“I read the message off the wire,” returned the young fellow coolly. “I have been afraid all along that Andy McCarrey’s gang had something to do with Miss Cherry’s disappearance.” “It is those bloodthirsty strikers!” gasped Hopkins. “The strikers are not bloodthirsty. They are men who have worked for the railroad for years. Some of them are my neighbors and friends. They have been badly advised in this strike, I admit. But I doubt if a single ex-employee of this division has had anything to do with this beastly thing.” “This message——” “You were threatened before. I guess you were threatened before you came to Rockton, Mr. Hopkins,” said Ralph quickly. “You are pretty sure who is the moving spirit in this dastardly crime.” “McCarrey. Yes, I know that. But he has men to help him. I must get to Shadow Valley at once——” The gong in the train-shed roof sounded. Ralph started up the steps of the locomotive. Hopkins remained right at his elbow. “You get a seat in one of the coaches where you will be comfortable, Mr. Hopkins,” advised Ralph. “I’ll get you to the place you want to reach as quickly as I can.” “I’ll ride with you. Want me to write a pass for myself?” the excited supervisor asked. “In the locomotive I will be that much nearer the place this message came from.” “Come aboard, then,” said Ralph, not even smiling. “We’ll waive the pass for this once.” “All aboard!” called out the conductor from the end of the train. Ralph leaped to his seat and seized the lever. The supervisor followed him into the cab. You should have seen the eyes of the two firemen! Supervisor Hopkins was certainly shaking. Out of the corner of his eye Ralph watched those long, lean, red hands twitching nervously. “Maybe he has been under this pressure all the time,” Ralph considered. “It might be. He is as close-mouthed as a clam. Anybody can see that. Mr. Barton Hopkins would never confide in any person as long as he could keep his self-control. My gracious! I never saw him so broken up.” While Ralph was thinking these thoughts he was speeding up the great eight-wheeler. The train, gaining on its pace with each revolution of the drivers, left the Rockton yard behind. It whirled up the small slope beyond, and then the searchlight, like a bright index finger, pointed the way into the black cavern of the cloudy night. Suddenly the young engineer realized that Mr. Hopkins’ fingers were quiet. He sat on the bench without fidgeting as he had at first. Ralph could even sense that the man breathed regularly. He turned in some surprise to look into Barton Hopkins’ face. What had changed him in this brief time? The supervisor’s gaze was fixed upon Ralph’s left hand, the hand which rested all the time on the throttle. Faster and faster the train sped on. As he had promised, the young fellow was sending the Midnight Flyer on at the best pace he could compass. Never during the time he had handled the train had he made better time.