It was all over before she could cry out or otherwise advertise her very natural terror. The moving mass had melted away before the measured approach of the train; the trestle had rumbled under the wheels; and the 926 was steaming swiftly up to the station under Brockway's guidance.
"Have you had more than enough?" he asked, when he had brought the train to a stand opposite the platform at Red Butte.
"Yes—no, not that, either," she added, quickly. "I'm glad to have had a taste of the real danger as well. But I think I'd better go back; it's getting late, isn't it?"
"Yes. Mac, we resign. Sorry I had to put your old tea-kettle in the back-gear; but the air wasn't holding, and we didn't want any chipped beef for supper. Good-night, and many thanks. Don't pull out till I give you the signal."
They hurried down the platform arm-in-arm, and Gertrude was the first to speak.
"Didn't you think we were all going to be killed?"
"No; but I did think I should never forgive myself if anything happened to you."
"It wouldn't have been your fault. And I've had a glorious bit of distraction; I shall remember it as long as I live."
"Yes; you have actually driven a train fifty miles an hour," laughed Brockway, handing her up the steps of car Naught-fifty.
"I have; and now I shall go in and be scolded eighty miles an hour to pay for it. But I sha'n't mind that. Good-night, and thank you ever so much. We shall see you in the morning?"