The engineer, happening to look back, saw their swinging lanterns. A sharp, imperative whistle blast called for brakes. For a few moments there was a harsh grinding of the iron brake shoes against iron wheels, and then the train came to a standstill. As it did so Conductor Tobin ran breathlessly up to the locomotive, shouting: “Back down to the tank! Side-track the train, and run your engine back after the caboose. It’s broke loose and gone down the grade! Number 17 is coming up behind us! There isn’t one chance in ten thousand but what there’ll be a collision! We’ve got to take that one though, and do what we can.”
Long before he finished speaking Conductor Tobin was in the cab, and the train was backing rapidly toward the siding. Brakeman Joe had run back to the little green light at its end, unlocked and thrown over the lever, so that now a “flying switch” was made, and, while the train ran in on the siding, the locomotive, previously cut loose from it, still stood on the main track. Again the lever was thrown over, the green light, denoting that the main track was open, swung into place, and the engine seemed to give a great bound as it plunged swiftly down the grade in pursuit of the runaway caboose.
In the meantime Arthur had been suddenly awakened from his nap by a peculiar jarring jerk that accompanied the starting of the train, and by a loud barking from Rusty. For an instant the caboose stood still, though he could hear the other cars in motion, then it began to move backwards; at first very slowly, but increasing its speed with each moment. Although he did not yet realize in the least what had happened, the boy felt uneasy, and stepping to the door he looked out. Even to his inexperienced eye the situation was clear at a glance.
A coupling-pin had broken, and the caboose was running away down the steep grade the train had just climbed.
“Quick, Uncle Phin!” he shouted, “come here quick!” and the old man, hobbling to the door, found the boy exerting all of his strength upon the iron brake wheel.
Together they tugged and strained at it until at length they got the brake set, after a fashion. Of course not as Brakeman Joe’s powerful arms could have done it, but so that its iron shoes ground with considerable force against the wheels.
At first it did not seem to have the slightest effect, and the car still rushed at a fearful speed down the mountain side, whirling around the sharp curves with sickening lurches that nearly threw its passengers off their feet.
Suddenly a new terror was added to the situation. From down in the valley came the shrill whistle of an approaching train, and they knew it was climbing the grade toward them on the same track. Now their runaway car struck a short place of comparative level, and its speed seemed to slacken.
If they could only set that brake up one more notch! It seemed impossible; but they did it, and the red sparks began to fly from the grinding wheels.
They were certainly going slower, and, at last, on the beginning of an abrupt curve, they stopped. Another hundred feet would have sent them flying down the steepest grade of the mountain.