No. 93 buckled down to work right royally. There were two switches to unset, and then right again before they left the main line. At these points Roberts ran ahead and did emergency duty.
As they slid off onto the dump tracks, Ralph consulted the clock in the cab, estimated distance and set his running pace.
“She acts like a pet lamb,” he observed approvingly to Roberts after a five-mile spurt.
“Yes, she’ll chase to terminus all right if the coal holds out,” replied the fireman. “There’s a bunch of sharp curves and steep grades ahead.”
“Here’s one of them, see,” said Ralph, and he pushed back the throttle and let the locomotive move on its own momentum.
The sturdy little engine wheezed through cuts, grunted up grades and coughed down them.
“She’s only an old tub,” submitted Roberts, though fondly; “but how do you like her, anyway?”
“Famous!” declared Ralph, warming to his work.
The run for a good twenty miles was a series of jarring slides, the wheels pounding the rails and straining towards a half tip over a part of the time.
There was not a signal light along the old, abandoned reach of tracks, and only one or two scattered settlements to pass. At length they came in sight of the signals of the north branch. No. 93 paralleled it on a curving slant for nearly a mile.