ugh, it will
practically beat the strike. If we fail, it will beat the company."

By the time we backed to Newhall Junction, Neighbor had made up his mind
my way. Mullen and I climbed into the 109, and Foley with the 216, and
none too good a grace, coupled on to the silk, and, flying red signals,
we started again for Zanesville over the river division.

Foley was always full of mischief. He had a better engine than ours,
anyway, and he took satisfaction the rest of the afternoon in crowding
us. Every mile of the way he was on our heels. I was throwing the coal
and distinctly remember.

It was after dark when we reached the Beverly Hill, and we took it at a
lively pace. The strikers were not on our minds then; it was Foley who
bothered.

When the long parallel steel lines of the upper yards spread before us,
flashing under the arc-lights, we were away above yard speed. Running a
locomotive into one of those big yards is like shooting a rapid in a
canoe. There is a bewildering maze of tracks lighted by red and green
lamps to be watched the closest. The hazards are multiplied the minute
you pass the throat, and a yard wreck is a dreadful tangle: it makes
everybody from road-master to flagmen furious, and not even Bartholomew
wanted to face an inquiry on a yard wreck. On the other hand, he
couldn't afford to be caught by Foley, who was chasing him out of pure
caprice.

I saw the boy holding the throttle at a half and fingering the air
anxiously as we jumped through the frogs; but the roughest riding on
track so far beats the ties as a cushion that when the 109 suddenly
stuck her paws through an open switch we bounced against the roof of the
cab like footballs. I grabbed a brace with one hand and with the other
reached instinctively across to Bartholomew's side to seize the throttle
he held. But as I tried to shut him off he jerked it wide open in spite
of me, and turned with lightning in his eye.

"No!" he cried, and his voice rang hard. The 109 took the tremendous
shove at her back and leaped like a frightened horse. Away we went
across the yard, through the cinders, and over the ties. My teeth have
never been the same since. I don't belong on an engine, anyway, and
since then I have kept off. At the moment I was convinced that the
strain had been too much--that Bartholomew was stark crazy. He sat
bouncing clear to the roof and clinging to his levers like a lobster.

But his strategy was dawning on me; in fact, he