th life, and a faint, humming sound came from it. It was a perfect
railroad telephone, and it informed the listener as plainly as words could
have told him, that a train was approaching from the west.

He stopped to note its approach. In a few minutes the rails of the east
bound track began to quiver with light from the powerful reflector in
front of its locomotive. Then they stretched away toward the oncoming
train in gleaming bands of indefinite length, while the dazzling light
seemed to cut a bright pathway between walls of solid blackness for the
use of the advancing monster. As the bewildering glare passed him, Rod saw
that the train was a long, heavy-laden freight, and that some of its cars
contained cattle. He stood motionless as it rushed past him, shaking the
solid earth with its ponderous weight, and he drew a decided breath of
relief at the sight of the blinking red eyes on the rear platform of its
caboose. How he wished he was in that caboose, riding comfortably toward
New York, instead of plodding wearily along on foot, with nothing but
uncertainties ahead of him.

CHAPTER VI.

SMILER, THE RAILROAD DOG.

As Rod stood gazing at the receding train he noticed a human figure step
from the lighted interior of the caboose, through the open doorway, to the
platform, apparently kick at something, and almost instantly return into
the car. At the same time the boy fancied he heard a sharp cry of pain;
but was not sure. As he resumed his tiresome walk, gazing longingly after
the vanishing train lights, he saw another light, a white one that moved
toward him with a swinging motion, close to the ground. While he was
wondering what it was, he almost stumbled over a small animal that stood
motionless on the track, directly in front of him. It was a dog. Now Rod
dearly loved dogs, and seemed instinctively to know that this one was in
some sort of trouble. As he stopped to pat it, the creature uttered a
little whine, as though asking his sympathy and help. At the same time it
licked his hand.

While he was kneeling beside the dog and trying to discover what its
trouble was, the swinging white light approached so closely that he saw
it to be a lantern, borne by a man who, in his other hand, carried a
long-handled iron wrench. He was the track-walker of that section, who
was obliged to inspect every foot of the eight miles of track under his
charge, at least twice a day; and the wrench was for the tightening of
a