The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1935-03-22
CHAPTER VII-Continued

CINE were beyond belief. 1t seemed as
though its weight must carry the light
steel from its spikes as the careening
threw tons of strain first one way and
then the other
The curve at the trestle's approach
rushed up the valley toward him and
through Elliott's mind swan all man.
ner of misgivings. 1t seemed at the
moment that if by any freak chance
the wheels should stay on the rails,
then those rails must surely give be-
fore the strain that the trains flight
would exert as it took that curve. He
threw one quick glance backward to
see Tim LETTERS crouched on his high
perch as a circus rider might stand on
his boldly galloping steed. The old
man chewed briskly and, as he caught
a flash of Ben's face, spat and made
one impressive gesture with mittened
hand, bidding the younger man get out
side.
Ben had done all that he could do
In the cab. Nothing within his power
would be Of avail If they left the track
and, inside, he would have no chance
at all should the wild run come to its
end in the smoking waters of the river
And so he backed into the gangway
between tank and engine and slid down
to the step, clinging to the hand rails,
staring ahead, ready to let go If the
worst, and the highly probable, hap
pened.
The curve was there, trains length
beyond.
1t was there, the length of their loco
motive ahead. The trucks took
1T with a screech and a bounce and
grind. She turned sharply and Ben
thought he felt her tipping, fitting, the
step beneath his feet rising as the force
that strove them off at a tangent as
serted itself. He swung far out,
to give her that much more balance,
and they were strengthening out with
the loads laundering and clanking and
leaping behind and he breathed deeply,
realizing that for the interval his lungs
had not functioned.
Elliott looked back again. Tins
knees were bent still lower. He was
leaning far to the right and he nodded
sharply as if in triumph.
And now they charged at the bridge,
at that rough, new crossing of HOot
Owl. The engine bounced and quiv-
cred and seemed to stumble as she
took the newly laid track. But she
slammed back to balance and her tires
chewed the frost, and they were over
and charging the rise beyond!
Ben clambered back into the cab and
tugged at the throttle, cursing because
1t would not open wider. He strained
as though by his very posture to help
the machinery meet that demand upon
1t. Nobly, the little locomotive breasted
the rise; bravely she lunged into that
hill with the exhaust roaring fit to beat
the rusred. burned stack from her.
She spat cinders and smoke high into
the air and the steam clouds from
leaking gaskets enveloped Elliott, curl
ing about him, shutting off his view.
They were slowing, now. The roar
ing drum Of the exhaust had dropped
now to sharp painting.
They were halfway up before he
touched the reserve lever. He let 1t
down slowly, a notch at time, using
every last inch of the momentum he
had gained. Up, now, three-quarters
of the way. Ben could see the
rails on the bit of level going at the
top. Up another trains length, slowing
with each foot gained. Afar off, across
the snow-blanketed country, a plume
of white vapor trailed break in the
forests. That was the local, crossing
the river, swinging In toward his sid
ing.
Go it, grill Go 1t, grill" he yelled
at the engine, swinging one fist.
She showed her nose over the crest,
seeming to weave it from side as In
distress. Her drivers slipped and spun
half turn; caught on sand, held. She
began a suffering, dying puff. The
sound wavered. She seemed to stop.
and cleared her cylinders with short
belch.
She was on top. Her last breath had
turned the trick.
'Hold to it, old timer! Hold to it |"
Ben croaked.
The first car gained the crest. The
locomotive was on the down grade,
now; the second car coming across the
peak. The third car rumbled over the
top and Tim Jeffers, dropping his
peavey, wormed along the logs and
Topped down to the brake wheel as
Ben shut her off, set the brakes and
with boyish swing of one arm yanked
on the whistle cord to set her voice
screaming.
Back on the last car Tim dubbed
brake wheels. Out on the first, Ben
Elliott drove the shoe home. The an
cient locomotive dug her heels In and
settled back. Down and down they
went on the frost slick steel, gather
ing speed that was as alarming as the
slowing Of their pace had been a mo-
ment before. But with every train
length travelled Tim Jeffers was set
ting more brakes against the humming
wheels.
She slid, she slipped, she squealed
e1nfx 1,