“She’s all right,” he announced to Mr. Heywood. “Nothing smashed but her pilot and headlight,” and he patted one of the huge drivers as though the engine were a living thing and could feel the caress.
The superintendent nodded curtly and hurried on. Twenty feet down the track, the pilot and headlight also smashed, loomed a freight-engine. A single glance told Mr. Heywood that it belonged to the D. W. & I.
“I’ll run her in on the siding,” he said to Mr. Schofield, who was at his elbow.
The latter nodded and started on a run for the office, in order to get into touch at once with the dispatchers’ office. Neither official understood, as yet, how the accident had happened; but there would be time enough to inquire into that. The first and most important thing was to get the track clear so that the special could proceed on its way and the regular schedule be resumed.
As Mr. Schofield sprinted toward the office, he glanced at the train-signal and noted that it was set at danger. He must find out why their engineer had disregarded that warning, for he knew that the brakes had not been applied until the train was past the signal. Bill Roth was one of the oldest and most trusted engineers on the road, else he would not have been in charge of the special, but the best record on earth could not excuse such carelessness as that.
So Mr. Schofield reflected as he sprang up the steps that led to the door of the shanty. There he paused an instant, for at the table within stood Allan West, ticking off to headquarters a message telling of the accident, and asking for orders. Not until he came quite near could the trainmaster see now drawn and gray the boy’s face was. He waited until the message was finished and the key clicked shut. Then he stepped forward and laid his hand gently on the boy’s arm.
“All right, Allan,” he said. “No harm done, though it was a mighty close shave. You sit down there and pull yourself together, while I get this thing straightened out.”
In a moment he had headquarters.
“Eng. 315 running extra delayed at Byers Junction ten minutes. Will leave Junction 7.18. A M S.”
“O. K.,” flashed the answer from the dispatcher, who at once proceeded to modify his other orders in accordance with this delay.