Bunty rose to his knees, and for the first time looked out of the side window, to find a new terror there as the rocks and trees and poles flashed dizzily by him. He turned and looked behind. A man was clinging to the hand-rail of the mail-car, and another, lying flat, was crawling over the coal heaped high on the tender. Bunty dashed the tears from his eyes; he was no “fraidy” kid. He stood up, and holding on to the frame of the window, staggered toward the throttle. As he reached for it, 901 lurched madly, and Bunty lost his balance and fell headlong upon the iron floor plate of the cab. Then it was all dark. ***** Number Two pulled into Big Cloud that night ten hours late, and it brought Bunty. His father and Carleton and Spence and the shop-hands were on the platform. From the private car, which carried the tail-lights, an elderly gentleman got off with Bunty in his arms. The men cheered, and while the master mechanic rushed forward to take his son, the super and Spence drew back respectfully. “Mr. Regan,” said the old gentleman, with tears in his eyes, “you ought to be pretty proud of this little lad.” Regan tried to speak, but the words choked somehow. The old gentleman swung himself back upon the car. “Good-by, Bunty!” he called. And Bunty, from the depths of the blanket they had wrapped around him, called back, “Good-by, sir!” When Bunty was propped up in bed, his father told him how the express messenger had stopped the train and carried him back into the Pullmans. Bunty listened gravely. “Yes,” he said, nodding his head; “they was awful good to me, and the man that tooked me off the train told me stories, and then I told him some, too.” “What did you tell him?” Regan asked. “Oh, ’bout trains and shops and presidents and directors and--and lots of things.” “Presidents and directors!” said Regan, in surprise. “What did you tell him about them?” “I told him what you said--that they was fools, and you knew, ’cause you’d seen them.” Regan whistled softly. “And,” continued Bunty, “he laughed, and when I asked him what he was laughing at, he gived me a piece of paper and told me to give it to you, and you’d tell me.” Regan groaned. “Guess it’s my time all right,” he muttered. “Where’s the paper, Bunty?” “He putted it in my pocket.” Regan drew the chair with Bunty’s clothing on it toward him, and began a hurried search. He fished out a narrow slip of paper and unfolded it on his knee. It was a check for one thousand dollars payable to Master Bunty Regan, and signed by the President of the road. III--“IF A MAN DIE”