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Unfortunately this demonstration attracted the attention of the motorist, who sensed a race, turned on more gas, and ran off and left the engine.

Railroad Jones roared with laughter at his defeat.

"Hey, boys, you tell 'em!" he shouted above the noise, "I ain't got the heart! But we got a railroad through old Lane jest the same-y! Here, come on up, boys, an' collect yore bets!" He drew out a roll of greenbacks as thick as his arm, and began peeling off dollar bills. Some of the men attempted to refuse the wager, but Jones would not hear to it, "Take it! Take it!" he shouted. "It's a souven-air!"

The whole trip became a love feast. Flasks of whisky began circulating among the men. The engineer ahead started a continuous ear-splitting shriek on his diminutive whistle.

"The name of this road!" shouted Jones, "is the Lane County Farmers' and Lumbermen's Railroad! That's what I name her now!" and he broke a bottle of illicit corn whisky against the tender.

The entire rolling stock of the L. C. F. & L. Ry. dashed along amid thin persimmon-grown hills, through narrow but rich creek bottoms; into pine woods; along desolate cut-over lands. Rabbits bolted out of the path of the monster; coveys of quails hurtled into air; half-wild hogs snorted and dashed off through the woods.

On the rear flat, two hillmen, who were old friends, and therefore could afford it, began fighting. Their buddies made a ring around them to keep them from toppling off the car to destruction.

After a run of two and a half miles, the excursion reached the end of the line where the men were working. The advent of the engine and of Railroad Jones disorganized everything. The man came flocking about the engine, all filed with a sense of proprietorship. They climbed over the locomotive and walked around it, examining its intricate mechanism. One of the men began telling a very old joke