Donohue got the Strathcona operator in less than half a minute after I fired my order at him, and the answer came almost without a break:
"Charter of special train was to R. Hatch, of Portal City, and of engine 416 to man named Collingwood."
Gosh! but this did settle it! I didn't run back to the office with the news—I flew. It was like firing a gun in amongst the three who were waiting, but it had to be done. The major groaned and said, "Oh, good God!" and Mrs. Sheila sat down and put her face in her hands. The boss was the only one who knew what to do and he did it: vanished like a shot in the direction of the despatcher's office.
In about fifteen of the longest minutes I ever lived he came back, shaking his head. I knew what he had been doing, or trying to do. There was one night telegraph station on the branch—at a mining-camp half-way down the grade on Slide Mountain—and he had been trying to get word there to stop the wild engine.
"He has either bribed or bullied his engine crew," he told the major. "I wired and had a stop signal set for them at the Antonio Mine, but they overran it, going at full speed down the hill."
It was plain enough now what Collingwood was trying to do. The murder mania had got a firm hold of its weapon. Collingwood knew that Hatch was on the special, and he was going to chase that one-car train until it made a stop somewhere and then smash into it for blood. After Mr. Norcross had talked hurriedly for a minute or two with the major he went back to the despatcher's room and I went with him. There was a word for Donohue, telling him to call all night stations ahead of the special. The operators were to give the special the "go-ahead," and after it had passed, to set their signals against the following engine.
As Donohue cut in on the branch wire, Nippo, at the canyon mouth, broke in to say that the special had gone by fifteen minutes earlier, and that the following engine was now coming down the canyon. Donohue grabbed his key.
"Throw signal against engine 416," he clicked; and a few seconds later we got the reply:
"No good. Engine 416 overran signal."
"Never mind," said the boss to Donohue; "keep it up at the other stations. That engine has got to be stopped. It's carrying a madman." This is what he said, but I knew well enough what he was thinking. He was remembering that the special now had a lead of only fifteen minutes, and that it would be obliged to stop at Bauxite for its orders over the main line.