“Is that all?” Jake asked with a forced grin.
“It’s enough,” said Dick. “However, we’ll be better able to judge in the daylight.”
Then he turned to the engineer, who was standing beside the truck, surrounded by excited peons. “How did it happen?”
“I had my hand on the throttle when I got the order to go ahead, and let her make a stroke or two, reckoning the guard-rail would snub up the car. I heard the wheels clip and slammed the link-gear over, because it looked as if she wasn’t going to stop. When she reversed, the couplings held the car and the block slipped off.”
“Are you sure you didn’t give her too much steam?”
“No, sir. I’ve been doing this job quite a while, and know just how smart a push she wants. It was the guard-rail slipping that made the trouble.”
“I can’t understand why it did slip. The fastening clamps were firm when I looked at them.”
“Well,” remarked the engineer, “the guard’s certainly in the pit, and I felt her give as soon as the car-wheels bit.”
Dick looked hard at him and thought he spoke the truth. He was a steady fellow and a good driver.
“Put your engine in the house and take down the feed-pump you were complaining about. We won’t want her to-morrow,” he said, and dismissing the men, returned to his shack, where he sat down rather limply on the veranda.