Ralph stared hard at the grim old veteran. He could see he was on the verge of physical collapse, and he wondered if his mind was not tottering too; his pertinacity had something weird and astonishing in it.
"Jump!" ordered Griscom, giving the lever a pull.
Ralph did not budge. As he clearly read his companion's purpose, he made up his mind to stick.
The prospect was something awful, and yet, after the previous experiences of that exciting half-hour, he had somehow become inured to danger, and reckless of its risks. The excitement and wild, hustling activity bore a certain stimulating fascination.
With a leap 99 bounded forward at the magic touch of the old king of the lever. It plunged headlong into a whirling vortex of smoke.
A groaning yell went up from the fugitive crowds in the distance, as the intrepid occupants, of the cab disappeared like lost spirits.
Only for the shelter of the cab roof, they would have been deluged with burning sparks.
A tongue of flame took Griscom across the side of his face, and he uttered an angry yell--it seemed to madden him that he could not see clearly. Then as they struck the car they were making for with a heavy thump, the shock and a spasm of weakness drove Griscom from the cushion, and he slipped to the floor of the cab.
Ralph's mind grasped the situation in all its details. He knew the engineer's purpose, and he felt that it was incumbent on him to carry it out if he could do so. He stepped over his recumbent companion, and placed his hand on the lever.
He could not now see ten feet ahead. They were in the very vortex of the fire. Suddenly they shot into the clear, cool air, bracing as a shower bath.