"Bring one of those gents out here," said the man who seemed to be the leader. "We have got the express car and the engine disconnected from the rest of the train, but we don't exactly understand the brakes, and we want them set."
A gleam of intelligence passed between Blundon and Laurie which served the purpose of words.
"That young feller," said Blundon, indicating Laurie, "is a famous brakeman. He invented an air-brake once, only it wouldn't work."
BEFORE A WORD WAS SPOKEN, MR. VANE RECOGNIZED LAURIE.
Laurie, still covered by the pistol in the hands of his friends, got out of the cab, and soon the sound of hammering and knocking reverberated, showing he was working with the brakes. In a little while he was brought back, and Blundon and himself were then marched to the passenger car, hustled in, and the door locked on them. The first person Laurie's eyes rested on was his father. The excited passengers gathered around the two, but before a word was spoken Mr. Vane recognized Laurie. In another minute the two were in each other's arms. Laurie's first words were: "Daddy, I was wrong. I beg you will forgive me—"
But his father could only say, brokenly, "My boy—my boy!"
Blundon, after a few moments, raised his hand for silence, and then, in a low voice, but perfectly distinct to the earnest listeners, he said:
"Ladies and gentlemen, them train-robbers have bitten off more than they can chew. We had warning of this at Mudhole Junction, and the reg'lar engineer—I'm only a substitute—telephoned an hour ago to the Stoneville Light Infantry to be here if the train wasn't on time, and no doubt the soldiers ain't half a mile away. I've got a young amatoor fireman here—Mr. Laurie Vane—who invented an air-brake—"
"That wouldn't work," added Laurie, sotto voce.