Jack went over the engine with zealous care, but so far as he could see the fault did not lie there. On the contrary, every rod, crank and bolt appeared in good order. Suddenly a thought struck him. He hastened across the steel floor to the gauge on the bulkhead. What it told him caused the boy to emit a whistle of dismay.
The steam pressure had fallen to seventy-five pounds. While he watched, it dropped two pounds more, and the engine slowed down more and more perceptibly.
He threw open the door leading to the fire-room. In that black hole he saw the dim forms of the stokers on duty flitting about like gnomes in the dust-laden darkness. He hailed the nearest of them.
“What’s the trouble?”
The answer came with a grumbling rumble from the half-naked fireman as he threw open a furnace door and stood in the glare of the fire.
“S’ help me bob, kid, there ain’t more’n three tons of coal in the bunkers an’ the boss tole us to keep steam down.”
“Three tons!” echoed Jack. “How long will that run us?”
“Not h’enuff so’s you could nowtice it,” rejoined the Britisher.
“Have you any idea where we are?”
“Yus. Leastways, I ‘eard ‘em torkin’ erbout h’it ‘fore I come on watch.”