About two hundred feet from the bridge there was a small eminence on one side of the railroad. It was just in front of a curve, and this seemed to Grant the best place to station himself. He posted himself there, raised the pitchfork, and waited anxiously for the train.
By and by he heard the cars approaching. His heart was in his mouth.
“Will they see me?” he asked himself. “If not——” but he could not bear to think of the alternative.
As the train drew nearer and nearer he began to wave the hat vigorously, shouting at the same time, though he knew that his voice would be drowned by the thunderous noise of the train.
Nearer and nearer came the train. Would it stop?
All at once his heart was filled with joy, for the train began to slow up, and stopped just a little beyond where he was standing.
Grant ran forward till he was abreast with the engine.
“What’s the matter, boy?” demanded the engineer, half inclined to be angry. “If you are playing a trick on me, I’ll give you a good horse-whipping.”
“It’s no trick,” answered Grant earnestly. “The bridge just ahead is broken down.”
“Good Heavens! is this true?”