Don't Cry Over 'Spilt' Whisky

Years ago in a small town on the Lampasas District in Texas there was a Santa Fe Agent who was known to take a sip or two of whiskey every once in a while.  He was a good man who, for the most part, did his job in a manner that wouldn’t attract much attention. He was sometimes forgetful and would doze off every once in a while. He had a Telegraph Operator that worked with him who would fill in the gaps and would see that everything was taken care of by the end of each day.

One day an old farmer and friend of the Agent stopped by the depot for a short visit. The Agent said that he was out of whiskey and needed to figure out a way to replenish his supply.  The farmer said that he was going into Brownwood and he would be glad to go by the bootlegger’s place and fetch him a bottle.  However, it would be late before he returned because he had other business to tend to. 

The Agent called the young Operator over and told him that he needed him to ride into Brownwood with the farmer and go by the bootlegger’s and pick him up a bottle of whiskey.  The farmer could then drop him off at the Brownwood depot and he could catch the 583 train that was scheduled to leave at 11:45 A.M.  The Operator pointed out that the train was not scheduled to stop at their location  and that there were rules against unauthorized persons riding on trains. The Agent said that he would give the train a stop signal on the semaphore signal at the depot; then he would be able to get off the train undetected.

The farmer and the Operator headed for Brownwood.  Once there, they stopped by the bootlegger’s and purchased the whiskey.  While there, the farmer called the bank to set a meeting time with them to take care of some financial business.  He was told that the meeting was going to be rescheduled for another day.  Hearing that news, the farmer told the Operator that there was not anything else that he could do in Brownwood if he couldn’t meet with the bank.  He told the Operator he could just take him back. The Operator was very happy that he was no longer going to stowaway on the train.

As they approached the depot,  the Operator noted that the Agent had yet to give a stop indication on the depot semaphore signal and the 583 train would be by shortly.  He told the farmer to let him out about a quarter of a mile from the depot. He then sneaked down the opposite side of the track from the depot and hid in the weeds to see if the not-so-trusty Agent would give the stop signal as planned.  A short time later he could see headlight of the 583 Train coming over the hill and still no stop signal.

The engines of the train blew by the depot at about 50 MPH with dust, loose papers, and grass rolling up along  the side of the train as it passed.  As he peered between the wheels of the train as it rolled by, he could see the Agent running out of the depot and standing on the other side.  The Operator rubbed dirt and grass on his clothes and messed up his hair.  As soon as the train had passed he slowly stood up from the weeds and began dusting the dirt and grass from his clothes as he staggered up on the tracks.

The Agent ran over to him and grabbed him by both arms and looked into his face with tears coming from his eyes and with a quiver in his voice said, “You didn’t break the bottle, did you?”.