but the storm was not to be dismissed so lightly as allan had dismissed it. among the houses of the town he was sheltered somewhat, but, as he strode on westward, out into the open country, it seemed to rage with redoubled violence. the wind swept across the embankment along the river with a fury which threatened to blow him away. he bent low before it, and, swinging his lantern from right to left in unison with his steps, fought his way slowly onward, his eyes on the track. away down at his right he could hear the river raging, and from instant to instant the lightning disclosed to him glimpses of the storm-tossed water. once he saw a ball of fire roll down the track far ahead and finally leap off, shattering into a thousand fragments.
the thunder crashed incessantly, and overhead he could see great black clouds rolling across the sky. the rain fell in torrents, and, driven before the wind, dashed into his face with a violence which stung and blinded him whenever he raised his head. from time to time, he was forced to face about, his back to the wind, and gasp for breath. once a gust of extra violence drove him to his knees, but he struggled up again and on. he knew that he was not the only one who was facing the tempest; he knew that up and down two hundred miles of track others were fighting the same fight. they had left warm homes, just as he had done, where preparations for christmas were going on; they had not held back from the call of duty, nor would he.
he shut his teeth tight together and staggered on. a vision flashed before him of the bright room he had just left; he could see jack sitting in his chair, and mary putting the last touches to the christmas tree. he knew that they were talking of him, planning for him, and a sudden wave of tenderness swept over him at the thought of how these people had taken him into their hearts and given him another home in place of the one he had lost. the new one, of course, could never quite take the place of the old one; and yet he was no longer the friendless, hungry, lonely boy who had approached jack welsh so timidly that morning and asked for work. he had friends to whom he could look for sympathy and encouragement; there were hearts which loved him; he had a place in the world and was doing useful work; and he hoped in time to prove himself worthy of a higher place and competent to fill it. to-morrow would be a happy christmas!
so, as he fought his way on, it was with no despondent heart, but with a bright and hopeful one, that cared nothing for the discomfort of the storm. he was happy and at peace within, and no mere external tempest could disturb him!
a little grove on either side the track, its trees roaring in the tempest, gave him a moment’s shelter. then he pushed on to the two iron bridges which spanned the canal and the highroad just beyond it. these he looked over carefully by the light of his lantern, and assured himself that they were all right. beyond the bridges was the long grade which led to the deep cut through the spur of hill which stretched across the track, and here the wind was howling with a fury that threatened to sweep him off his feet. but he fought his way on doggedly, step by step, head lowered, eyes on the track, lantern swinging from side to side.
then suddenly the wind ceased, though he could still hear it roaring far overhead, and he looked up to see that he had gained the cover of the cut. he stopped for breath, rejoicing that the hardest part of his task was over. beyond the cut was a sharp curve, the road was carried on a high trestle over a deep ravine, and then onward along the top of an embankment,—a “fill,” in railroad parlance,—and this embankment marked the western limit of his trick. on his journey home, he would have the wind at his back and could get along easily and rapidly.
cheered by this thought, he walked on through the cut, but, as he turned the corner at the farther side, the wind struck him again with terrific force. he staggered back for an instant against the rock, when there came a great flash of lightning that silhouetted before him every feature of the landscape. yet, as the lightning died, there remained photographed on his brain only one detail of the picture,—before him stretched the trestle, and in the middle of it four men were working with feverish energy tearing up a rail!
he leaned back against the rock, dazed at the sight, not understanding for a moment what it meant. then in a flash its meaning dawned upon him—they were preparing to wreck a train. but what train? it must be nearly eleven o’clock—no train was due for an hour or more—yes, there was—the pay-car, hurrying from cincinnati with the christmas money for the men. it was the pay-car they were after. but the pay-car was always crowded with armed men—men armed not merely with revolvers, but with winchester repeaters. yet, let the car crash over that trestle fifty feet upon the rocks below, and how many of its occupants would be living to defend themselves?
allan sank back among the rocks trembling, realizing that in some way he must save the train. his first act was to open his lantern and extinguish it, lest it betray him. then he tried quickly to think out a plan of action. he must get across the trestle in order to flag the train—but how could he get across it? and of a sudden his heart stood still as two vague forms loomed up before him. they stopped for a moment in the shelter of the wall.
