y
pushed on through blackest turmoil toward the river road that should be
their highway to Logan's Ferry.

They reached that road at last, only to find it as lost as
Atlantis,[70-2] under twenty feet of water! The Allegheny had
overflowed her banks, and now there remained no way across, short of
following the stream up to Pittsburgh and so around, a detour of many
miles, long and evil.

"And that," said First Sergeant Price, "means getting to the party
about four hours late. Baby-talk and nonsense! By that time they might
have burned the place and killed all the people in it. Let's see, now:
there's a railroad bridge close along here, somewhere."

They scouted till they found the bridge. But behold, its floor was of
cross-ties only--of sleepers to carry the rails, laid with wide breaks
between, gaping down into deep, dark space whose bed was the roaring
river.

"Nevertheless," said First Sergeant Price, whose spirits ever soar at
the foolish onslaughts of trouble--"nevertheless, we're _not_ going to
ride twenty miles farther for nothing. There's a railroad yard on the
other side. This bridge, here, runs straight into it. You two men go
over, get a couple of good planks, and find out when the next train is
due."

The two Troopers whom the Sergeant indicated gave their horses to a
comrade and started away across the trestle.

For a moment those who stayed behind could distinguish the rays of
their pocket flash-lights as they picked out their slimy foothold. Then
the whirling night engulfed them, lights and all.

The Sergeant led the remainder of the detail down into the lee of an
abutment, to avoid the full drive of the storm. Awhile they stood
waiting, huddled together. But the wait was not for long. Presently,
like a code signal spelled out on the black overhead, came a series of
steadily lengthening flashes--the pocket-light glancing between the
sleepers, as the returning messengers drew near.

Scrambling up to rail level, the Sergeant saw with content that his
emissaries bore on their shoulders between them two new pine
"two-by-twelves."[72-1]

"No train's due till five o'clock in the morning," reported the first
across.

"Good! Now lay the planks. In the middle of the track. End to end. So."

The Sergeant, dismounting, stood at John G.'s wise old head, stroking
his muzzle, whispering into his ear.

"Come along, John, it's all right, old man!" he finished with a final
caress.

Then he led John G. to