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PRAIRIE SONGS
Intent, at the spot where the fire blazed. Barely a glance was enough to tell It was a car which he knew full well — Shipped in bond by a fast freight line, Bound for a great Sonora mine — Filled to the roof and loaded tight With closed-tiered boxes of dynamite; Enough, if its deadly strength found vent, To rock the land like a billowed tent, Sweeping the town from the desert sand Clean as the palm of an opened hand.
What did he do, the engineer, Face to face with this mortal fear? Turn, as the rest, to the desert wide, Mad with dread, for a place to hide, Leaving the town and its helpless folk Doomed to death at a single stroke? No! Though only a peon born Heart like his might a king adorn!
Waving his arms to his frightened crew, Such as remained, a scattered few, Garcia uttered a warning shout — "Undile! Vamos!" ("Run! Get out!") Leaped to his engine waiting there, Opened the throttle, released the air, And started the jets for the sand to run On the glassy rails where the drivers spun, Till, biting the steel with a spurt of fire Sputtering back from each grinding tire, The monster conquered its straining load And, gathering speed on the curveless road, It rolled from the town and left it whole, Like death torn loose from a stricken soul.
But looking backward with stern-set face, Throttle gripped in a firm embrace, Garcia goaded his panting steed |
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