"And do you mean to say," he demanded, sternly, "that because another boy told you to, you stopped this train--" He paused, his mouth open, and listened, hand to ear. Then he stooped, snatched up the fusee, and fairly hurled himself down the track, waving the blazing torch above his head. And an instant later, his companions caught the sound of an engine pounding up the grade toward them. The red light disappeared through the snow; then two sharp whistles testified that the signal had been seen; and a moment later, a great mogul of a freight-engine loomed through the darkness and came grinding to a stop not thirty feet away. Her engineer swung himself to the ground and came running forward. [Illustration: "SNATCHED UP THE FUSEE, AND FAIRLY HURLED HIMSELF DOWN THE TRACK"] "What's all this?" he demanded; and then he saw the headlight of the other engine, almost obscured by the snow which encrusted it, and turned livid under his coat of tan. "What train's that?" "That's Number Two," answered the conductor, who had returned with the smoking fusee still in his hand. "Number Two!" echoed the engineer, and a cold sweat broke out across his forehead. "Nonsense! I saw Number Two pull into the yards ten minutes ago!" "No you didn't," retorted the conductor, grimly, "for there's Number Two back there." The engineer passed his hand before his eyes and stared, scarce able to understand. Then his face hardened and his lips tightened. "There must have been a freight ahead of you," he said. "It came in just on your time." "We're ten minutes late--and getting later every minute," the conductor added, and stamped impatiently. Just then the conductor of the freight came hurrying up. The engineer turned to him with a little sardonic laugh. "Well, Pete," he said, "I guess this is our last run over this road." The conductor's face turned ghastly white. "Wha-what do you mean?" he stammered. The engineer answered with a wave of the hand toward the headlight glaring down at them. "That's Number Two," he said. "Number Two!" echoed the conductor, blankly. "But then--why weren't we smashed to kindling wood?" "Blamed if I know," answered the engineer, turning to clamber back on his engine. "And I don't much care. I reckon we're done, anyway." And they were, for a railroad never forgives or overlooks a mistake so serious as this. Jim Anderson came out of the house a moment later with an order from the trainmaster for the freight to back into the yards, and the flyer to follow. Only the driving storm had kept the passengers on the flyer from coming out to inquire what the matter was; and when the conductor swung himself on board again, he was greeted with a volley of questions. What was the trouble? What had happened? "Trouble?" he repeated, with a stare of surprise. "There wasn't any. We had to stop for orders, that was all." "You stopped pretty sudden, it seems to me," growled one old traveller.