“it was just about here,” said a rough voice he seemed to recognize. “i caught a glint of a red light an’ then it went out. i was watchin’ fer the track-walker, y’ know, an’ i was sure that was him.”
“flash o’ lightnin’, most likely,” came in a hoarse undertone from another.
allan heard the newcomers grope about, as he cowered close to the rock, his heart beating fiercely as he expected each moment to feel a hand upon him.
“y’ see they ain’t nobody here,” said the first speaker, at last.
“yes,” assented the other, uncertainly. “but he’s about due, if he’s comin’.”
“i dunno,” protested the other. “y’d better not bank on that.”
“i ain’t a-bankin’ on it!” retorted his companion, impatiently. “you’re goin’ t’ keep a lookout, ain’t you? now i’ll go on back an’ you stay right here. you kin see a long stretch down th’ track from here, so they can’t surprise us. if they’s more’n one, warn us,—maybe they’ve put on a double guard t’-night,—but, if they’s only one, wait here behind this rock, an’ when he comes past, do fer him—’specially if it’s welsh ’r th’ kid. it’s about time we was gittin’ even!”
allan’s heart leaped. he knew the voice now—there was no mistaking—it was nolan’s!
nolan started back toward the trestle through the storm and was lost to sight instantly, while the sentry sat down upon a rock to watch the track, whistling to himself, as though train-wrecking were the most ordinary thing in the world. but allan was thinking only of one thing—he must get past that man on the rock, he must cross the ravine, he must flag the train.
that was his duty lying clear before him. danger? yes,—but which of his comrades would stop to think of that? yet he must be careful,—not for his own sake, but for the sake of those who were speeding toward this peril. he must run no risk of failure, for their lives depended upon him—upon his coolness, his foresight, his quickness. and whatever he did must be done at once. he gripped his hands together to still their trembling. come,—this was no time for weakness. he must prove himself a man! he must prove himself worthy the service of the road!
he could not climb the well-nigh perpendicular side of the cut; to go back and work his way over the hill would require too much time—and there was not a moment to be lost. the only thing to do, then, was to go forward. he drew a deep breath; then he tucked his lantern snugly under his left arm, grasped his club firmly, and moved forward cautiously, hugging the side of the cut, his eyes on the sentry.
once he stumbled heavily over some obstruction, but the storm covered the noise, and the sentry made no sign that he had heard, but sat twirling a heavy stick and looking down the track. hope began to revive in the boy’s breast; perhaps he might be able to steal past unseen. lower and lower he crouched; slow and more slowly he moved; he was almost past—almost past—
then, of a sudden, a broad flash of lightning flared down into the cut and revealed them to each other.
“reddy!” cried the boy. “reddy!”
the sentry sprang toward him with uplifted club, his face distorted with rage.
“don’t you know me, reddy?” cried allan, springing back to avoid the blow.
“sure oi knows y’!” shouted the madman, savagely, coming on. “an’ oi’m a-goin’ t’ do fer y’, like dan told me to. he told me y’re all in th’ plot ag’in me!”
“it’s a lie, reddy!” protested allan, violently. “it’s a lie!”
reddy paused for an instant.
“a loi, is it?” he repeated. “wasn’t it you as told on me fer breakin’ that link motion?”
“yes,” admitted the boy; “but—”
reddy waited to hear no more.
“oi knowed it!” he yelled. “oi knowed it! oi’ll show you! oi’ll show you, y’ dirty spy! don’t try t’ run—it’s no use!”
and he came charging down upon allan, his club swinging savagely.
but allan was thinking not in the least of running. instead, he stood his ground, his teeth clenched, his eyes alert, his club ready. he was not in the least excited; now, indeed, he found an instant in which to wonder at his calmness. then reddy was upon him and struck at him savagely. he stepped to one side, and, putting all his force into the blow,—oh, how he hated to do it!—brought down his club upon the other’s head.
