der, as Spence frantically called the
construction camp at the summit of the Slide; there was a chance, one
in a thousand, that the section hands had got back to the Bend before
Number One had reached the top of the grade.

Then, suddenly, the sounder broke, and Spence began to spell off the
words.

"Number One passed here five minutes ago."

Regan went down into a chair, and covered his face with his hands.

"Wild," he whispered, and his whisper was like an awe-stricken sob.
"Running wild on the Devil's Slide. _No one in the cab_. Oh, my God!"

There was a look on Carleton's face no words could describe--it was
gray, gray with a sickness that was a sickness of his soul; but his
words came crisp and clear, cold as steel, and without a tremor.

"Clear the line, Spence. Get out the wrecking crew, and send the
callers for the doctors--that's all that's left for us to do."

But while Big Cloud was making grim preparations for disaster, Beezer
in no less grim a way was averting it, and his salvation, together with
that of every soul aboard the train, came, in a measure at least, from
the very source wherein lay their danger--the speed. That, and the
fact that the pressure MacAllister had thought would drop before the
summit was reached, was at last exhausting itself. The cab was less
dense, and the speed whipping the wind through the now open window
helped a whole lot more, but it was still a swirling mass of vapor.

Beezer lowered himself in, his foot touched the segment, and then found
the floor. The 1016 was rocking like a storm-tossed liner. Again
there came the sickening, deadly slew as she struck a curve, the
nauseating pause as she hung in air with whirring drivers. Beezer shut
his eyes and waited. There was a lurch, another and another, fast and
quick like a dog shaking itself from a cold plunge--she was still on
the right of way.

Beezer wriggled over on his back now, and, with head hanging out over
the running board, groped with his hands for the levers. Around his
legs something warm and tight seemed to clinch and wrap itself. He
edged forward a little farther--his hand closed on the throttle and
flung it in--a fierce, agonizing pain shot through his arm as something
spurted upon it, withering it, blistering it. The fingers of his other
hand were clasped on the air latch and he began to check--then, unable
to endure it longer, he threw it wide. There was a terrific jolt, a
shock that keeled