"Not enough," he told himself. "Going at this pace it'll take time to stop, though the brakes aboard this car are splendid. I know what I'll do. Keep her running till I'm within fifty yards, then throw her out of gear, jam on the brakes, and jump for it just opposite the switch. I'll perhaps be able to roll up to it in time to pull that train over."
It was the only method to employ, without doubt, though the risk would not be light. For, while a motor car on good hard ground can be brought to a standstill within fifty yards when going at a great pace, when shod with steel wheels and running on a metal track the results are different. Jim's steed lacked weight for the work. Though he might lock his wheels, they would skate along the tracks, and reduce his pace slowly. The leap he contemplated must be made from a rapidly moving car. That might result in disaster.
"Better a smash like that than have people aboard the train killed by the dozen," he told himself. "Those points are two hundred yards off; in a hundred I set to at it."
He cast a swift glance towards the passenger train, which was now retreating, and then one at the spoil train. He measured the distance between himself and the latter nicely. Then he dropped his toe on the clutch pedal, and his hand on the speed lever. Click! Out shot the gears, while the engine raced and roared away as if it were possessed. But Jim paid no attention to it. He let it continue racing, and at once jammed on his brakes. It made his heart rise into his mouth when he noticed with what suddenness the spoil train had recovered the interval between them. She was advancing upon him with leaps and bounds. It seemed as if he were not moving. With an effort he took his eyes from the rushing trucks, and fixed them upon the points he hoped to be able to operate. They were close at hand. His glance was caught by the operating lever. The moment for action had arrived, while still his car progressed at a pace which would have made the boldest hesitate to leap from it. But Jim made no pause, more honour to him. He left his seat, placed one hand on the side of the car, and vaulted into space. The ground at the side of the track struck the soles of his feet as if with a hammer, doubling his knees up and jerking his frame forward. The impetus which the moving car had imparted to his body sent him rolling forward. He curled up like a rabbit struck by the sportsman at full pace, and rolled over and over. Then with a violent effort he arrested his forward movement. With hands torn, and every portion of his body jarred and shaken, he brought his mad onward rush to a standstill, and, recovering from the giddiness which had assailed him, found that he was close to the all-important lever governing the points. With a shout Jim threw himself upon it, tugged with all his might, and jerked the points over.
"JIM TUGGED WITH ALL HIS MIGHT"
Meanwhile the thunder of the spoil train had grown louder. The scrunch of steel tyres on the rails, and the grinding of the flanges of the wheels against the edges of the track drowned every other sound, even the singing which Jim's tumble had brought to his ears. The runaway, with all its impetus and weight rushing forward to destroy all that happened to be in its path, was within a yard of the points when our hero threw his weight on the lever. The leading wheels struck the points with violence, and Jim, watching eagerly, saw the rims mount up over the crossway. Then the bogie frame jerked and swung to the right, while the four wheels obeyed the direction of the points and ran towards the side track. But it was when the first half of the leading car had passed the points that the commotion came. The dead weight of the contents—projected a moment earlier directly forward—were of a sudden wrenched to one side. The strain was tremendous. Something was bound to give way under it, or the car would capsize.