Bob dropped down to his knees and examined the floor of the vestibule. At first there appeared to be nothing unusual there, but his sharp eyes finally caught sight of a small, dark spot. It was soft and fresh and he touched it with his fingers.
Bob drew his hand back where the light was better and examined the dark marks on the tips of his fingers. From behind came an involuntary gasp from the brakeman.
The dark spots on Bob’s fingers were blood and the young federal agent looked up at the trainmen with eyes that were hard and piercing.
“Stop this train!” he ordered. “Tully Ross has been thrown from the train. We’ve got to go back.”
The conductor was silent for a moment, staring at the dark stains on Bob’s fingers. Then he shook his head.
“We can’t stop and go back. There’s a fast freight following right behind us and they might ram us. We’ll have to run to the nearest station with a night operator. Then we can get word back to division headquarters.”
“But we’ve got to stop. He may be seriously injured.”
The conductor looked at his watch. Just then the air brakes went on and streams of sparks flew from the wet trucks underneath.
“We’re slowing down now for Robertson where we take on water. There’s a night operator there. We can send a message back and get new orders.”
The brakeman threw open the vestibule door on the right side and almost before the train came to a stop Bob and the conductor were running forward.