"Look at it now!" he cried, pointing; and I looked up.
Either Hopkins or somebody was dangerously exceeding the speed-limit. The thing was flying along its thirty yards of rail as fast as a tram, and the heavy fall-blocks swung like a ponderous kite-tail, thirty feet below. As I watched, the engine brought up within a yard of the end of the way, the blocks crashed like a ram into the broken house end, fetching down plaster and brick, and then the mechanism was reversed. The crane set off at a tear back.
"Who in Hell …" I began; but it wasn't a time to talk. "Hi!" I yelled, and made a spring for a ladder.
The others had noticed it, too, for there were shouts all over the place. By that time I was halfway up the second stage. Again the crane tore past, with the massive tackle sweeping behind it, and again I heard the crash at the other end. Whoever had the handling of it was managing it skilfully, for there was barely a foot to spare when it turned again.
On the fourth platform, at the end of the way, I found Hopkins. He was white, and seemed to be counting on his fingers.
"What's the matter here?" I cried.
"It's Rooum," he answered. "I hadn't stepped out of the cab, not a minute, when I heard the lever go. He's running somebody down, he says; he'll run the whole shoot down in a minute—look!…"
The crane was coming back again. Half out of the cab I could see Rooum's mottled hair and beard. His brow was ribbed like a gridiron, and as he ripped past one of the arcs his face shone like porcelain with the sweat that bathed it.
"Now … you!… Now, damn you!…" he was shouting.
"Get ready to board him when he reverses!" I shouted to Hopkins.