“Nonsense; I'll see them myself.” And I went forward to the engine.
The engineer was as close-mouthed as though words were going at a dollar apiece and the market bounding upward. He declined dinner, could not be induced to come and take a drink, and all that could be got out of him was that he was going back to Niles, where he would stop until he got orders from the superintendent.
When I tried to question the fireman, the engineer recovered his tongue, and had so many orders to be attended to that my words were lost in a rattle of coal and clang of iron.
And the engine, having drunk its fill, changed its labored breathing to a hissing and swishing of steam that sent the hot vapor far on both sides, and then gathering speed, puffed its swift way back the road by which it had come, leaving the car deserted on a siding.
“Here's a go!” cried Fitzhugh. “A regular puzzler!”
“Guess it's none of the gang, after all,” said Lockhart.
Abrams shook his head.
“Don't you fool yourself,” he said. “They've landed below here, and maybe they're in town while we've got our mouths open, fly-catching around an empty car.”
“Good boy, Abrams,” I said. “My opinion exactly.”
“And what's to be done, then?” he asked anxiously.