Ralph set the air and pulled the lever in a flash. What the gleaming headlight of No. 999 had shown, however, they were upon in a leap. They could feel a grinding jar, but the pilot had evidently swept the obstacle aside. They could hear the branches sweep the top of the engine. Then there came a warning sound.
Bumpety-bump,-bump-bump! The tree, uprooted from the gap side by the rain and the wind, had descried half a circle, it seemed, when shifted by the pilot. Its big end had rolled under the coach. From the feeling the young engineer could guess what had happened.
“Shut her off!” shouted Fogg.
“The coach has jumped the track!” echoed Ralph quickly.
His heart was in his mouth as he made every exertion to bring the locomotive to a quick stop. 150 No. 999 acted splendidly, but it was impossible to slow down under two hundred feet.
“Both trucks off—she’s toppling!” yelled Fogg, with a backward glance.
Each instant Ralph waited for the crash that would announce a catastrophe. It did not come. The coach swayed and careened, pounding the sleepers set on a sharp angle and tugging to part the bumpers. Ralph closed the throttle and took a glance backwards for the first time.
“The coach is safe, Mr. Fogg,” he spoke. “Get back and see how badly the passengers are mixed up.”
“There’s nothing coming behind us?” asked the fireman.
“No, but tell the conductor to set the light back as far as he can run.”