Behind them, coming closer, broke a rhythmic beat. Molly Silent’s waiting ear heard it, too—it was the night shift coming on! She hastened clumsily to the rock filled end of the trestle, and waited for Silent to leave his train.
As he let himself down from the cab, she could hear him say that it was about time. “I’m all in.” Just then, the Dragon lashed its mighty foaming tail; the trestle shook as though it were a mouse in the sharp teeth of a terrier.
The engineer who was taking Silent’s place, drew back.
“That’s your train,” said Silent, who did not yet see his wife.
There was another lash of the angry tail. The engineer shook his head. “It don’t look good to me.” A whistle blew. The trestle was still shuddering as though in the grip of an earthquake.
“I’ve been an engineer for twenty years, but God Almighty Himself’d not take me out on that bridge to-night. I’d give up my job first.”
“It’s up to me, then,” said Silent. And then two arms were thrown around his neck.
“Why, lassie,” he cried. “Why, little mother.”
She clung to him. The whistle blew again.
“Why, lassie!” He put her away from him, and she saw him, though mistily, climb back into the cab, the man-work swallowing him again.