Fighting Dick, standing beside Forster, looked back and saw the station full of soldiers. The two Germans must have fallen into their hands, he thought.
But they must hustle with the train now, for although the telegraph wires had been cut all along the line, they still had light-signals to fear! And even as this thought occurred to him, a glare appeared in the sky in the direction of the waterworks, then went out and appeared again at regular intervals. Those silent signs certainly had some meaning. Perhaps it was a signal to the nearest watch to pull up the rails in front of the approaching train? With his teeth set and his hand on the throttle, Forster stood in his engine while the fireman kept shoveling coals into the furnace.
"Forster," said Dick suddenly, "what's that in front of us? Heavens, it's burning!"
"The bridges are burning, Fighting Dick!"
"That's just what I thought, the damned yellow monkeys! Never mind, we'll have to go on. Do you think you can get the engine across?"
"The bridges will hold us all right. It would take half a day to burn the wood through and we'll be there in ten minutes."
Now fluttering little flames could be seen running along the rails and licking the blood-red beams of the long wooden bridges, giant monuments of American extravagance in the use of wood. Clouds of smoke crept towards the train, hiding the rails from view, and soon the engine rolled into a veritable sea of flames and smoke. Forster screamed to his companion: "They've poured petroleum over the wood."
"We'll have to get across," answered Fighting Dick, "even if we all burn to death."
Biting smoke and the burning breath of the fiery sea almost suffocated the two men. The air was quivering with heat, and all clearly defined lines disappeared as the angry flames now arose on both sides.
"Press hard against the front," screamed Forster; "that's the only way to get a little air, otherwise we'll suffocate."