"Losin' your nerve?" queried the engineer.
"I guess so. If I was only in front with you to see what was doing—"
"It's no use. I won't have you. It'll be no fun here when she bumps."
"Do you think she'll really get through? Won't it derail the train?" asked Jack nervously.
"Not likely. The house is a flimsily built shack."
"Perhaps we'd better uncouple the cars."
"No," said Sullivan firmly. "We want their weight behind."
During this conversation the train had backed nearly a mile. Suddenly it slowed down and stopped. Jack climbed down from the cab at Sullivan's request, and retired to the smoking-car.
Then Sullivan opened the throttle and the express shot forward. He let her out the last notch of speed. As she sped her wheels scarcely seemed to touch, and the only bump and jar of the flattened drivers could be felt throbbing throughout the train.
In the cars the sudden change of direction, and the terrific speed at which the train was now shooting forward had thrown the passengers into a species of panic. But before they quite realized what was happening the thing was over. With scarcely more than a jar the carriages were flying through the debris of the ill-fated house. The engine had crashed through the flimsy obstruction, and the train was still on the rails.
But on the engine Sullivan was now dismally contemplating a fresh and perhaps more serious disaster. As the engine met the house there was a crash like the overturning of a load of timber, and the huge machine shivered. Then Sullivan sprang up with a wild Irish yell. But the sound died in his throat when he glanced out along the top of his boiler. He seized the throttle and cut off steam. The headlight was out, and there was no sign of the smokestack, and in addition, about half the iron jacket was stripped off the boiler.
"Great Jehosophat!" exclaimed the fireman. "We'll get a good way with this mess of scrap-iron, I don't think!"
"Shut up!" growled Sullivan. The train came to a halt, and he ran round to the front of the engine to survey the damage it had sustained.
The smokestack was torn off at its base, leaving only the broken ring to which it had been bolted. Through the gaping hole the smoke was pouring in a black cloud.
"You'll never get to Arundel under your own steam, Sullivan," declared the stoker.
"Won't I?" growled the driver, surlily. "Watch me! I've never been towed yet. When we do get in, young man, I'll give you a proper licking for suggesting it."
The passengers had all swarmed out again now. Close by Jack, watching the wreck with a satisfied smile, stood the little lawyer, Aylward.
"She'll stay here all right for the rest of the night, I guess," he remarked to Colonel Carson.
Sullivan overheard the remark, and, looking viciously at Aylward, cried: "You can bet your swate life she won't." Then to Jack he threw an encouraging statement. "We ain't dead yet, sir. Kape a stiff upper lip."
In half an hour, by the help of his tools and a saw from the baggage-car, Sullivan had built a wooden smokestack by sticking the ends of planks down into the smoke arch. Then they were ready to go on.
It was nine-thirty with still a hundred miles to go. For all they knew there might be other obstructions ahead of them. From Aylward Jack presently learned for certain that he was not at the end of his troubles. He had heard the lawyer remark to Colonel Carson: "It's too early to give up the game."
Jack turned and looked at Aylward. "So you don't consider yourself beaten yet, Mr Aylward?" he remarked coolly.
"I don't consider that you have won, young man. In fact, you are too late—too late, do you hear?" Aylward snapped open his watch and glanced at it. "For your information I'll tell you that a gang of Italians under Jenkins are at this moment laying Kansas Central rails across this line. This express will be held up there, and Jenkins will see that she doesn't get by that point. So, Master Fletcher, you will fail in both your hopes tonight. You can't stop our rails being laid, and your train will not get to Arundel in time to prevent your rails being torn up."
Jack, although hope was now almost dead in him, managed to smile sarcastically. He could not trust himself to utter a word. After a few minutes he made his way to Sullivan again through the baggage-car.
To the driver he repeated Aylward's words.
"We're beat, then," said the driver dismally.
"It looks as if we've no hope," replied Jack. "They may be laying the cross rails this very moment."
Involuntarily Sullivan let out the lever another notch, and the wounded engine leaped forward as if under the spur.
"She's making about all I dare let her," said the Irishman sadly. "If it was any other line on earth but this rotten one—"
He checked himself suddenly.
"What was that?" he asked eagerly. "That flash ahead of us. It must be a locomotive and the stoker just opened the fire-box to shovel in coal."
"A locomotive on our road? Impossible," said Jack. "There's nothing ahead of us."
"Not on our road," said Sullivan gravely. "But you know the Kansas Central were building up their track from Goldstone. They have a construction train with them, of course. That was where the flash of light came from."
Jack, breathless, laid a hand on Sullivan's arm.
"Let her out to the last notch," he cried.
"The job may be done now," sighed Sullivan as he did so.
The locomotive rocked like a wobbly cradle. The pace, for a half-wrecked engine, was terrific.
Jack again clutched Sullivan's arm as he caught sight of a red light flashed out between the rails ahead.
Someone had turned a curve with a danger signal and was waving it vigorously across the track.
"Stop! stop!" cried Jack. "They've got the rails up. We'll be wrecked, and it's my fault."
Sullivan reduced the speed, but the grim look
