could tell him, and he instantly divined the purpose of the
engine thieves. They were preparing to send the freight engine eastward
on the Desert Division main line to collide with and wreck whatever
coming thing it was that they feared.

The threatened deed wrought itself out before the draftsman could even
attempt to prevent it. A man sprang to the footboard of the freed
locomotive, jerked the throttle open, stayed at the levers long enough
to hook up to the most effective cut-off for speed, and jumped for his
life.

Dawson was deliberate, but not slow-witted. While the abandoned engine
was, as yet, only gathering speed for the eastward dash, he was dodging
the straggling rioters in the yard, racing purposefully for the only
available locomotive, ready and headed to chase the runaway--namely, the
big eight-wheeler coupled to the president's car. He set the switch to
the main line as he passed it, but there was no time to uncouple the
engine from the private car, even if he had been willing to leave the
woman he loved, and those with her, helpless in the midst of the
rioting.

So there was no more than a gasped-out word to Williams as he climbed to
the cab before the eight-wheeler, with the _Nadia_ in tow, shot away
from the Crow's Nest platform. And it was not until the car was
growling angrily over the yard-limit switches that Van Lew burst into
the central compartment like a man demented, to demand excitedly of the
three women who were clinging, terror-stricken, to Judge Holcombe:

"Who has seen Miss Eleanor? Where is Miss Eleanor?"

XXIII

THE CRUCIBLE

Only Miss Brewster herself could have answered the question of her
whereabouts at the exact moment of Van Lew's asking. She was left
behind, standing aghast in the midst of tumults, on the platform of the
Crow's Nest. Terrified, like the others, at the sudden outburst of
violence, she had ventured from the car to look for Lidgerwood's
messenger, and in the moment of frightened bewilderment the _Nadia_ had
been whisked away.

Naturally, her first impulse was to fly, and the only refuge that
offered was the superintendent's office on the second floor. The
stairway door was only a little distance down the platform, and she was
presently groping her way up the stair, praying that she might not find
the offices as dark and deserted as the lower story of the building
seemed to be.

The light of the shop-yard fire, and that of the burning box-car nearer