When the two at last left the car he waited till they were beyond hearing, and crept cautiously out. He knew that if they suspected his intention they would think no more of crushing out his life than of treading on a worm, but he was resolved on saving that train if he died in doing it. It was bright starlight, but dark enough to admit of his watching the men without much danger of being discovered. He saw them finish their work, and hide in the bushes near. Then, with trembling hands, but full of firm purpose, he set about carrying out his plan.
Running back to the straw pile, he quickly made up a bundle of it, and slipping off his old shoes, sped noiselessly along the track, past the wreckers. Just beyond the bowlder the road made rather a sharp curve, bringing a high bank between the two men and Jim's selected place of action, and this, he hoped, would conceal from them what he was doing, at least long enough to insure success.
He divided his bundle of straw, and laid a heap on the track. Then he waited and listened, with his heart beating too loudly for him to hear any other sound. He looked up at the stars over his head. "My mother is up there somewheres, p'r'aps," whispered the little fellow; "maybe she'll ask some 'un to help me."
As the head-light at last appeared in the distance he set a match to his heap, and saw it blaze up brightly. Lighting by it the portion still in his hand, he ran wildly forward, waving it to and fro. But the engine came steadily forward: would it never, never stop? He reached a short bridge over a culvert, and sprang on the abutment at its side, still brandishing his beacon, and, scarcely knowing it, shrieking at the top of his voice. His hands were burning, the smoke blackened his face and took away his breath; but, yes—it surely was slowing. The engine passed him; he listened, and could hear the brakes worked by the desperate strength of frightened men. Passengers crowded out on the platform, and saw the little figure still waving the last sparks of his safety-light. And then a dark form stole up to him, a cruel blow sent him crashing against the last car, and he fell. Its wheels had not stopped moving.
Men sprang down, raised him, and carried him into the car, where he was laid upon a seat.
"It's the one who stopped the train—a boy. Why did he do it?—what's the matter?" The conductor had sent men forward on the track, and soon knew the terrible reason. It spread through the cars like wild-fire. Women cried and fainted, and strong men turned pale. Every one knew that it might have been his or her life which had gone out ere now but for the boy who lay there. A woman wiped the blood and smoke from his face with shaking hands and quick-dropping tears.
Presently a boy's clear voice cried out, "Johnny Welford's father?—Johnny Welford's father?"
A tall man turned in surprise, and bent over him. "Did you call my name, my boy?"
"Be you Johnny Welford's father?"
"Yes, I am John Welford."