Mallory looked sharply at Jawn, then he motioned to the detective, who dropped to the ground and hurried back.
“What's your plan?” Mallory asked again. But Jawn shook his head and watched the cut.
In a moment the detective reappeared followed by five others. All six came crowding upon the apron. Without leaving his seat Jawn gave his orders,—
“Get on the tender, as high up as you can, and when we go at 'em, yell like hell.”
With startled, wondering faces the men clambered back, Mallory among them, taking positions on the tank and on what was left of the coal. From around the curve another succession of puffs drew Jawn's eyes to the front, and his grip tightened.
“Hold on, back there,” he called, “and don't yell till I holler. Fire up, Billy.”
Billy fired up and the engine moved slowly forward. She crept cautiously toward the curve, foot by foot. On the rock wall dead ahead a yellow light flashed, and then crept around toward them. Jawn waited until it was almost full in his eyes.
“Whistle, Billy,” he said.
The hoarse whistle shrieked, and the other engine seemed to start, then hesitate.
“Now,” said Jawn, without looking around, and he let out a tremendous yell of “At 'em, boys!” The men on the tender promptly raised an uproar, the fireman shouted as he jerked the whistle cord, and Jawn sat with one eye on the indicator, the other on the approaching headlight, his bass voice all the while roaring out a fiery challenge not unmixed with profanity.