run him
down. Leg it! He's half-way down the yard, now!"

The train-master dropped the ear-piece of the telephone and crossed
quickly to the despatcher's table.

"Orders for the Western Division, Donohue," he said curtly, "and don't let
the grass grow. 'Receiver's car, Callahan, engineer, runs to Megilp as
first section of fast mail. Fast mail, Hunt, conductor; Tischer, engineer;
runs to the end of the division without stop, making up all time
possible.' Add to that last, 'By order of the receiver.'"

The orders were sent as swiftly as the despatcher could rattle them off on
his key; and then followed an interval of waiting more terrible than a
battle. Kent tried to speak, but his lips were parched and his tongue was
like a dry stick between his teeth. What was doing in the lower yard?
Would Durgan fail at the pinch and mismanage it so as to give the alarm?
The minutes dragged leaden-winged, and even the sounders on the
despatcher's table were silent.

Suddenly the clicking began again. The operator at "yard limits" was
sending the O.K. to the two train orders. So far, so good. Now if Callahan
could get safely out on the Western Division...

But there was a hitch in the lower yard. Durgan had obeyed his orders
promptly and precisely, and had succeeded in stopping Callahan at the
street-crossing where Engineer Dixon had killed the farmer. Durgan climbed
to the cab of the 1010, and the changed plan was explained in a dozen
words. But now came the crux.

"If I stand here till you'd be bringin' me my orders, I'll have the whole
kit av thim buzzin' round to know fwhat's the matther," said Callahan; but
there was no other thing to do, and Durgan hurried back to the telegraph
office to play the messenger.

He was too long about it. Before he got back, Halkett was under the cab
window of the 1010, demanding to know--with many objurgations--why
Callahan had stopped in the middle of the yards.

"Get a move on you!" he shouted. "The express is right behind us, and
it'll run us down, you damned bog-trotter!"

Callahan's gauntleted hand shot up to the throttle-bar.

"I'm l'avin', Misther Halkett," he said mildly. "Will yez go back to the
car, or ride wit' me?"

The general superintendent took no chance of catching the Naught-seven's
hand-rails in the darkness, and he whipped up into the cab at the first
sharp cough of the exhaust.

"I'll go back when you stop for your orders," he said; but a shadowy
figure had leaped