“There are two trains, Bill! I see another light, ’way behind the first one!”
“H’it’ll be plain murder,” Bill groaned. “An’ we can’t do a thing. I wish you’d never found me.”
“I couldn’t have got there in time, anyway,” said Terry.
The first light rapidly grew larger, the rumbling increased. Terry stared, fascinated. He didn’t wish to see, but somehow he had to. If Bully Brookes or his fireman, Henshaw, only would discover the lifted rails and stop, in time, themselves. But it did not seem as though they were going to stop or slacken. Flaring and wavering, the headlight was coming on.
The engine began to whistle madly, with long shriek after long shriek. Had it sensed its danger? But it did not slacken—it was coming faster. And see! The Cheyennes were nagging it; by the glare from the opened firebox as the fireman shoved in the cordwood sticks the Indians were shown, racing on either side, brandishing their bows and guns, egging the train on.
The engine jetted steam from its cylinder cocks; the whistle shrieked and shrieked; the firebox glowed redly as the firemen stoked with the cordwood, the Indians lashed their ponies and plied their arrows. It was a wild scene, and terrible. Terry trembled with excitement. Bill sank back, groaning.
“Tell me when she ’its,” he pleaded.
The engine was approaching the bonfire. It had not reached the tilted rails, yet. Oh, would nobody see them?
They were seen, they were seen! Listen! The notes of the whistle had changed to frantic yaps like those of a frightened animal. “Down brakes, down brakes, quick!” the whistle was imploring. The engine wheels spurted sparks, under reversed throttle. Too late. The racing Cheyennes swerved apart, for safety; even while Terry gazed, and before he had time to close his eyes, the engine rose right into the air, with a roar and a plunge left the track, and dragging the tender and car after car it went lurching into the prairie.
It toppled over, cars toppled, and in a moment everything seemed to be piled in a long heap. The engine was almost buried from sight. Out of the jangle there welled shouts. From the rear, men came running; from the front the Cheyennes charged. One man with a lantern—the conductor, maybe—arrived at the fore; the Indians seemed to miss him, in the excitement, for he turned and ran fast, again, down track, throwing his lantern away. He was going to the train behind, and it looked as though he got off, safe.