here much. Digging out No. 6 keeps them pretty busy.”
No. 6 was the official railroad name for the Summit Tunnel. It was part of the railroad line from Sacramento eastward through the Sierra Nevadas.Someday the line would be part of a transcontinental railroad across the whole United States.
All the railroad tunnels were numbered in order. Winnie frowned. Numbers were so ordinary. She would have named the tunnels after book characters—like Hans Brinker or Rip Van Winkle.
The train rumbled softly.
“Are we slowing down?” Mrs. Tucker asked.
Winnie looked out again. There was no room here for a depot. They were high on the edge of a cliff.
“This is Cape Horn,” said Flap Jack. “All the trains stop here for ten minutes. Gives us time to enjoy the view.”
The train jolted to a halt.
“Passengers may disembark to inspect the view,” the conductor announced.
Winnie was not afraid of heights. At least she didn’t think she was. And if the Central Pacific Railroad thought this place was worth stopping for, she would take a look.
Cape Horn was a sheer granite bluff rising fifteen hundred feet above the American River. The train tracks ran along a ledge carved out of the mountainside. It was not very wide.
Winnie took out her sketchpad. She loved to draw, but it had been too bumpy while the train was moving.
She sketched quickly. Beyond the ledge was a steep canyon. Trees grew straight up its sides, like teeth on a comb. At the bottom was the American River. It was there, but farther downstream, where gold had been discovered in 1848.
Nineteen years had passed since then. The California gold rush was part of Winnie’s family history. Her grandparents had been among the settlers flocking to California to make their fortunes. Her parents had met on a slag heap. Neither family had ever struck it rich, “but we found gold in each other,” her mother liked to say.
Winnie looked up at the cliff above them. “Is this a natural ledge?” she asked.
“Not at all,” said Flap Jack. “And believe me, building it was tricky work. Actually the Chinese crews did most of this. They were lowered down the side of the cliff with baskets of tools and blasting powder. They chipped out this ledge a piece at a time.”
“It sounds dangerous,” said Winnie.
The old miner nodded. “You could say that. Sometimes the ropes slipped. Other times the poor devils were caught too close to the exploding blasting powder. Hundreds of them lost their lives.”
Winnie took a last look down. She tried to imagine herself being lowered down the cliff. Just the thought made her head spin.
“Come on, Winnie,” said Mrs. Tucker. “It’s time to go.”
Chinese workers must be very brave
, thought Winnie as she followed her mother back on board.
C ISCO WASN’T S ACRAMENTO. That much Winnie realized at once. There were no three-story hotels. There were no wooden sidewalks. The one wide street was lined with low buildings that looked as if they would blow over in a stiff wind.
I don’t think Rose and Julia are missing much
, thought Winnie. She had hoped Cisco would feel like a frontier town, a place of adventure. At first glance it just looked small.
“I don’t see Papa,” said Mrs. Tucker, looking from the platform to the street.
They looked inside the station. The waiting room was filled with benches and a potbellied stove. The Stationmaster was just filling the oil lamps by the door.
Flap Jack sneaked up behind him.
“Bert, you old pickax!”
“Flap Jack, you old grizzly! You look as poor as ever. How was the trip?”
Flap Jack winked at Winnie. “Bert, I’ve ridden burros that bucked less. The ride wasn’t a total loss, though. I met up with the Tuckers.”
“Eli Tucker’s family?” said Bert. “How do you do, ma’am? Eli told me you were coming. He should be here directly.”
“I saw a general store, Mama,” said Winnie. “Can we go in there while we’re waiting?”
“You go ahead,” said her
No. 6 was the official railroad name for the Summit Tunnel. It was part of the railroad line from Sacramento eastward through the Sierra Nevadas.Someday the line would be part of a transcontinental railroad across the whole United States.
All the railroad tunnels were numbered in order. Winnie frowned. Numbers were so ordinary. She would have named the tunnels after book characters—like Hans Brinker or Rip Van Winkle.
The train rumbled softly.
“Are we slowing down?” Mrs. Tucker asked.
Winnie looked out again. There was no room here for a depot. They were high on the edge of a cliff.
“This is Cape Horn,” said Flap Jack. “All the trains stop here for ten minutes. Gives us time to enjoy the view.”
The train jolted to a halt.
“Passengers may disembark to inspect the view,” the conductor announced.
Winnie was not afraid of heights. At least she didn’t think she was. And if the Central Pacific Railroad thought this place was worth stopping for, she would take a look.
Cape Horn was a sheer granite bluff rising fifteen hundred feet above the American River. The train tracks ran along a ledge carved out of the mountainside. It was not very wide.
Winnie took out her sketchpad. She loved to draw, but it had been too bumpy while the train was moving.
She sketched quickly. Beyond the ledge was a steep canyon. Trees grew straight up its sides, like teeth on a comb. At the bottom was the American River. It was there, but farther downstream, where gold had been discovered in 1848.
Nineteen years had passed since then. The California gold rush was part of Winnie’s family history. Her grandparents had been among the settlers flocking to California to make their fortunes. Her parents had met on a slag heap. Neither family had ever struck it rich, “but we found gold in each other,” her mother liked to say.
Winnie looked up at the cliff above them. “Is this a natural ledge?” she asked.
“Not at all,” said Flap Jack. “And believe me, building it was tricky work. Actually the Chinese crews did most of this. They were lowered down the side of the cliff with baskets of tools and blasting powder. They chipped out this ledge a piece at a time.”
“It sounds dangerous,” said Winnie.
The old miner nodded. “You could say that. Sometimes the ropes slipped. Other times the poor devils were caught too close to the exploding blasting powder. Hundreds of them lost their lives.”
Winnie took a last look down. She tried to imagine herself being lowered down the cliff. Just the thought made her head spin.
“Come on, Winnie,” said Mrs. Tucker. “It’s time to go.”
Chinese workers must be very brave
, thought Winnie as she followed her mother back on board.
C ISCO WASN’T S ACRAMENTO. That much Winnie realized at once. There were no three-story hotels. There were no wooden sidewalks. The one wide street was lined with low buildings that looked as if they would blow over in a stiff wind.
I don’t think Rose and Julia are missing much
, thought Winnie. She had hoped Cisco would feel like a frontier town, a place of adventure. At first glance it just looked small.
“I don’t see Papa,” said Mrs. Tucker, looking from the platform to the street.
They looked inside the station. The waiting room was filled with benches and a potbellied stove. The Stationmaster was just filling the oil lamps by the door.
Flap Jack sneaked up behind him.
“Bert, you old pickax!”
“Flap Jack, you old grizzly! You look as poor as ever. How was the trip?”
Flap Jack winked at Winnie. “Bert, I’ve ridden burros that bucked less. The ride wasn’t a total loss, though. I met up with the Tuckers.”
“Eli Tucker’s family?” said Bert. “How do you do, ma’am? Eli told me you were coming. He should be here directly.”
“I saw a general store, Mama,” said Winnie. “Can we go in there while we’re waiting?”
“You go ahead,” said her
Similar Books
