“Listen!” called out Andy suddenly. “Isn’t that the locomotive whistle?”
All stopped short. They heard the bellow of the bull that had been left behind them, and then, loud and clear, came the whistle from the locomotive near the bridge.
“They’re going to leave us behind!” groaned Fred.
“Come on—all of you!” yelled Jack. “I’ll go ahead and see if I can’t stop the train some way.”
When looking at the wreck the oldest of the Rover boys had noticed that after leaving the bridge the track curved slightly northward in the direction in which they had been walking. Now, forgetting the bull entirely, Jack clambered to the trunk of the tree, slid down, and rushed through the brushwood and then out across the field beyond to where he could see the distant tracks and telegraph poles.
“I hope he makes it!” cried Andy, as he followed his cousin to the ground.
“Look! Look! I think the bull is coming after us, after all!” yelled his twin.
One after another the boys reached the ground. They glanced back, to see that the bull had come down to the edge of the stream and had even waded in up to his knees. But evidently the footing did not please him, and there he remained, bellowing his defiance.
Jack had been in many cross-country runs and athletic contests, but never had he sprinted faster than now. Over the prairie and through the sage brush he tore, heading for the nearest point on the railroad. As he went he pulled out his handkerchief and waved it wildly, yelling as he did so.
The wreckage had been moved sufficiently to allow the limited to pass, but the margin of safety was narrow, and the long line of Pullmans had to proceed slowly. In the meantime the whistle and the bell were kept going, so that the track might be kept clear of the wrecking crew and any men who might be around belonging to the freight train.