But something, it was thought the iron frame work of the catcher on the postal car next the guard’s van, suddenly caught Muckle Alick, and jerked him thirty feet from where he had been standing. And' then, without so much as a quiver, the express flew past the Junction ami out again into the darkness, the black tempest hurt ling behind her, and the engine whistle screaming a true man’s death knell.
None had seen Muckle A'iek. None had noted his deed of heroism, save only Duncan Urquhart, who, unconscious of danger, had cried cheerfully as he passed : “ What are ye hanging on to a post there for, Alick?” It was fully a quarter of an hour later that Urquhart went to look for Muckle Alick. He thought he would walk the first part of his way home with him. It was always wholesome and always cheerful to w'alk with Muckle Alick, even when he was going home from a long spell of over time.
At that moment the station-master woke up with a start. It was twenty minutes past ten. The express / He rushed out. The signal-box was quite dark. Duncan Urquhart was coming up the platform alone with his coat over his arm. lie called out to the station-master:

“ Is your signalman dead or only sleepin’ ?” A few minutes after James Cannon was rudely awakened from a pleasant dream of the Ross lighthouse.
