Yet, even as he despaired, the train started again. Nerving himself for a second perilous leap, he climbed out as far as he dared and waited.
A second sped into eternity; another; and another. Ten seconds, and then with a sudden intake of breath he threw himself out of the car.
He landed squarely, stumbled, then pitched forward, all but under the grinding wheels. Recovering his poise, he whirled about to go dashing along the path the fugitive had taken.
Curlie was a fast runner. There was a good chance that he might overtake the other one, but his troubles were not at an end.
He sighted his man, redoubled his pace and gained on him yard by yard. Now he was twenty yards behind, now fifteen, now ten, now—
But around a curve came blinding terror, the headlight of a train that, bearing down upon him, threatened instant destruction.
Stopping dead in his tracks, Curlie glanced wildly about him. He found no avenue of escape. Cold and cruel walls were on all sides. The engine and the cars filled all the space before him. It seemed that he must be ground to pulp.
Even as he despaired, something flashed by him. It was the fugitive.
As when a bear and a wolf are stranded upon an island in the flood they become harmless, so for the moment Curlie had forgotten the one he had pursued.
Turning, he attempted to follow, twisted an ankle, fell flat before the on-coming train.