But the engine whirled past him, and he stopped, seeing already the horror, the destruction, which must follow in a moment. Then, far ahead, he saw Reddy speeding toward the switch, saw him reach it, bend above the short lever that controlled it, and throw it over. Away up the track the “flier” flashed into view, running a mile a minute. He could guess what was happening in her cab, as her engineer saw the danger. The heavy engine rumbled on, all too slowly now, in upon the switch to knock the bumper at the farther end to splinters and fight her life out in the mud beyond. He saw Reddy throw the lever back again, only in that instant to be hurled away to one side as the great train swept by in safety. And the engineer, who had reversed his lever and applied the brakes, who had waited the outcome with white face and tight-set lips,—but who, never for an instant, had thought of saving himself by jumping,—released the brakes and threw his lever again on the forward motion. Four minutes later the train swept in to Wadsworth, only forty seconds behind the schedule! The passengers never knew how near they had been to death—by what a miracle they had escaped destruction! After all, a miss is as good as a mile! Reddy’s comrades found him lying unconscious twenty feet from the track. His right arm—the arm that had thrown the lever—hung limp by his side, and there was a great gash in his head from which the blood was pouring. In a moment Jack had torn off the sleeve of his shirt and made an improvised bandage of it, which checked to some extent the flow of blood. “We must git him home,” said Welsh, “where we kin git a doctor. He’s hurted bad. Git th’ car on th’ track, boys.” In an instant it was done, and Reddy was gently lifted on. “Now you set down there an’ hold his head, Allan,” said Jack. “Keep it as stiddy as y’ kin.” Allan sat down obediently and placed the mangled head tenderly in his lap. As he looked at the pale face and closed eyes, it was all he could do to keep himself from breaking down. Poor Reddy—good old Reddy—a hero, Allan told himself, with quickening heart, a hero who had not hesitated to risk his life for others. But they were off! And how the men worked, pumping up and down until the car fairly flew along the track. They knew the way was clear, since the flier had just passed, and up and down they pumped, up and down, knowing that a few minutes might mean life or death to their comrade. Down the grade they flashed, along the embankment by the river, through the town and into the yards, where a dozen willing hands lifted the inanimate form from the car and bore it tenderly into the baggage-room. “How did it happen, Welsh?” asked the train-master, after a surgeon had been summoned and an ambulance had taken the still unconscious Reddy to his home. And Jack told him, while the train-master listened, with only a little nod now and then to show that he understood. At the end he drew a deep breath.