“We'll stick to the engine as long as the engine sticks to the rails,” said Dan, grimly. “Hadn't you better come into the cab with me? You'll be frightfully exposed when we get into the thick of it.” “Not yet, Dannie? I'll give you steam, and you drive her as hard as you can.” He turned away, shovel in hand. Then, all in a second, and they were in the burning woods, rushing beneath trees that were blazing to their very summits. The track seemed to shake and tremble in the fierce light and fiercer heat. Burning leaves and branches were caught up to be whirled in fiery eddies back down the rails as the train tore along, for Dan was hitting her up. Tongues of fire struck across at the two men. Smoke and fine white ashes filled their mouths and nostrils. Their bodies seemed to bake. They had been streaming wet with perspiration a moment before. Off in the forest it was possible to see for miles. Every tree and bush stood forth distinct and separate. Roger Oakley put down his shovel for an instant to fill a bucket with water from the tank on the tender. He plunged his head and arms in it and splashed the rest over his clothes. Dan turned to him for the last time. “It isn't far now,” he panted. “Just around the next curve and we'll see the town, if it's still there, off in the valley.” The old convict did not catch more than the half of what he said, but he smiled and nodded his head. As they swung around the curve a dead sycamore, which the fire had girdled at the base, crashed across the track. The engine plunged into its top, rolled it over once and tossed it aside. There was the smashing of glass and the ripping of leather as the sycamore's limbs raked the cab, and Roger Oakley uttered a hoarse cry, a cry Dan did not hear, but he turned, spitting dust and cinders from his lips, and saw the old convict still standing, shovel in hand, in the narrow gangway that separated the engine and tender. He had set the whistle shrieking, and it cut high above the roar of the flames, for, off in the distance, under a canopy of smoke, he saw the lights of Antioch shining among the trees. Two minutes later and they were running smoothly through the yards, with the brakes on and the hiss of escaping steam. As they slowed up beside the depot, Dan sank down on the seat in the cab, limp and exhausted. He was vaguely conscious that the platform was crowded with people, and that they were yelling at him excitedly and waving their hats, but he heard their cries only indifferently well. His ears were dead to everything except the noise of his engine, which still echoed in his tired brain. He staggered to his feet, and was about to descend from the cab, when he saw that his father was lying face down on the iron shelf between the engine and tender. He stooped and raised him gently in his arms. The old convict opened his eyes and looked up into his face, his lips parted as if he were about to speak, but no sound came from them. CHAPTER XXVI