Through the woods, the brush sweeping his face and scratching his skin, went Bob, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He was almost played out.
At last the woods were passed. Then came an open field, and beyond lay the iron tracks.
Bob looked up and down. The little station was a good hundred yards off.
“Stop the train!” cried the youth as he dashed up.
Then he gave a cry of dismay—the place was deserted—the station-master had locked up and gone home for the night.
And now came a rumble from the distance, and looking down the tracks Bob saw the gleaming head-light of the express as it came thundering along at the rate of fifty miles an hour.
“If I only had a red-lantern!” groaned the youth.
He looked around. Was there no lantern in sight? Hither and thither he rushed, growing more frantic every second.
Ah! here was an old lantern at last. But it was a common affair with a white glass and unlit.
With nervous haste Bob felt for a match and drew it forth. It was wet from the rain and refused to burn. He threw it away and pulled out another and then another, and at last the lamp was lit and burned brightly. But, alas! the light was white, and the danger signal must be red! And now the express was almost upon him. In ten seconds it would be gone, and then what dire disaster would follow!