The perspiration was dripping from Watson’s brow. “Great guns!” he growled, “we are acting as if we had a whole eternity of time before us.”
“Don’t worry about that,” said Andrews, reassuringly, as he leaped into the cab; “we have been running ahead of schedule time. But hurry up; there’s lots of work before us!” In the next minute the Northerners were once more on their way.
After the train had run a distance of five miles, Andrews signaled to the engineer, and it was brought slowly to a stop. The chief jumped from the engine, walked along the track to the end car, and gazed intently to the southward.
“No sign of pursuit thus far,” he said to himself. Then, turning back and speaking to the men in the baggage car who had once more opened the door, he cried: “There’s time, boys, for another wrestle with the telegraph—only this time we will try a new plan.” This time, indeed, a pole was chopped down, and placed (after the wire had been cut) upon the track directly behind the last baggage car.
“There,” said Andrews, “that will have to be lifted off before our friends the enemy can steam by—even if they have an engine good for seventy miles an hour.”
Walter Jenks came walking back to the cab. He looked pale and tired.
“What’s the matter?” asked Andrews.
“I strained my back a bit in helping the fellows to put that pole on the track,” was the answer.
“Go back into the car and take a rest,” urged the leader. “George can take your place as fireman. Eh, George?”
The boy, coming up at that moment, and hearing the suggestion, smiled almost as broadly as the famous Cheshire cat. He longed to know that he was of some real use in the expedition. So Jenks retired to the baggage car, carrying with him, for a temporary companion, the struggling Waggie, who might be very much in George’s way under the new arrangement of duties.