voice rang out in warning. Then with a quick, bold snap, Ralph lifted the coupler and the pin shot out. He sprang to the forward platform of the caboose. As the car began to recede, he dashed through its open door.
"Just in time. Whew!" ejaculated Ralph, "those fellows are desperate men and doing this in true, wild western style."
The caboose, once started, began a rapid backward rush. Ralph feared that its momentum might carry the car from the track.
A curve turned, and the lights of Brocton were in sight. Before the runaway caboose slowed down entirely it must have gone fully three-quarters of a mile.
Ralph jumped from the car, and ran down the tracks at his best speed. He was breathless as he reached the little depot. It was dark and deserted, but opposite it was the one business street of the town.
Ralph left the tracks finally and made a dash for the open entrance of the general store of the village. The usual crowd of loiterers was gathered there.
"Hello! what's this?" cried the proprietor, as the young fireman rushed wildly into the store.
"Fireman on the Dover freight," explained Ralph breathlessly.
