"Mischief—malice, perhaps," said Ralph quickly. "Freights ahead—we shall have to stop.
"Don't do it," directed Trevor. "Drive into them and push them ahead to the main line again. I'll stand all damage."
"They are empties, I noticed them on the afternoon run," said the young fireman. "Mr. Trevor, all this complication, all these happenings are suspicious. We will have to slow down to the freights."
"Slow down entirely," growled a sudden voice. "Do it, or I'll have it done by my partner, who is aboard all right."
Both Ralph and Trevor turned sharply. Standing on the coal of the tender was a man. He was dripping with water, and in one hand held a revolver.
"No delay, Fairbanks," he cautioned sternly. "We've taken too much trouble to miss this last chance to get you and your passenger."
Ralph stopped the engine. Then calmly, but with a certain sense of peril and defeat, he faced the man.
"Where did you come from?" demanded Trevor in amazement.
"Only from inside the water tank," responded the stranger coolly. "Been there since we left Stanley Junction."
