"Jump on, ye loon!" he yelled to the brakesman standing by the open switch. "Think I'm going to waste steam stopping for you?" The brakesman swung aboard. "All the specials are cancelled to-noight for the foight. We got three miles o' clear track. Go on, Mollie!"
But he was wrong. Lack of steam pressure alone saved them. Murphy, staring ahead into the beam of the headlight, suddenly grabbed a lever in either hand, yelling a warning:
"Hang on, b'ys!"
The wheels scraped the rails. Mahon unsupported, fell against the fireplace but rolled clear without injury. There was a sickening thump, and the engine sagged forward and stopped abruptly.
"Missed it, be the powers!" snarled Murphy. "Another foot and we'd have kept the rails. They've put one over on us. Bally fools we were not to look for it. How far's the foight away, it's hoofing it we are now."
A sputter of rifle fire burst from the woods and bullets rattled on the metal of engine and tender. No one was hurt, and the two Policemen silenced the fire immediately by returning it with surprising precision. A yell from the darkness told of a nip at least.
"Out behind the grade!" ordered Mahon. "I'll keep them down till you're covered."
A blaze from the trees, and he fired twice at it in rapid succession.
"And lave Mollie?" protested Murphy. "Not by a jugful!"
"To blazes with Mollie!" Mahon exploded, and threw the engineer through the cab door.