"Tou can't wait for a fireman." the
girl said, decisively, "I'll push the
shovel, Tom. Quick, now t"
. They were off. Past the water tank
slid Loco 66, past the roundhouse,
past the freight sheds and through the
fringe of scattered cottages at the edge
of the town. Like a flash they left
behind farmsteads with neat white
houses and freshly plowed vegetable
patches. Then came the forest and
they tore through a long vista in the
pine and spruce down . . . down . ..
down.
Dawson held the throttle wide open.
It was a marvel that they kept the
rails. The engine rocked and swayed
like a Jitney on a Jag. There was no
mitigating the chances of death. It
was Just a case of overhauling that
crazy lumbering train that plunged
wildly somewhere between ten and fif
teen miles ahead.
Two-thirds of the distance to El
Capitán had been covered before,
swinging round a curve, they caught
sight of the runaway. Slowly they
gained upon It. Now only a thousand
yards separated pursuer and pursued
. . . . now five hundred . . . now three
hundred. It was the crucial moment
Helen 'dropped her shovel. Out she
crawled on the footboards of the sway
ing engine. Sixty miles an hour was
the speed shown by the Indicator. Clos
er .. , closer now a hundred feet
now fifty feet. Helen was on the fender
of the engine. Now only Inches sep
arated the rear car and the pilot
Then Helen Jumped.
The first real certainty Dawson had
of her success was when he saw her
swarming over the end of the tall car.
