en "The Texas" fled away from Dalton and the
chase continued, as we have seen in the previous chapter, until a point of
the railroad about thirteen miles from Chattanooga was reached.

In the cab of "The General" Andrews was standing with his head bowed down;
his stock of hopefulness had suddenly vanished. At last he saw that the
expedition, of which he had cherished such high expectations, was a
complete failure. A few miles in front was Chattanooga, where capture
awaited them, while a mile in the rear were well-armed men.

"There's only one thing left to do," he said mournfully to George, who was
regarding his chief with anxious interest. "We must abandon the engine,
scatter, and get back to General Mitchell's lines as best we can, each in
his own way!"

Then the leader put his hand on the engineer's shoulder. "Stop the
engine," he said; "the game is up; the dance is over!"

The engineer knew only too well what Andrews meant. He obeyed the order,
and the tired "General," which had faithfully carried the party for about
a hundred miles, panted and palpitated like a dying horse. The great
locomotive was, indeed, in a pitiable condition. The brass of the journals
and boxes was melted by the heat; the steel tires were actually red-hot,
and the steam issued from all the loosened joints.

Andrews turned to the men who were huddled together in the tender.

"Every man for himself, boys," he cried. "You must scatter and do the best
you can to steal into the Federal lines. I've led you as well as I
could--but the fates were against us. God bless you, boys, and may we all
meet again!"

As he spoke the leader--now a leader no longer--threw some papers into the
furnace of the locomotive. In a twinkling they were reduced to ashes. They
were Federal documents. One of them was a letter from General Mitchell
which, had it been found upon Andrews by the Confederates, would in itself
have proved evidence enough to convict him as a spy.

The men in the tender jumped to the ground. So, likewise, did George, the
engineer and his assistant. Andrews remained standing in the cab. He
looked like some sea captain who was waiting to sink beneath the waves in
his deserted ship. He worked at the lever and touched the valve, and then
leaped from his post to the roadbed. The next moment "The General" was
moving backwards towards the oncoming "Texas."

"We'll give them a little taste of collision!" he cried. His companions
turned their eyes