Without knowing whether he had cut the wire in time to prevent mischief or not, Rob returned to the locomotive, got a big, satisfying drink of water from the tank, chucked a lot of coal into the furnace, assumed a new disguise in shape of the cap, jumper, and overalls of the engine-driver, which he calmly appropriated to his own use; and as the great, swaying machine again sped forward over the shining rails he reopened conversation with his comrade.
"How far is the line open?" he asked.
"To Pao-Ting-Fu, at any rate," replied Jo, "and perhaps some distance beyond."
"That's the worst place between here and Pekin, isn't it?"
"Yes; the Boxers are in complete control of the city, and more foreigners have been killed there than at any other point in this province."
"Then it won't be good for our health to stop there too long."
"I should think not!"
"How far is it from Pao-Ting-Fu to Pekin?"
"About three hundred li."
"That's about a hundred miles—three or four days if we have to walk it, two days if we can steal a couple of ponies, and less than half a day if we only could carry this old rattle-trap the whole distance," mused Rob. Then, again speaking to Jo, he said: