The train conductor came in and sat down.
“It’s a bad night,” he said, looking at the curtain of rain which swept the windows. “We’ll be late getting into Jacksonville. A message at the junction back there gave us a lot of slow orders where the track is going bad ahead of us.”
“The rain must be worse farther south,” said Bob.
“It’s nearly a cloudburst in some places. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find a bridge washed out and get hung up for hours.”
The conductor was silent for a minute. Then he added, “I can’t figure out where that fellow in lower nine went. Seems impossible that he could have fallen off the train, yet he isn’t here.”
“I’m just as puzzled as you are,” admitted Bob, “but I have a feeling that no harm has come to him. I sized him up as a fellow pretty well able to take care of himself.”
“I don’t recall seeing him,” said the train conductor, “for the Pullman conductor handles this end of the Limited. Well, I’ve more reports to get ready.”
He got to his feet and started for the door. The Limited lurched heavily and the conductor was thrown back against Bob.
“There we go!” he cried. “The track’s gone out from under us.”
The car was weaving and lurching as the wheels screamed in the grip of powerful air brakes, but the rhythmic clack of the trucks told them they were still on the rails.