"All right," was the reply; "I'm just ready." "Stick fast, and mind where you drop it; she's coming!" cried Ned half- out loud, in a voice of intense excitement. Joe Wright was now half standing, half hanging over the up-rails, a few feet only above where the roofs of the carriages would pass. The low, labouring sound of the coming train had been heard for some moments past; then it swelled into a dull roar as the light wind carried it forward, then became fainter again as the wind lulled; and then burst into a rushing, panting whirlwind as the engine turned the bend of the curve. Forward dashed the train, as though it were coming with a will to batter down the bridge at a blow; light flashing from its lamps, fiery smoke throbbing out from the funnel in giant puffs, and a red-hot glare glowing from beneath the furnace. "Now then!" shouted the men from above. "All right!" Joe shouted back in answer. "Shra-a-a-auk!" roared the train, as with diminished speed it passed beneath them. At that moment Wright, leaning down, dropped the bag. It fell plump on a hollow place into a tarpaulin which covered some luggage on the roof of one of the first-class carriages, and was whisked far away in another second, not to be disturbed from its snug retreat till it reached the great metropolis. "I've done it," cried Wright from below. "Now then," cried Ned in return, "get back as fast as you can, and be careful." No reply. Joe was making his way back as best he could; but it was no easy task, for his hands had become very cold, and the great oaken supports of the bridge were slippery with the moisture which had gathered thickly on them. "Well done," said one of his companions, stooping over to watch his progress; "a little more to the left, Joe." The climber struggled upward. And now his right-hand was nearly on a level with the floor of the bridge, and he was stretching out his left hand to grasp one of the rails, when his foot suddenly slipping on a sloping rafter, he lost his hold altogether, and, to the horror of his companions, fell with a heavy thud on to the rails beneath him! "Joe, Joe--speak, man! Are you hurt?" cried Ned. No answer. "Lord help us," he continued, "the drunken train'll be up directly. Get up, man, get up; you'll be killed if you lie there." Not a word from the unfortunate man. They all leant over the parapet, straining their eyes to see if Joe really lay there or had crawled away. They could just make out a dark heap lying apparently right across the rails: it did not stir; not a moment was to be lost. "Here, Ned," cried the man who had seemed to act as a sort of leader of the party, "just get down the bank somehow, and drag him off the rails. I'll see if I can drop down from the bridge."