It will run non-stop to Wyatt Junction, Colorado, traveling at an average speed of one hundred miles per hour.
The sign on the edge of a roof read: Wyatt Junction.
You should have seen Orren Boyle yesterday, when the first flash came through on the radio from Wyatt Junction!
That had been the progression of Wyatt Junction and of the town called Stockton.
Of the men who had once greeted her descent from the cab of an engine on the platform of Wyatt Junction, only Ted Nielsen was left, still running the plant of Nielsen Motors.
Train Number 57 was lined along the track, ready to leave for Wyatt Junction, when she reached Cheyenne, left her car at the garage where she had rented it, and walked out on the platform of the Taggart station.
When he seized the edge of the car, to brake his speed, she saw the face and the young, triumphant smile that she had seen but once before: on the platform of Wyatt Junction.
Marshville had been the end of the Line for months past; service to Wyatt Junction had been discontinued long ago; Dr. Ferris’ Reclamation Project had been abandoned this winter.
But the junction suddenly seemed an insurmountable distance away: on the shore of the Mississippi, at the Taggart Bridge.
…not bars any longer, they were the cracks of a wall which the John Galt Line had broken, the advance notice of what awaited them outside, beyond the Venetian blinds-she thought of the trip back, on the new rail, with the first train from Wyatt Junction-the trip back to her office in the Taggart Building and to all the things now open for her to win-but she was free to let it wait, she did not want to think of it, she was thinking of the first touch of his mouth on hers-she was free to…