He turned on the cocks and allowed two immense jets of steam to rush from the man’s nose for a few moments, while he kept walking around the man looking for the cause of the stoppage.
He found it at length.
It was caused by a “catch” in one of the iron rods running down the legs of the monster which gave him his motive force, and as this could move but very slightly, of course the man could only go along in a one-legged style, that was rather apt to render traveling with him fully as dangerous as it was one-sided.
“The right leg shaft has got twisted at the top of the knee-joint,” said Charley, shutting off steam, so as to make himself heard. “It will be a long job to fix it here with the small tools I carry, but if you’ll lend me a hand, we may get through in about an hour.”
“An hour,” groaned Hale; “if my brave boys tackle that band of outlaws, they’ll be eaten up alive in less than an hour, and they don’t know enough to claw off until they’re almost dead.”
“What can’t be cured must be endured, my dear sir,” said Charley. “Hand me that box of tools, and that monkey-wrench.”
The machinery of the Steam Man, like his horsey brother, was constructed in such a delicate and nicely adjusted manner, that repairing had to be done with exceeding care and studious labor; an extra hard blow or too powerful a wrench with the hand-screw would, perhaps, be sufficient to render the machine totally useless until some experienced mechanic could take it apart and amend the work caused only by both.
So Charley was wise enough to work as slowly as possible, and in the course of an hour he had neatly repaired the twisted part, and the man was again declared to be in running order.
“But it’s getting dark,” said Hale. “Can’t you light up?”
“I can,” said Charley; and soon the giant flaming eyes were glaring out upon the gathering gloom.