A little grove on either side the track, its trees roaring in the tempest, gave him a moment’s shelter. Then he pushed on to the two iron bridges which spanned the canal and the highroad just beyond it. These he looked over carefully by the light of his lantern, and assured himself that they were all right. Beyond the bridges was the long grade which led to the deep cut through the spur of hill which stretched across the track, and here the wind was howling with a fury that threatened to sweep him off his feet. But he fought his way on doggedly, step by step, head lowered, eyes on the track, lantern swinging from side to side. Then suddenly the wind ceased, though he could still hear it roaring far overhead, and he looked up to see that he had gained the cover of the cut. He stopped for breath, rejoicing that the hardest part of his task was over. Beyond the cut was a sharp curve, the road was carried on a high trestle over a deep ravine, and then onward along the top of an embankment,—a “fill,” in railroad parlance,—and this embankment marked the western limit of his trick. On his journey home, he would have the wind at his back and could get along easily and rapidly. Cheered by this thought, he walked on through the cut, but, as he turned the corner at the farther side, the wind struck him again with terrific force. He staggered back for an instant against the rock, when there came a great flash of lightning that silhouetted before him every feature of the landscape. Yet, as the lightning died, there remained photographed on his brain only one detail of the picture,—before him stretched the trestle, and in the middle of it four men were working with feverish energy tearing up a rail! He leaned back against the rock, dazed at the sight, not understanding for a moment what it meant. Then in a flash its meaning dawned upon him—they were preparing to wreck a train. But what train? It must be nearly eleven o’clock—no train was due for an hour or more—yes, there was—the pay-car, hurrying from Cincinnati with the Christmas money for the men. It was the pay-car they were after. But the pay-car was always crowded with armed men—men armed not merely with revolvers, but with Winchester repeaters. Yet, let the car crash over that trestle fifty feet upon the rocks below, and how many of its occupants would be living to defend themselves? Allan sank back among the rocks trembling, realizing that in some way he must save the train. His first act was to open his lantern and extinguish it, lest it betray him. Then he tried quickly to think out a plan of action. He must get across the trestle in order to flag the train—but how could he get across it? And of a sudden his heart stood still as two vague forms loomed up before him. They stopped for a moment in the shelter of the wall.