidated mail sack, which was consigned to a post- office that lay somewhere out in the hazy beyond. Leaving Lone Shanty the gleaming rails sped forward in a straight course for about two miles. Then, as if they had changed their mind as to where they wished to go, those threads of steel swung around in a graceful curve and entered a deep gorge known as El Amigo. This gorge had a length of five miles and lay parallel to Lone Shanty at a distance of half a mile. Thus, one wishing to make a short cut from the station to El Amigo could follow the path that ran through the woods to the top of the gorge. But there it ended, for at this point the gorge was over a hundred feet deep and its sides straight up and down. The 29th of June had been what is known as a “scorcher.” The rays of the glowing sun had beat mercilessly down upon the gasping earth. In El Amigo one could have fried eggs on the burning stones. As the long afternoon waned toward a close a man staggered into the canyon. His back was bent beneath the weight of several tools commonly used by section men. To all appearances he was a section hand, and would have passed inspection as such. Yet there was a nervous air about him that would plainly have told a careful observer that all was not right. He had an uncomfortable way of looking behind him without reason and of striking a listening attitude every now and then. Finally he came to a standstill and laid down his tools at what appeared his destination, an old freight siding. Assuming a careless manner the man dropped down beside the switch as if to make a careful examination of it. After a moment or so he arose and looked in all directions. Then, with an evil smile upon his haggard face, he strode off up the track toward Lone Shanty. The shadows were beginning to lengthen in El Amigo. A mild breeze had sprung up from the South, bringing with it refreshment to the drooping flowers. Soon it would be night and then would come the “Gilt Edge” thundering through the canyon. Lodged tight and firm in the switch of the old freight siding was a jagged piece of granite. How unoffending it looked and how small! Yet it was to send the lives of five hundred to death. Could nothing be done? Would no one come? The deserted canyon was as still as death. Two buzzards sailed far aloft and now and then a coyote barked. No, nothing could 21

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life itself—his mother. Now as he sprinted at top speed across the fields to El Amigo one thought was uppermost in his mind. He must stop the “Gilt Edge” before it reached the switch of the old freight siding and he must not fail. The old spirit of revenge was dead in Branden. A new and awful fear had taken possession of him. For he was sending the only friend he had in the world to death, to a death he had so villanously planned for other men ' s moth¬ ers. Why had he not thought of that before? Why had he not realized the full significance of the warning of the stars? His breath came in short gasps as he toiled up the hill toward the woods. Beyond those dark trees lay El Amigo, and yet how far away it seemed. Would he ever reach it? How his throat burned, how the blood pounded at his temples, and oh, how weak and heavy his legs felt. He could hardly raise them and yet he ran. An engine whistle echoed through the sleeping hills and a low rumble burst distinctly in Branden ' s ears. A hundred yards ahead loomed the dark space that marked El Amigo. The low rumble had become a roar, the gleams of a headlight were playing on the rocks, and Branden realized he was too late. He staggered on the brink of the gorge. Below he saw the gleaming rails flash under the glare of the headlight. Two hundred yards away was the “Gilt Edge” coming like a meteor. For one despairing moment Branden hesitated. He saw he could never hope to make that perilous journey down the jagged side of the gorge in time to flag the train. Yet he must attract the engineer ' s attention somehow, for a half mile further on lay the freight siding and death. But how could he do this? Yes, he realized that he must hurl himself into the canyon with the hope that his falling body might be seen by the engineer. It would mean certain death, but Branden was now desperate. Then, without a glance to right or left, he leaped straight over the brink of the gorge. Down, down, down, he whirled until with a sickening thud his lifeless body stretched itself across the rocks beside the track. But the engineer had seen his fall and quickly applied the brakes. The “Gilt Edge,” however, was not to be stopped so easily, and ran for almost half a mile before it could be convinced that it must stop. With the headlight playing full upon the old freight siding ahead the train came to a standstill. Branden had saved the train, but he paid the price. The wages of sin had been paid. 23