Then the runaway started again. He fancied that some one jumped from the cab after the engine had got in motion. He could catch the sharp clack-clack of the flying wheels ringing in the distance.
“She is running wild now,” murmured the intent young railroader, and then started with a shock.
A horrid clamor extended out. It must have been a mile away, but the air was death-like, it was so still, and the merest sound seemed to vibrate clearly.
Crash, crash, crash! It sounded as if a building had collapsed against other tottering structures, tumbling them all into a mass of ruins.
“They’ve done it, whatever it is,” said Ralph, and ran back speedily to No. 93 and Roberts. The latter stood with his ear bent in the direction of the runaway, and his usually jolly face was serious.
“What’s up, Fairbanks?” he asked at once.
“A smashup, I judge,” answered Ralph. “Can you dig out any lanterns?”
“Red?”
“Yes.”
“Those two on the end of the tender are all right. There’s another under my seat, if it hasn’t got smashed.”