y sound ten yards away. McCloud ordered the flat cars cut
off the train and the engine whistle sounded at short intervals, and,
taking Stevens, buttoned his reefer and started up the grade after the
three trackmen. They fired their revolvers as they went on, but the
storm tossed their signals on the ears of Mears and his companions
from every quarter of the compass. McCloud was standing on the last
tie and planning with his companion how best to keep the grade as the
two advanced, when the engine signals suddenly changed. "Now that
sounds like one of Bill Dancing's games," said McCloud to his
companion. "What the deuce is it, Stevens?"

Stevens, who knew a little of everything, recognized the signals in an
instant and threw up his hands. "It's Morse code, Mr. McCloud, and
they are in--Mears and the foremen--and us for the train as quick as
the Lord will let us; that's what they're whistling."

"So much for an education, Stevens. Bully for you! Come on!"

They regained the flat cars and made their way back to the caboose
and engine, which stood uncoupled. McCloud got into the cab with
Dancing and Stevens. Mears, from the caboose ahead, signalled all in,
and, with a whistling scream, the engine started to back the caboose
to Piedmont. They had hardly more than got under full headway when
a difficulty became apparent to the little group around the
superintendent. They were riding an unballasted track and using such
speed as they dared to escape from a situation that had become
perilous. But the light caboose, packed like a sardine-box with men,
was dancing a hornpipe on the rail-joints. McCloud felt the peril,
and the lurching of the car could be seen in the jerk of the engine
tender to which it was coupled. Apprehensive, he crawled back on
the coal to watch the caboose himself, and stayed long enough to
see that the rapidly drifting snow threatened to derail the outfit
any minute. He got back to the cab and ordered a stop. "This won't
do!" said he to Stevens and the engineman. "We can't back that
caboose loaded with men through this storm. We shall be off the
track in five minutes."

"Try it slow," suggested Stevens.

"If we had the time," returned McCloud; "but the snow is drifting on
us. We've got to make a run for it if we ever get back, and we must
have the engine in front of that way car with her pilot headed for the
drifts. Let's look at things."

Dancing and Stevens, followed by McCloud, dropped out of the g