On and on they went, humming over the steel rails at such a rate of speed that Joe could scarcely see the telegraph poles.
Suddenly the engineer pulled on a lever and the big locomotive slackened speed so quickly that our hero was all but thrown to the floor of the cab.
“Wh—what’s the matter?” he gasped, when he could catch his breath.
“Signal against us,” was the short reply. “It’s O. K. now;” and once more the locomotive sped on its way.
“Phew! you have to have your eyes open, don’t you?”
“That’s it—just like you do, when you are pitching,” answered the old engineer.
“Some work, running a locomotive,” mused the young baseball player. “I guess an engineer earns all the money he gets.”
Half an hour later came another scare. Again the locomotive pulled up, this time to allow an automobile full of people to pass over the tracks. An instant sooner and the big engine would have ground the “joy riders” to death.
“Meet such fools almost every trip,” said the engineer. “Seems as if they wanted to be killed.”
“Why don’t you have gates at such crossings?”