would carry the train fully one-third that distance further.
"Any obstruction?" shot out his agile companion, springing to the fireman's seat, sticking his head out of the window and staring ahead, "Whew! we're going to hit."
The speaker saw what Ralph also beheld. Dimly outlined directly in their path was a flat car, and above it skeletonized against the fading sunset sky, was the framework of a derrick. A repair or construction gondola car was straight ahead of No. 999.
They seemed to be approaching it swiftly and irresistibly. The wheels slid now, fairly locked, there was a marked ease-down, but Ralph saw plainly that, great or small, a collision was inevitable.
"Say, that fireman of yours!" shouted young Clark—"there he goes."
The locomotive was fairly upon the obstruction now. Ralph stuck to the lever, setting his lips firmly, a little pale, his muscles twitching slightly under the stress of excitement and suspense.
"Zing!" remarked the cool comrade of the young engineer—"we're there!"
At that moment a flying form shot from the running board of the locomotive. Lemuel Fogg had jumped.
