"By the tokens av all the saints," stammered McCann.
"Ut's—ut's——" He grabbed at Matt Duggan. "Fwhat engine is ut?"
It was MacGonigle who answered, as they crowded back inside again for shelter—and answered quick, getting McCann's dropped jaw.
"The 1601. What's wrong with you, McCann?"
"Holy Mither!" stuttered McCann miserably. "That settles ut! Ut's Owsley! 'Twas the whistle, d'ye moind—the whistle!"
Merle, young and hysterical, was up in the air.
"The Limited! The Limited!" he burst out, white-faced. "There ain't three minutes between them! She's coming now!"
MacGonigle, grizzled old veteran, cool in any emergency, whirled on the younger man.
"Then stop her!" he drawled. "Don't make a fool of yourself! Show your red and hold her here until you get Big Cloud on the wire—they're both running the same way, aren't they, you blamed idiot! Everything's out of the road far enough east of here on account of the Limited to give 'em time at headquarters to take care of things. Let 'em have it at Big Cloud."
And Big Cloud got it. Spence, the despatcher, on the early night trick, got it—and Carleton and Regan, at their homes, got it in a hurried call from Spence over their private keys, that brought them running to headquarters.