riven his fireman from the deck, stood in the cab
gripping the air-lever and watching the pump. At that time we used what
is technically known as "straight air"; so that if the pump stopped the
air played out.

The conductor ordered the passengers to leave the train.

The rain had ceased, but the lightning was still playing about the
summit of the range, and when it flashed, those who had gone forward saw
McNally standing at his open window, looking as grand and heroic as the
captain on the bridge of his sinking ship.

A nervous and somewhat thoughtless person came close under the cab to
ask the engineer why he didn't back up.

There was no answer. McNally thought it must be obvious to a man with
the intelligence of an oyster, that to release the brakes would be to
let the heavy train shove him over the bank, even if his engine had the
power to back up, which she had not.

The trainmen were working quietly, but very effectively, unloading. The
day coaches had been emptied, the hand-brakes set, and all the wheels
blocked with links and pins and stones, when the link between the engine
and the mail-car snapped and the engine moved forward.

McNally heard the snap and felt her going, leaped from the window,
caught and held a scrub cedar that grew in a rock crevice, and saw his
black steed plunge down the dark canon, a sheer two thousand feet.

McNally had been holding her in the back motion with steam in her
cylinders; and now, when she leaped out into space, her throttle flew
wide, a knot in the whistle-rope caught in the throttle, opening the
whistle-valve as well. Down, down she plunged,--her wheels whirling in
mid-air, a solid stream of fire escaping from her quivering stack, and
from her throat a shriek that almost froze the blood in the veins of the
onlookers. Fainter and farther came the cry, until at last the wild
waters caught her, held her, hushed her, and smothered out her life.

CHASING THE WHITE MAIL

Over the walnuts and wine, as they say in Fifth Avenue, the gray-haired
gentleman and I lingered long after the last of the diners had left the
cafe car. One by one the lights were lowered. Some of the table-stewards
had removed their duck and donned their street clothes. The shades were
closely drawn, so that people could not peep in when the train was
standing. The chief steward was swinging his punch on his finger and
yawning. My venerable friend, who was a veritable author's angel, was a
ret