The railroad president came sliding down the diminished coal heap at the rear of the tender. He had grasped its rear end, and had climbed over it just as the caboose went hurtling to destruction. The glad delight and relief in the eyes of the young engineer revealed to the official fully his loyal friendship. Fogg, catching sight of him, helped him to his feet with a wild hurrah. The fireman's face shone with new life as he swung to his work at the coal heap. "If we can only make it--oh, we've got to make it now!" he shouted at Ralph. There was a sharp run of nearly an hour. It was along the lee side of a series of cuts, and the snow was mainly massed on the opposite set of rails. Ralph glanced at the clock. "We're ahead of calculations," he spoke to Fogg. "We're in for another struggle, though," announced the fireman. "When we strike the lowlands just beyond Lisle, we'll catch it harder than ever." Ralph was reeking with perspiration, his eyes cinder-filled and glazed with the strain of continually watching ahead. There had not been a single minute of relief from duty all the way from Westbrook. They struck the lowlands. It was a ten-mile run. First it was a great snowdrift, then a dive across a trembling culvert. At one point the water and slush pounded up clear across the floor of the cab and nearly put out the fire. As No. 999 rounded to higher grade, a tree half blown down from the top of an embankment grazed the locomotive, smashing the headlight and cutting off half the smokestack clean as a knife stroke. Ralph made no stop for either inspection or repairs. A few minutes later an incident occurred which made the occasion fairly bristle with new animation and excitement. Mr. Grant had sat quietly in the fireman's seat. Now he leaned over towards Ralph, pointing eagerly through the side window. "I see," said Ralph above the deafening roar of the wind and the grinding wheels, "the Night Express." They could see the lights of the train ever and anon across an open space where, about a mile distant, the tracks of the Midland Central paralleled those of the Shelby division of the Great Northern. The young engineer again glanced at the clock. His eye brightened, into his face came the most extravagant soul of hope. It was dashed somewhat as Fogg, feeding the furnace and closing the door, leaned towards him with the words: "The last shovel full." "You don't mean it!" exclaimed Ralph. The fireman swept his hand towards the empty tender. "Eight miles," said Ralph in an anxious tone. "With full steam we could have reached the Junction ten minutes ahead of the Express. Will the fire last out?" "I'll mend it some," declared the fireman. "Fairbanks, we might lighten the load," he added. "You mean----" "The tender."