Explore "The Mystery of the Barranca" by Herman Whitaker on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
It was in the middle of the rainy season. Stepping out of his office, where he had just added a few drops of Scotch to the water he was absorbing at every pore, the station agent came face to face with the engineer of the down train.
"Nine hours late? " The engineer gruffly repeated the other's comment. "We are lucky to be here at all. Besides being sopping wet, the wood we're burning is that dosey it'd make a fireproof curtain for hell. This kind of railroading don't suit my book, and I'm telling you that if they don't serve us out something pretty soon that smells like wood I know one fat engineer that will be missing on this line. " Jerking his thumb at the lone passenger who had descended at the station, he added: "But for that chap we'd never have got through. When the track went out from under us at La Puente he pitched in and showed us no end of wrinkles. If you've got anything inside just give him a nip for me."