On and on they rushed, the wheels drumming over the rail-joints with a rhythm of sound that could only be compared to faint rifle-fire. Again and again the whistle sent its warning through the night. They rushed past little stations and parti-colored switch targets as though they were merely painted upon the backdrop of the night. Now and then a white flash told Ralph that Adair’s guards were still on duty. “All’s well” they signaled, and he dared keep the heavy train at top speed over stretches of road which ordinarily would call for more cautious driving. The lights of Fryburg finally came into view. Distant specks like star-shine at first. Almost immediately they were slowing down for the town and the bell was jangling. Ralph brought the train to a wonderfully easy stop. Not for a moment had he been troubled by the presence of the supervisor behind him on the seat. He was so sure of himself that he was never ruffled by being watched at his work. But as the locomotive came panting to its stop, Barton Hopkins put a now quite steady hand upon Ralph Fairbanks’ shoulder. “A wonderful run, Fairbanks,” he said, in his usual stern voice. “I had no idea you were such a master of your art. I could give you nothing but praise for your work. And you have gained three minutes over the schedule. I thank you.” For some reason Ralph felt a lump in his throat. There was something a bit pathetic in the supervisor’s honest assurance that he appreciated what little Ralph could do for him. The young fellow understood that the man’s keen interest in the way the engineer handled his locomotive had aided to calm him and had helped him gain control of himself. They went on from Fryburg to Shadow Valley Station at a speed quite in keeping with the first stretch of the run. There was no red glow in the sky ahead to-night. When Ralph had returned from Hammerfest the day before the area of the forest fire had been much reduced. Again the Flyer made the swift plunge into the valley. They rounded the curves and crossed the trestle at the Devil’s Den in safety. Under instructions from the supervisor, the train was pulled down at Timber Brook Station. Ralph could not stop to learn if anything had happened there of moment. The supervisor got down on the lower step of the cabin and made a flying leap to the cinder path. He waved his hand to Ralph as the latter speeded up the train again. Then the lights of the little station and the tall figure of the supervisor were shut out of his sight. The Midnight Flyer made another of her famous runs that morning, and Ralph brought her to Hammerfest in ample season for the connection on the Boise City road. Although he had closely applied himself to the running of the train, Ralph’s mind was hot with thoughts of the mystery of Cherry Hopkins’ disappearance.