The engineer’s hand tightened on the air-brake lever. The other hand grudgingly jerked the throttle.
Tom saw the engine still closing in upon him at relentless speed—and he only gestured the more.
Then, on a sudden, with grinding of wheels, and a disgusted wheeze, the train stopped; the pilot of the engine just touched his boot-legs.
“What’s the matter with you, eh?” demanded the engineer, savagely, leaning out of his window.
“A boy’s been shot! He’s got to be taken to town right away,” explained Tom, hastening around beside the cab, and looking up at the grimy face far above him.
He clutched the cab steps imploringly, resolved that the train should not start without him.
The fireman had jumped to the cab door and was listening.
“Well, where is he?” demanded the engineer.
“There——” began Tom, but he was interrupted by a brakeman, who, followed by the conductor, came running up from the foremost coach.
“What’s the matter here?” asked the brakeman.