The moment the engineer had espied the improvised flag he knew there was danger ahead, and, blowing the signal to warn the brakemen, he reversed his engine, and opened the valves, and it was this ready response to the waving bandanna that had caused the crash and shock which had so frightened and shaken up everybody on the train, although no real damage had been done, and he finally brought his engine to a standstill within three feet of the youth, and just in season to see the last blow from his ax, which cleft the trunk of the maple asunder.
Both he and the fireman sprang to the ground and ran toward him, reaching him just as, with a faintly murmured “Thank God!” he fell forward exhausted, and was caught in their strong arms before he could touch the ground. He did not entirely lose consciousness; but he was too spent and weak to move or even speak.
Many of the passengers left the train and gathered around him in spite of the rain, which continued to fall heavily, although it was gradually abating.
The conductor, comprehending at once what had occurred, and anxious to lose no more time than was absolutely necessary, ordered the youth to be put aboard the train and made as comfortable as possible until they reached the next station. Then the brakemen, with the engineer and fireman, removed the debris from the tracks, after which everybody was ordered back into the coaches, and the train went steaming on its way once more.
CHAPTER II.
A TOUCHING TRIBUTE.
The hero of the incident would have much preferred to have been left by the side of the railroad with the mutilated maple until he could gather sufficient strength to crawl back to the farmhouse, but he was too exhausted to express his wishes, and thus he was obliged to go along with the train.
The next stopping-place was New Haven, the express being due there a little after 7, and during the ride the youth, under the care of the conductor and some of the passengers, recovered sufficiently to tell who he was and where he belonged, as well as how he had discovered the obstruction upon the road. His name, he said, was Clifford Faxon, and his home was with a gentleman known as Squire Talford, who lived near the village of Cedar Hill, or between that place and New Haven.
He appeared to be rather reticent and sensitive about talking of himself, but some gentlemen adroitly drew him out and learned that he was an orphan, and had been bound to the Squire since he was thirteen, or for the last four years, working for his “board and clothes”; that he had attended the academy of the town from September to April of every year, and was hoping to work his way through college when his time was out.