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Science Fiction Fan, v. 5, issue 9, whole 56, April 1941
Page 10
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10 FAN preferable to that on top after we had our fill. We silently took our positions opposite each other. Wiggins using my flash to get on across the coupling onto the other side. From there the trip settled back into its monotonous fatiguing rut. After some time we passed into Ogallala. While we were certain we were in Nebraska, this was actually the first concrete proof of it. Wiggins leaned over and informed me that this was the home town of the baseball team that plays in Denver every year called the Ogallala Oilers. Being a true red ball we shot through the town at a clip approaching eighty miles an hour, the station lights caused but an instant flash in the well between our cars as we whipped by. Out into the blackness we thundered again going faster than ever. We were now out on the Nebraska flatlands where the track was as straight as a string and the engineer was certainly pouring it on. Nothing was visible but blackness in there, and if you looked out around the front you would see the engine lighted up with reflected fire and on each side of the track where the light from the fire box throw a ruddy glow. On an infrequent turn you could see either the red or green lights on the caboose as it rounded the bend far back. An occasional green signal along the track was the only vestige that the train was not plunging on and on through black gaseous nothing. About this time I was climbing to the top of the car every so often to look around, anything to escape the boredom of just hanging there. I honestly expected to see it growing light In the east, yet as I found out the night was yet young at the time. Ahead was an airplane beacon, a beacon which we had the opportunity to inspect closer. ... lew — Continued Next Issue —
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10 FAN preferable to that on top after we had our fill. We silently took our positions opposite each other. Wiggins using my flash to get on across the coupling onto the other side. From there the trip settled back into its monotonous fatiguing rut. After some time we passed into Ogallala. While we were certain we were in Nebraska, this was actually the first concrete proof of it. Wiggins leaned over and informed me that this was the home town of the baseball team that plays in Denver every year called the Ogallala Oilers. Being a true red ball we shot through the town at a clip approaching eighty miles an hour, the station lights caused but an instant flash in the well between our cars as we whipped by. Out into the blackness we thundered again going faster than ever. We were now out on the Nebraska flatlands where the track was as straight as a string and the engineer was certainly pouring it on. Nothing was visible but blackness in there, and if you looked out around the front you would see the engine lighted up with reflected fire and on each side of the track where the light from the fire box throw a ruddy glow. On an infrequent turn you could see either the red or green lights on the caboose as it rounded the bend far back. An occasional green signal along the track was the only vestige that the train was not plunging on and on through black gaseous nothing. About this time I was climbing to the top of the car every so often to look around, anything to escape the boredom of just hanging there. I honestly expected to see it growing light In the east, yet as I found out the night was yet young at the time. Ahead was an airplane beacon, a beacon which we had the opportunity to inspect closer. ... lew — Continued Next Issue —
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