But whatever rapid process was going on down there, it was not as rapid as the lightning process of Pee-wee’s mind now that it was aroused to action. Here was Pee-wee the scout with a vengeance. He was always thorough and self-sufficient. When he slept no one could awaken him. When he ate no one could stop him. When he talked the world was silent. And when he had an inspiration the solar system had to get from under. He remembered that the long lever which manipulated the gates was split. He recalled that very distinctly, because he had tried ineffectually to raise the gates with it. It did not work. But he remembered that it was bound around for the whole of its length with cord which had held the split handle together. He cast another hurried glance out of the window at that little diminishing spot of red. It seemed smaller than before, hardly more than a speck now. He looked along the track for just a second listening. Then he looked down again for a reassuring glimpse of the tiny speck of fire. It was gone. CHAPTER XXI SUSPENSE No, it wasn’t, he had looked in the wrong place. He was so excited . . . There it was still, a wee little red speck. Hurry! Like lightning he groped his way to the gate lever, felt for the place where the cord binding ended, and fixed his teeth there. His scout knife had been arrested along with poor, faithful Liz, but he had his teeth. And he knew how to use them—oh, trust him for that. In a few seconds he had loosened a strand and chewed it in half. He stood on tiptoe and pulled the end up, thus unwinding the cord mechanically and saving a few precious seconds. It came away and hung like a spiral spring. He pulled it through one hand straightening it to its full length. Then he groped for the old magazine, here, there . . . Where in all . . . It was lying just before . . . Oh, where in . . . He had it. Like lightning he poured kerosene on it from the old can, then tied an end of cord around it. The old periodical was dry enough for ready ignition, surely; its yellowed pages were fairly brittle. All right. He hurried to the window. Now he could hear a far-distant rattling—never mind. Where was the red spot? Gone! No—there it was, hardly more than a spark . . . In ten more seconds . . . Suppose the cord wasn’t long enough . . . There was no time for any bull’s-eye practice here. In ten seconds, fifteen at most, the tiny coal . . . No—yes—of course the cord was long enough! “I’m—I’m—I’m always—lucky,” breathed Pee-wee. “I—I am—” He heard the whistle of a locomotive now—_in the east_. Pretty far away yet . . . But _hurry_!