Tom took up the work of dragging logs from the tender and stuffing them in the fire-box. He stopped once, and pointed to the wood pile. Fuel was running low. "At Green's Station," said Andrews. "Water there, too?" asked Brown. "At Tilton--just a few miles farther on." Andrews waved to Knight to shut off the power. "If that car at Reseca bridge doesn't stop them, we're cornered," panted Andrews as he ran back. "Put an obstruction here! That bent rail!" The men ran back to the car and pulled out the rail. It was the one they had ripped from the ties north of Calhoun. They forced the straight end of it under the track, leaving the bent end projecting toward the pursuers--a scarcely visible snag which would rip into the engine. "Keep dropping ties, men," ordered Andrews. "We have to stop at the wood yard." Brown took the throttle and pushed the _General_ onward toward Green's Station. Tom put the last of the fuel in the fire, and leaned wearily against the cab. Drops of rain, carried by the wind, splashed upon him and ran down his body, streaking the soot which covered his chest and stomach. His eyes met Knight's and they looked at each other dumbly, asking each other how the the race would end. Instinctively they turned toward Andrews. He was in the fireman's seat, hands clenched and face set, staring ahead. He did not move until they were within sight of Green's Station. The _General_ stopped at the wood pile and the men jumped out. The keeper of the yard came running toward them. Andrews waved him aside. "Throw that wood aboard, men," he said. But they had already attacked the pile. Then they heard repeated short blasts of a whistle to the southward. The men paused and looked at Andrews. "Pile it in! Hurry!" he yelled. "Who are you?" demanded the keeper. "What's this train!" Andrews seemed not to hear him. Four Confederate soldiers who were standing several hundred yards away yelled and pointed in the direction of the whistling. "'Board," called Andrews. As he climbed into the cab of the General, Tom saw that his face had become suddenly drawn. There was no talking now. The race had reached the final test of strength. While Tom, in the tender, yanked logs loose from the pile, Andrews stood ready to pass them to Knight, who shoved them into the fire-box. "The wood's wet," said Knight. The others heard him and made no reply. He worked with the drafts, coaxing the fire. Occasionally, Brown glanced at the steam gauge; then the two engineers would exchange glances. Slowly the needle of the gauge crept up. In the box-car the men silently dropped ties upon the tracks. Sometimes there was a mumble of satisfaction as a tie fell squarely across the rails; or a grunt of disgust when one tumbled end for end and landed out of position.