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"THIS IS THE PLACE, FLANNIGAN * NEAR TRACY 's BRIDGE. REPORTED
HOLD-UP GO SLOWLY' "
the full strength of plow-trained muscles; then turned and fled from the scene, after his fellows, just as heaven and earth bellowed open in the fog.
"This is the place, Flannigan.,, The man in blue uniform consulted a grimy telegraph blank by the flare of the fire-box. " 'Near Tracy's Bridge. Reported hold-up — go slowly.' Get Reilley and a couple of lanterns and go ahead."
"Yessir."
"And, Flannigan, if everything's 0 K, wave twice. If the bridge is down, once. I got t' set a signal in th' rear f 'r th' police special behind."
The sleeping passengers stirred uneasily at the jolt of stopping, fumbling for watches and grumbling under their breath at the inconvenience of night travel. The rain beat against their cozy windows as they turned, stretched and sought sleep again, indefinably peevish at the night and storm.
The engineer, peering anxiously thru his blurred pane, caught two flashes in the darkness and opened his throttle cautiously. As the great train lumbered ahead down the tracks, a dripping figure with drowned lantern climbed into the cab.
"All safe," reported Flannigan, briefly, ' ' but there 's been queer work somewhere. A handcar in the ditch and a smashed wagon. Mebbe th' special '11 find out what's wrong."
A man who could have answered the puzzle lay sprawled across the tracks five miles farther on. From the tip of a telegraph pole beside him swayed two loose ends of wire. He had done his best, and better, and his usefulness, like that of the crippled wire, was over — for the time. So he lay, an inert puddle of clothes, with open, senseless eyes staring up at the ghastly sky, while the rails beneath his head sang, and, far thru the gloom, pricked the headlights of the mail. It was so Susie found him, as she stumbled thru the curtains of fog.