The Bold Frontier
“WHEN THE WAGON BLEW, Jeff Croydon had no time for thinking. His dozen high-sided wagons were pulling up, one after another, to the boxcars on the siding in the town of Sooner. Number four wagon had just pulled away, the skinner bawling lusty obscenities at the mules, and number five was swinging in toward the car. Jeff Croydon stood near the wagons, the hot dust clouding around him, sweat dripping down his plain, serious face. Several of the handlers, stripped to the waist and shining with pers...piration, stood in the open door of the freight car in which the barrels of crude were transported east, adequately if not safely.
The skinner pulled number five wagon up beside the door. Someone in the crowd of town loungers standing by the freight train whistled shrilly. Croydon’s head whipped around as he heard the nervous bray of the mules and the curses of the skinner trying to frighten them into line once more.
Croydon saw no one in the crowd whom he recognized. At the moment the thing had the quality of an idle prank, but Croydon knew and respected the hellish power lying dormant in the gummy crude.MoreLess
The skinner pulled number five wagon up beside the door. Someone in the crowd of town loungers standing by the freight train whistled shrilly. Croydon’s head whipped around as he heard the nervous bray of the mules and the curses of the skinner trying to frighten them into line once more.
Croydon saw no one in the crowd whom he recognized. At the moment the thing had the quality of an idle prank, but Croydon knew and respected the hellish power lying dormant in the gummy crude.MoreLess
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