“Ain’t that pathetic?” wailed Sleepy. “Two miles from a dentist, and the road on fire!”
“Better go to bed, Sleepy,” said Hashknife. “Mebbe yuh can sleep it off.”
But Sleepy told them in no uncertain terms that sleep was out of the question. One of the cowboys produced a pint of liquor, and this served to put Sleepy in better spirits. No one denied him any of it. Hashknife was curious about the passenger train which was following them, and went on to the rear platform.
Possibly they had been stopped for thirty minutes when Hashknife saw the beams of the passenger engine. The road was fairly crooked for several miles, and he could see the beams of the headlight, as it swung around the curve throwing streamers of light off across the hills. It was not travelling fast. It came closer and closer, and Hashknife wondered why it did not seem to pay any attention to the rear flagman. Of course he was out of sight around a curve, but the speed of the passenger had not diminished.
It swung to the straight track, the beams of the headlight illuminating the rear of the stalled train. It was then that the whistle shrieked and the train quickly ground to a stop about a hundred yards short of the caboose.
A man dropped from the engine and came up to the caboose. It was a uniformed brakeman.
“What’s that ahead—a fire?” he asked, swinging up on the steps.
“Bridge on fire,” said Hashknife. “Looks like we’re here for a while.”
“Pshaw! Some wind, eh? Say, I wonder why nobody was flaggin’ the rear of this train?”
“They did,” declared Hashknife. “I saw the brakeman start back with his fuses and lantern.”