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Frank H. (Frank Hamilton) Spearman
Frank Hamilton Spearman (1859–1937) was an American author known for his works centered on railroads and the American West. He gained fame for his novel "Whispering Smith" (1906), which was later adapted into several films and a television series. Spearman's writing often blended adventure, romance, and detailed depictions of the railroad industry, reflecting his deep interest in the subject. In addition to fiction, he also wrote essays and non-fiction works, such as "The Strategy of Great Railroads" (1904), which showcased his expertise in railroad operations.
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CHAPTER I FRONTIER DAY Lefever, if there was a table in the room, could never be got to sit on a chair; and being rotund he sat preferably sidewise on the edge of the table. One of his small feet––his feet were encased in tight, high-heeled, ill-fitting horsemen’s boots––usually rested on the floor, the other swung at the end of his stubby leg slowly in the air. This idiosyncrasy his...
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CHAPTER I All day the heavy train of sleepers had been climbing the long rise from the river—a monotonous stretch of treeless, short-grass plains reaching from the Missouri to the mountains. And now the train stopped again, almost noiselessly. Kate, with the impatience of girlish spirits tried by a long and tedious car journey, left her Pullman window and its continuous, one-tone picture, and walking...
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CHAPTER I THE WRECKING BOSS News of the wreck at Smoky Creek reached Medicine Bend from Point of Rocks at five o’clock. Sinclair, in person, was overseeing the making up of his wrecking train, and the yard, usually quiet at that hour of the morning, was alive with the hurry of men and engines. In the trainmaster’s room of the weather-beaten headquarters building, nicknamed by railroad men “The...
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A JUNE WATER The train, a special, made up of a private car and a diner, was running on a slow order and crawled between the bluffs at a snail's pace. Ahead, the sun was sinking into the foothills and wherever the eye could reach to the horizon barren wastes lay riotously green under the golden blaze. The river, swollen everywhere out of its banks, spread in a broad and placid flood of yellow over...
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There had been rumors all winter that the engineers were going to strike. Certainly we of the operating department had warning enough. Yet in the railroad life there is always friction in some quarter; the railroad man sleeps like the soldier, with an ear alert—but just the same he sleeps, for with waking comes duty. Our engineers were good fellows. If they had faults, they were American...
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