But Dick did not stop to answer. Roughly pushing his way through the crowd of natives gathered at the end of the car to see what manner of man it was who rode hair-breadth races with railroad trains, he ran through the remaining coaches to the front end of the train, climbed over the tender, now nearly empty of wood, and finding the sergeant, he told him what he had done and what there was still to do.
"You say the artillery train left the vood station about tventy minutes ago?" asked Bruckner, reverting to his v-habit in his excitement.
"Yes, and they will necessarily have to go slowly. It is getting dark, and I believe we can catch them before too late."
"But ve also have to stop and refill with vood, and as ve von't find any men there to do the vork for us, it's going to be a very slow business."
"Slow? Why, if necessary, we'll make every passenger on this train lend a hand, willingly or otherwise," said Dick.
"Well, here we are," called the engineer who, though keeping his eye on the rails ahead, was an eager listener. "Come, all hands, get everyone on the job, and I'll lend a hand myself."
Never was wood hustled into a tender of the Ferrocarril de Nicaragua so fast as it was that October evening, and when the fireman finally announced that he had sufficient, the ear-splitting whistle had barely died away before the old wood burner was surging on into the gathering darkness, her headlight streaming on the lines of shining rails ahead, making them appear like two bars of yellow gold stretching on into infinity.
"If there are any ties out, fishplates gone or spikes driven between the rails this night we're goners," said the fireman to Dick as the two worked, throwing log after log into the capacious maw of the engine, where the draft seemed quickly to turn them into a mass of dark red cinders which streamed out of the great stack and left a glowing trail as of a comet's tail following them through the night.
"I've been with old man Strong, the engineer, every trip he's made, and I never seen him light out like this. I almost believe we're making forty-five miles, and mebbe more than that, especially on the down grades. Wow! Man dear, but he took that curve on two wheels, and it's a wonder we stayed on the track when he struck the reverse. What's his idea of pullin' the whistle every two seconds, anyhow?"
"He's started sounding the 'S.O.S.' calls," said Dick, "hoping the train ahead will hear us and wait to see what's up."