miles down the road where they used to have collisions regular; but they
were all different. I couldn't figure out what I was going to do till I
was on the ground, and then I didn't have time to. My only order was,
'Clear the road--and be damn quick about it.' What I said went. I've set
fire to fifty thousand dollars' worth of mixed freight just to get it out
of the way--and they never kicked. That ain't the kind of life for me,
though. No, nor this ain't, either. I want to be quiet. I've never had a
chance yet, and I've been looking for it ever since I was twelve years
old. I'd like to get a little farm and live on it all by myself. I'd raise
garden truck, cabbages, and such, and I'd take piano lessons."

"Is that why you quit the Grand Trunk? So that you could take piano
lessons?" Sloan laughed as he asked the question, but Bannon replied
seriously:--

"Why, not exactly. There was a little friction between me and the master
mechanic, so I resigned. I didn't exactly resign, either," he added a
moment later. "I wired the superintendent to go to hell. It came to the
same thing."

"I worked for a railroad once myself," said Sloan. "Was a hostler in the
roundhouse at Syracuse, New York. I never worked up any higher than that.
I had ambitions to be promoted to the presidency, but it didn't seem very
likely, so I gave it up and came West."

"You made a good thing of it. You seem to own most all Potfawatomie
County."

"Pretty much."