The engineer pinched his train down to a stop about two hundred yards from the burning timber. Even at that distance they could hear the roar of the flames and feel the heat from the cauldron of fire.
“Looks like this is the end of your run,” said Tim.
“Don’t know,” replied the engineer. “We might make it.”
“Going to try and run the fire?” asked the fireman.
“Orders say to get the mail through to the west end on time,” said the engineer, “And orders are orders. What say, boys?”
“I say yes,” grinned the fireman. “The steel ought to hold us and we can coast through without much push or pull on the rails.”
“I’m riding the mail,” said Tim when the engineer turned to him.
“Then here we go,” decided Henshaw. He threw over the reverse lever and started backing away from the flames. When the 1064 was a mile from the burning timber he brought the train to a stop.
Mail clerks and trainmen had their heads out the doors, wondering what the engineer was going to do.
The conductor hurried up.