“This here youngster says he had orders t’ flag th’ train,” answered the engineer.
“Orders from whom?” asked the conductor sharply, turning to the boy.
“Orders from—”
The boy stopped and turned red.
“Well, go on. Who gave the orders?”
“A chum of mine,” burst out the boy desperately. “He works in the trainmaster’s office. He wired me a minute ago to flag Number Two and be quick about it. I just had time to get that fusee lighted when you whistled for the crossing.”
The conductor frowned. The whole affair savoured of a boyish prank.
“And do you mean to say,” he demanded, sternly, “that because another boy told you to, you stopped this train—”
He paused, his mouth open, and listened, hand to ear. Then he stooped, snatched up the fusee, and fairly hurled himself down the track, waving the blazing torch above his head. And an instant later, his companions caught the sound of an engine pounding up the grade toward them.