“Why, it's got to run, or we must take to saddle again for the rest of the way.” “These horses can't go five miles more at that gait, let alone twenty-five,” protested Thatcher. “Well, then, we must get other horses here.” “Come,” said Fitzhugh; “what's the use of that when there's an engine on the siding doing nothing?” “Just the idea. Find the man in charge.” But there did not appear to be any man in charge. The engineer and fireman were gone, and the watchman had been driven to cover by the foul weather. We looked the iron horse over enviously. “Why, this is the engine that came up with the special this noon,” said Fitzhugh. “I remember the number.” “Good! We are ahead of the enemy, then. They haven't had a chance to get the wire, and we beat them on the road. We must find the engineer and get it ourselves.” “I've got an idea,” said Fitzhugh. “It's this: why not take the machine without asking? I was a fireman once, and I can run it pretty well.” I thought a moment on the risk, but the need was greater. “Just the thing. Take the money for the horses to your friend there. I'll open the switch.” In a few minutes Fitzhugh was back. “I told him,” he chuckled. “He says it's a jail offense, but it's the only thing we can do.” “It may be a case of life and death,” I said. “Pull out.” “There's mighty little steam here--hardly enough to move her,” said Fitzhugh from the cab, stirring the fire. But as he put his hand to the lever she did move easily on to the main track, and rested while I reset the switch. Then I climbed back into the cab, and sank down before the warm blaze in a stupor of faintness as the engine glided smoothly and swiftly down the track. CHAPTER XXV A FLUTTER IN THE MARKET The gray pall of the storm hung over San Francisco. The dim light of the morning scarcely penetrated into the hallways as we climbed the stairs that led to our lodgings, leaving behind us the trail of dripping garments. I heaved a sigh of relief as Trent opened the door, and we once more faced the pleasing prospect of warmth, dry clothing and friends. We had made the run from Niles without incident, and had left the engine on a siding at Brooklyn without being observed. If the railroad company still has curiosity, after all these years, to know how that engine got from Niles to Brooklyn, I trust that the words I have just written may be taken as an explanation and apology. “Where's Barkhouse?” I asked, becoming comfortable once more with dry clothes, a warm room and a fresh bandage on my arm. “He hasn't shown up, sir,” said Trent. “Owens and Larson went out to look for him toward evening yesterday, but there wasn't a sign of him.” “Try again to-day. You may pick up news at Borton's or some of the water-front saloons.” “Oh, there was a letter for you,” said Trent. “I near forgot.” I snatched the envelope, for the address was in the hand of the Unknown. The sheet within bore the words: