“Put her through—take the risk,” ordered Trevor sharply.
Swish! crackle! crash!—it was an eventful moment in the career of the young fireman. There was a blinding glow, a rain of fire swayed through the locomotive cab, then, just as they cleared the bridge, the structure went down to midstream.
“We must get this news to Dover quick,” said Ralph, applying himself anew to lever and throttle. “We have ten minutes to make up then.”
Clink!—snap!—a terrific jar shook the locomotive. Contrary to signal given at the nearest switch ahead, the engine veered to a siding.
“What does this mean?” demanded Trevor sharply. 85
“Mischief—malice, perhaps,” said Ralph quickly. “Freights ahead—we shall have to stop.”
“Don’t do it,” directed Trevor. “Drive into them and push them ahead to the main line again. I’ll stand all damage.”
“They are empties, I noticed them on the afternoon run,” said the young fireman. “Mr. Trevor, all this complication, all these happenings are suspicious. We will have to slow down to the freights.”
“Slow down entirely,” growled a sudden voice. “Do it, or I’ll have it done by my partner, who is aboard all right.”
Both Ralph and Trevor turned sharply. Standing on the coal of the tender was a man. He was dripping with water, and in one hand held a revolver.