"Get aboard!" he snapped. "Knight at the throttle."
Knight mounted first; then Brown, with Tom and Andrews following. Knight jumped to the engineer's seat, and grabbed the throttle. There came the hissing of steam: the engine trembled and puffed. Brown lunged for the sand lever, yanked it open. The wheels spun on the track, then grabbed it, and the engine sprang forward like a beast unchained.
CHAPTER NINE
THE RACE
The sudden jerk of the engine sent Tom spinning against the side of the cab. Andrews, who was mounting the wood-pile in the tender to see what was happening behind them, was thrown flat. He scrambled to his feet, his hands bleeding from the splinters, and climbed up the pile. Then he waved his arms and yelled in exultation. The yell sounded faintly through the noise of the engine.
Tom swung from the cab and looked back. The crowd was spilling from the shed. Several men raced after the train. Others stood watching, dumfounded.
Knight was bending over the throttle, urging the train forward as though he were putting his own strength into the flying pistons. His lips were drawn back from his set teeth, and his left hand upon the throttle was white from its grip. With his right hand he was pounding upon the sill of the cab.
Brown was studying the steam gauge. He had opened the forced draft and the smoke stack had become a fountain of sparks.
"More wood!" he yelled.
Tom stripped off his coat. The General was pounding upon the rails, swaying from side to side. It was almost impossible to stand without clinging to the side of the cab. Tom lurched cautiously toward the tender, grabbed a log and dragged it back after him. Brown swung the door of the fire-box open. Tom gasped as the heat struck him. The red flames seemed to leap out at him, enveloping him, smothering him. He slid the log into the fire. The door crashed shut again. "More! More!" yelled Brown.