On the express, as it bumped over the uneven roadway of the Arundel County branch, the conductor was going through the cars explaining that a wreck ahead had caused them to leave the main line. There was much grumbling, especially among passengers who wished to change at the N.P. junction for the north and among the mail clerks. Even by getting instant connection at Arundel for the N.P. junction they would be four hours late.
The discomfitted plotters, Colonel Carson and Aylward, were still in the smoking-car. Aylward was raging at his discovery that the supposed weapon which in Jack's hand flashed a menace at him was nothing more dangerous than a nickel-plated case of some kind. But it had held the scheming lawyer at bay until the train was moving too quickly for him to leave it and interfere with Jack's plans.
Meanwhile Jack was passing through the train. Over the badly ballasted road-bed the express was travelling so badly that although it was close on eight o'clock Bywater was only forty miles behind, and there were one hundred and ten miles to cover before twelve o'clock.
"Can't you get any more speed out of her, Sullivan?" he asked the driver. He had climbed over the back of the tender from the baggage-car.
"It's a rough road," said Sullivan. "There's only one part where the going is good, and I'll let her out there, even if we have to chance jumping the rails."
"We've got one hundred and ten miles to do in four hours," remarked Jack. "Can we do it?"
"Looks like a walk over," chuckled Sullivan.
They were running now at about thirty miles an hour, and Sullivan, peering ahead of him, was just on the point of letting her out another notch, when he suddenly yelled:—
"Fire and brimstone! What's that on the track?"
With all the strength of his left hand he jammed over the lever, while with his right he set the brakes. The stoker was so pale that his face looked ghastly through its smoke grime. The engine staggered on the rails, so quickly had her momentum been cut off.
Jack peered through the gloom ahead of them. There was a long stretch of straight track ahead of them, but right across the train's course was something which looked like a dwelling house built on the line.
There was a light or two shining from it. It was a house, set directly across the track. There were probably people in it, and the engine with its heavy train behind was bearing down upon it like a monstrous battering-ram.
The wheels of the engine shrieked as they ground along the tracks. Jack did not know the damage this sudden stop was causing, but Sullivan knew, and even amidst the danger he thought of his interview with the chief engineer when the flat surfaces of the driving-wheels were seen at the end of his run.
It seemed as if only a miracle could save the house, but the train at last stopped, only about six feet away from it.
It was a dwelling house. But how came it on the tracks? Passengers and train hands poured out of the train in search of a solution of the mystery.
Suddenly a lantern appeared in a field beside the track, and presently it could be seen that it was carried by a farmer who was calmly chewing a straw.
"Wal, I swan!" he ejaculated. "How come this train here? Why, ye came near bumpin' inter Mr. Jenkins' house. Dretful keerless of ye!"
"What's the house doing here?" thundered Sullivan.
"Why, we're movin' it."
"Why do you leave it on the track?" asked Jack.
"One hoss went lame, and t'other couldn't turn the machine alone. The farmer pointed to where a sort of capstan with a beam attached stood, a few yards in front of the house. The house was on rollers.
"Did you get permission to move it across the Sunset tracks?" demanded Jack.
"Dunno about that. Have to see Jenkins. It's his business."
At this instant Winter ran up to Jack.
"It's a trick, Mr. Fletcher," he interrupted. "The house was put there to stop any train that came from Bywater. I've been inside it. There's no furniture, and there are candles alight in the windows to warn a train before she struck the obstacle. It's to delay us while the Kansas Central are laying their rails across our branch."
Jack swung round to the farmer.
"Get your horses and drag this thing off the track!" he commanded.
"Can't do it, mister. My hoss is lame, I told you. I'll get a team in the mornin', and after the capstan's fixed—"
"What's the matter with that? If you can't get horses we'll pull the house over ourselves."
"Sorry; but it's busted," declared the farmer. "I've sent the shoe to the smithy, eight miles away. Had to have it repaired."
"Well, you'll have trouble over this," cried Jack.
"No," said the man stolidly. "It's Mister Jenkins' house. He'll have to stand the damage."
"Jenkins!" exclaimed Jack. "Why, that's the man Aylward addressed his telegram to. The chief engineer of the Kansas Central. They've balked us."
Sullivan, who had been examining the house, tugged Jack's sleeve. His eyes blazed under his shaggy brows.
"What is it, Sullivan?" asked Jack miserably; "do you see a way out?"
"I see a way through, sir; and by Heaven! we'll take it," said Sullivan grimly, through his clenched teeth. "Get aboard now, all of ye!" he shouted.
The passengers were all hustled aboard the train, and when it began to back they thought that the wreck, the mythical wreck, would now be cleared.
Jack was beginning to feel nervous. It was past eight o'clock. He wanted to remain in the cab with Sullivan.
"No, sir," said the driver. "You must get back out of the way. I'm goin' to charge that house, and there's danger of gettin' hurt. Besides, there's too many here."
"It's a terrible risk, Sullivan," said Jack.
