"What's the matter?" asked Blundon, holding up the lantern in the conductor's face.
"Matter enough," answered the conductor. "The engineer slipped on the floor of the cab, about ten miles back, and wrenched his arm, so he is perfectly helpless, and almost wild with pain; the negro fireman brought us the last ten miles, but he couldn't take us over the mountain."
"I reckon I can," said Blundon, coolly. "You know my record."
"Yes; and that's why I stopped," answered the conductor. "But look here."
He handed out a piece of paper, on which was written clearly:
"Pay no attention to a red light on the trestle. It means a hold up at the end of the trestle. The men know what is in the express car, and they have dynamite.
"A Friend."
"Maybe it's a hoax," said Blundon.
"And maybe it ain't a hoax," said the conductor.
Blundon, the conductor, and Laurie had been standing close together during this short and half-whispered colloquy, but the negro fireman had slipped up behind them, and had seen the note by the lantern's glimmer.