earthly help for him; nothing to warn
the controlling mind of that on-rushing mass of his presence. In a few
seconds the tragedy will be over.

Suddenly, crack! crack! two loud reports ring out sharply above the roar
and rattle of the train, one just after the other. The engineman is keenly
alert on the instant; and, with one hand on the brake lever, the other on
the throttle, he peers steadily ahead. The head-light, that seems so
dazzling, and to cast its radiance so far, to those approaching it, in
reality illumines but a short space to him who sits behind it, and the
engineman sees no evidence of danger. There is no red beacon to stop him,
nor any train on the track ahead. He is beginning to think the alarm a
false one, when another report, loud and imperative, rings in his startled
ear. In an instant the powerful air brakes are grinding against the wheels
of every car in the night express, until the track is lighted with a blaze
of streaming sparks. A moment later the rushing train is brought to a
stop, inside half its own length.

Even now nobody knew why it had been stopped, nor what danger threatened
it. It was not until the engineman left his cab, and discovered the
senseless form of Brakeman Joe lying across the rails, less than a hundred
feet away, that he knew why he had been signalled. The wounded man was
recognized at once, as belonging to the train ahead of them; but how he
came in that sad plight, and who had placed the warning torpedoes to which
he owed his escape from death, were perplexing questions that none could
answer.

Very tenderly they lifted him, and laid him in the baggage car. Here
Conductor Tobin found him a few minutes later, when, to his surprise, the
night express, that generally whirled past him at full speed, slowed up
and halted beside his own train, standing on the siding. "Yes," this was
his brakeman, one of the best and most faithful fellows in the service;
but how he got where they found him, or what had happened, he could not
explain. He had lost another man off his train that night, a young fellow
named Rodman Blake. Had they seen anything of him? "No! well, then he
must have thrown up his job and gone into Euston where he belonged.
Good-night." In another minute only a far-away murmur among the sleeping
hills told of the passing of the night express.

Brakeman Joe was placed on the station agent's little cot bed, and the
doctor was sent for. That was all they could do, and s