The pull on the reins was checked. “Who told you!”
“President Tetlow. He ’s waiting—” He motioned toward the track where the special was blowing off steam. Hugh’s eye followed the motion. It dropped to the young man. “He told you—Sim Tetlow—” he demanded, “He wants me!”
“Yes. He wants you—But not if you ’re not up to it—” He had remembered Stetson’s words.
The old man leaned forward, winding the reins slowly around the whip. “I ’ll take Her,” he said.
“You ’re not afraid!” said John. Something in the face disturbed him.
“I ’ll take Her,” said Hugh briefly.
“Stetson’s jumpers are in the cab,” said John as they came down the platform.
“Too short,” said the old man. He was striding with mighty step.
John glanced at him. “That ’s so—The coat’s all right.”
“Like enough,” said Hugh absently. His face had an absorbed look—The eyes beneath the fur cap gleamed like little points of light. When they reached the engine, the light broke and ran over his face. He mounted to the cab and laid his hand on the lever—“I ’ll take her down, Johnny—Don’t you worry.” He nodded to the young man standing below.