The fireman leaned beside him, for a moment, piercing the dark with swift, keen glance, “Nothing there,” he said. The train, on the down grade by the river, ran with swift ease through the night.... No sight--no sound.... Only the great river to the left slipping--dark and still, and the stars overhead. But the two men leaned back, scenting the dark with swift gaze. “Nothing there,” said the fireman, peering out, “You must ’a’--” He paused--with quick turn. A long, low whistle broke the night, echoing against the distant hills. The eyes of the two men met. Tomlinson’s hand raised itself with startled thrust. The answering shriek tore the night.... Once--twice--in hoarse demand.... Again the low, seeking call among the hills. Then silence and the black river slipping by. The fireman sprang to his place. Tomlinson’s hand upon the lever quickened its hold, drawing it tense. “We take no chances,” he said. The engine trembled beneath and leaped to swifter stride. It swayed through the night. The furnace door flew open and heaven blazed with roar and glow and swift heat. The faces of the two men, lurid in the white glare, confronted each other. Then darkness, and the swift rush of steel on steel--crunching, heavy beats of sound--and the thrusting roar and smoke.... They were swinging the bend of the curve now, where the road leaves the river under the mountain to track across country. Tomlinson, his body half thrown from the cab, strained back, his peering eyes searching the distant curve. He drew his hand across them. “She ’s there, Jim!.... Look!” The shaking hand flung the words. The fireman leaped to his side. A glimmer--a flash--twinkled gleams on the far curve. “It ’s Her!” muttered Tomlinson. “86,” said the fireman. “The heaviest on the road.” Tomlinson’s hand reached Up.... She was running at frightful speed. His quick eye gaged her flight as he sounded the high, shrill call of warning.... She had not slowed for the curve.... She was not slowing now! Again the whistle sounded its savage cry. And the note came back--echoing among the hills in little peals that laughed. “Ah--she had heard.... she knew they were there... They were safe now.” The hand on the lever released its grip.... Gleason was running her. He was safe--Ten miles more.... Simeon Tetlow, swaying at ease in his parlor car, need not fear.... They were picked men on the road--and he ran them hard. They would bring him through.... Once more Tomlinson leaned out, looking back with a grim smile.... His startled gaze threw itself--She was _not_ slowing--“Jim!” It was hoarse like a whisper--“Jim!--Look!” But the fireman, bending to his flaming pot, had not heard. The red eyes blazed again to the night.... “Jim!--” The hoarse cry shook the night. The man sprang forward. “Look!” He flung a hand.