Matt saw this bit of byplay, and a thrill of apprehension shot through him. The engine crew were not going to let Chub take any chances of breaking his neck. Would they keep him from taking the letter?
But Chub himself had something to say about it. There was a scramble in the cab, and the red-headed boy ducked through the window on the fireman's side and reached the foot-board along the boiler. The fireman yelled, and his hand shot through the window after him. Chub, however, was quick enough to evade the gripping fingers. Holding to the hand-rail, he bent down. He was too high to reach Matt, and Matt would have had to come dangerously close.
The engine was pitching, and swaying, and swinging, but Chub hung to the running-board like a monkey, moved along it quickly, dropped to the top of the steam-chest, and flung his right hand to the lamp-bracket, under and to one side of the headlight.
He could hear the fireman swearing at his recklessness and coming after him.
Meanwhile Motor Matt was whirling along abreast of the big cylinder.
"Ready?" he shouted; "look sharp!"
"Hand it up!" and Chub leaned forward, one foot in the air and his weight on the lamp-bracket.
Matt's right hand left the handle-bar, took the envelope from his teeth, and extended it upward.
"I've got it, pard!" shouted Chub, snatching the letter from Motor Matt's fingers.