I had seen personally.

"Well, along about midnight Hubbard's headlight got so close, and kept
so close, that I could not sleep. His brother, who was pulling the Mail,
avoided whistling him down; for when he did he only showed that there
_was_ danger, and published his bad brother's recklessness. The result
was that when the Mail screamed I invariably braced myself. I don't
believe I should have stood it, only I felt it would all be over in
another hour; for we should lose Yank at Effingham, the end of the
freight's division. It happened, however, that there was no one to
relieve him, or no engine rather; and Yank went through to Terre Haute.
I was sorry, but I hated to show the white feather. I knew our fresh
engine would lose him, with his tired fireman and dirty fire. Once or
twice I saw his lamp, but at Longpoint we lost him for good. I went to
bed again, but I could not sleep. I used to boast that I could sleep in
a boiler-maker's shop; but the long dread of that fellow's pilot had
unnerved me. I had wild, distressing dreams.

* * * * *

"The next morning, when I got to my office, I found a column of news cut
from a morning paper. It had the usual scare-head, and began by
announcing that the White Mail, with General Manager Blank's car
Kaskaskia, came in on time, carrying signals for a freight train. The
second section had not arrived, 'as we go to press.' I think I swore
softly at that point. Then I read on, for there was a lot more. It
seemed, the paper stated, that a gang of highwaymen had planned to rob
the Mail at Longpoint, which had come to be regarded as a regular robber
station. One of the robbers, being familiar with train rules, saw the
signal lights on the Mail and mistook it for a special, which is often
run as first section of a fast train, and they let it pass. They flagged
the freight train, and one of the robbers, who was doubtless new at the
business, caught the passing engine and climbed into the cab. The
engineer, seeing the man's masked face at his elbow, struck it a fearful
blow with his great fist. The amateur desperado sank to the floor, his
big, murderous gun rattling on the iron plate of the coal-deck. Yank,
the engineer, grabbed the gun, whistled off-brakes, and opened the
throttle. The sudden lurch forward proved too much for a weak link, and
the train parted, leaving the rest of the robbers and the train crew to
fight it out. As soon as the engineer dis