He and Bucks met. I couldn't for the life of me help thinking when they struck hands, this grizzled mountaineer and this contained, strong, soldierly executive who had come to command us, of another meeting, I once saw when I carried Crook out on a special and watched him at Bear Dance strike hands with the last of the big fighting chiefs of the mountain Sioux. For three months Bucks sat his new saddle without a word or an act to show what he was thinking: then there came from the little room a general order that swept right and left from trainmaster to wrecking boss. The last one of the old timers in the operating department went except Dave Hawk. The day the order was bulletined Bucks sent for Dave; sent word by me he wanted to see him. "Come on," said Dave to me when I gave him the message. "What do you want me for?" "Come on," he repeated, and, greatly against my inclination, I went up with him. I looked for a scene. "Dave, you've been running here a good while, haven't you?" Bucks began. "Long as anybody, I guess," said Dave curtly. "How many years?" "Nineteen." "There's been some pretty lively shake-outs on the system lately," continued Bucks; the veteran conductor looked at him coldly. "I am trying to shape things here for an entire new deal." "Don't let me stand in your way," returned Dave grimly. "That's what I want to see you about." "It needn't take long," blurted Dave. "Then I'll tell you what I want----" "I don't resign. You can discharge me any minute." "I wouldn't ask any man to resign, Dave, if I wanted to discharge him. Don't make a mistake like that. I suppose you will admit there's room for improvement in the running of this division?" Dave never twitched. "A whole lot of improvement," Bucks, with perceptible emphasis, added. It came from the new superintendent as a sort of gauntlet and Dave picked it up. "I guess that's right enough," he replied candidly, "there is room for a whole lot of improvement. If I sat where you do I'd fire every man that stood in the way of it, too." "That's why I've sent for you," Bucks resumed. "Then drop the chinook talk and give me my time." "You don't understand me yet, Dave. I want you to give up your run. I want your friend, Burnes here, to take your run----" A queer shadow went over Dave's face. When Bucks began he was getting a thunderstorm on. Somehow the way it ended, the way it was coming about--putting me into his place--I, the only boy on the division he cared "a damn" about--it struck him, as it struck me, all in a heap. He couldn't say a word; his eyes went out the window into the mountains: something in it looked like fate. For my part I felt murder guilty. "What I want you to do, Dave," added Bucks evenly, "is to come into the office here with me and look after the train crews. Just at present I've got to lean considerably on a trainmaster, do you want the job?" The silent conductor turned to stone.