“An’ if you so much as harm a hair o’ him,” continued Jack, with clenched fists, “I’ll have it out o’ your hide, two fer one—jest keep that in mind.” Nolan laughed mockingly, but he also took the precaution to retreat to a safe distance from Jack’s threatening fists. “Y’ won’t give me a job, then?” he asked again. “Not if you was th’ last man on earth!” “All right!” cried Nolan, getting red in the face with anger, which he no longer made any effort to suppress. “All right! I’ll fix you an’ th’ kid, too! You think y’re smart; think y’ll win th’ section prize! Ho, ho! I guess not! Not this trip! Purty section-foreman you are! I’ll show you!” Jack didn’t answer, but he stopped and picked up a stone; and Nolan dived hastily back into the grove again. “He’s a big coward,” said Jack, throwing down the stone disgustedly, and turning back to his work. “Don’t let him scare y’, Allan.” “He didn’t scare me,” answered Allan, quietly, and determined to give a good account of himself should Nolan ever attempt to molest him. But Jack was not as easy in his mind as he pretended; he knew Nolan, and believed him quite capable of any treacherous meanness. So he kept Allan near him; and if Nolan was really lurking in the bushes anywhere along the road, he had no opportunity for mischief. The next morning Jack took his men out directly to the western end of the section, and came back very slowly, stopping here and there to put a finishing touch to the work. Even Reddy was enthusiastic over the condition of the section. “It’s foin as silk!” he said, looking back over the road they had just traversed. “Ef we don’t git th’ prize this toime, it’s because some other feller’s a lot smarter ’n we are!” CHAPTER VI. REDDY TO THE RESCUE Engineer Lister had often been angry in his life, for, truth to tell, running an engine is not conducive to good nerves or even temper. It is a trying job, demanding constant alertness, and quick, unerring judgment. But when to the usual responsibilities of the place are added a cranky engine and a green fireman, even a saint would lose his patience. Ellis Root was the green fireman, and seemed to possess such a veritable genius for smothering his fire that more than once the engineer had been compelled to clamber down from his box and wield the rake and shovel himself. To add to this difficulty of keeping up steam, the 226, a great ten-wheeled aristocrat of a freight-engine, had suddenly developed a leaky throttle, together with some minor ailments, which rendered the task of handling her one of increasing difficulty.