When he said so Apor laughed. "You forget, Wenzel, I was born in these parts, and in my younger days there were no automobiles. We had to horseback everywhere, and so became accustomed to making our way about in the dark." Soon they reached the summit. "The valley is before us," Apor announced. "How the Devil can you tell? Gad! it looks to me as black as the nether regions. You must have cat's eyes." Apor laughed. "A result of upbringing. I cannot really see, so that it is probably instinct which enables me to move about so easily." He led the way, Wenzel following close on his heels, and for some minutes they proceeded downward into the valley. Then Apor stopped. "Can you hear anything?" he asked, in a puzzled voice. Wenzel listened acutely, but caught no sound other than the slight movement of trees, the rustle of scuttling animals, and the grumbling chirrup of disturbed birds. "What kind of a noise do you mean?" Apor hesitated. "I scarcely know. More like a distant hum." Wenzel gazed into the darkness. He did not expect to see anything, for he believed trees to be on either side of him, but looking to his left he saw a small, red reflection away in the far distance. He caught Apor's arm in a pinching grasp. "Look!" Together they watched the curious glow; almost simultaneously they realized that it was becoming larger, and then Wenzel too heard the echo of a faint, whispering drone. "What the Devil!..." exclaimed Apor. The glow apparently increased--then they saw that it was not actually growing larger, though this effect was caused by the fact that the reflection was rapidly approaching in their direction. It was Wenzel who first grasped the truth. "Damn! Oh, damn!" he exclaimed. "We are too late! It is the Death Train!" Apor could not contradict. It was too evident now. White billowing masses of smoke, belched forth into the air, were lit up and reddened by the reflection of the roaring boiler-fire. Evidently it was approaching at full speed, for the engine swung round a curve and the watchers saw following a twinkling line of lights. For a second only, then the coaches were hidden again behind the smoke-clouds. The effect was weird and unearthly. Swirling into the air the smoke formed briefly into strange, phantomesque, and terrifying shapes, which gave way instantly as other puffs spread out and re-formed into other ghoulish creations. It might have been a burning chariot from Hell furiously driving along toward them, fiendishly blazing its defiance into the night: were it the Death Train, with Szamuelly inside, then indeed was the description all the more applicable. Filled with despair, Wenzel watched the progress of the train which meant the collapse of all his plans. At the rate the locomotive was moving, Szamuelly would have reached Bira and completed his massacre long before Arnold arrived, and more Hungarian lives would have been lost in a fruitless cause.