It was the signal arranged among them for putting on the masks, and Andrew hastily adjusted his.
"Did you hear that?" asked Allister as the train hooted in the distance again.
Andrew turned and started at the ghostly thing which had been the face of the outlaw a moment before; he himself must look like that, he knew.
"What?" he asked.
"That voicelike whistle," said Allister. "There's no luck in this day—for me."
"You've listened to Larry la Roche too much," said Andrew. "He's been growling ever since we started on this trail."
"No, no!" returned Allister. "It's another thing, an older thing than Larry la Roche. My mother—"
He stopped. Whatever it was that he was about to say, Andrew was never to hear it. The train had turned the long bend above, and now the roar of its wheels filled the cañon and covered the sound of the wind.
It looked vast as a mountain as it came, rocking perceptibly on the uneven roadbed. It rounded the curve, the tail of the train flicked around, and it shot at full speed straight for the mouth of the pass. How could one man stop it? How could five men attack it after it was stopped? It was like trying to storm a medieval fortress with a popgun.
The great black front of the engine came rocking toward them, gathering impetus on the sharp grade. Had Scottie missed his trick? But when the thunder of the iron on iron