“The fireman’s gone!” he cried.
Both of them felt the hand of death grip at their hearts. Perhaps a lurch of the cab had thrown Benson out and into the flaming woods. There would have been no chance for his survival and they looked at each other with horror written in their faces.
The shock of the sudden tragedy left Tim speechless and the engineer climbed slowly back to his throttle. There was no joy in the cab of the 1064 over their victory with the flames for Henshaw had lost the best fireman he had ever had.
Tim was used to sudden shocks but the one of turning to look for the fireman and finding him gone was one that would remain with him through life.
The needle on the steam gauge wavered and started down as the 1064 made its heavy demands for power. Someone must keep the fire hot.
Henshaw glanced anxiously at his watch.
“We’re right on the dot now,” he shouted at Tim. “If you can throw the black diamonds for about thirty minutes we’ll go into the west end on time.”
“I’ll do my best,” shouted Tim above the noise of the madly working machinery.
A foot lever which operated a small steam engine opened the door of the firebox and Tim stepped on the lever. The heavy iron doors swung open and he looked into a white-hot pit. The fire was thin in spots and he picked up Benson’s scoop, set his legs for the pitch and roll of the cab, and swung a scoop of coal into the firebox. The first one went where he intended it but on the second attempt they struck a tight curve and most of the coal went up the engineer’s neck.
Henshaw laughed.