But trainmen cannot stop for wind or weather, darkness or stress of storm, and the trains rumbled in and out through the night, most of them behind time, to be sure, but feeling their way along as best they could, while up in the offices the despatchers, with tense nerves and knitted brows, struggled to maintain order in the midst of chaos. The wires were working badly, every train on the road was behind the schedule; out at some of the little stations, the operators, unused to the strain, were growing nervous. The superintendent closed his desk with a bang, after dictating the last letter; but instead of going home, as usual, he stood around with his hands in his pockets, listening to the wildly clicking instruments, and chewing a cigar savagely. Allan lay for a long time that night listening to the trains, thinking of the wonderful system by which the great business was managed. He could understand, as yet, only a little of this system, and he was hungering to know more. Then the scene of the morning came back to him, and he tossed from side to side, thinking of it. Poor Reddy—yes, he needed looking after if Dan Nolan had got hold of him. Reddy’s mind was more that of a child than of a man at present. What an evil influence Dan might have over him if he cared to use it! At last sleep came; but in an instant he was back again at the river bank peering across at the figures on the other side. They were talking together; they seemed to be quarrelling. Then, suddenly, Nolan caught the other by the throat and hurled him backward over the bank into the water. Reddy sank with a wild cry; then his head reappeared, and he caught a glimpse of the boy standing on the farther bank. “Allan!” he cried, stretching out his arms imploringly. “Allan!” Allan sat bolt upright, rubbing his eyes, straining his ears to hear the call again. “Allan!” It was Jack’s voice,—he knew it now,—but the dawn was not peeping in at the window, as was usual when Jack called him. He realized that the night had not yet passed. He caught a glimmer of yellow light under his door and heard Jack putting on his boots in the room below. Fully awake at last, he sprang out of bed and opened the door. “What is it?” he called down the stair. “Do you want me?” “Yes. Hurry up,” answered Jack’s voice. Allan threw on his clothes with trembling hands, and hastened down-stairs. He found Jack already at table, eating hastily. “Set down,” said the latter, “an’ fill up. It’s mighty uncertain when ye’ll git another square meal.” “We’re going out?” asked the boy. “Then there’s a wreck?” “Yes, a wreck—freight, near Vinton. Th’ caller jest come fer me. It’s so bad all th’ section-gangs on this end ’r ordered out. Eat all y’ kin. Better drink some coffee, too. Y’ll need it.” CHAPTER XI. CLEARING THE TRACK