smiled; more than that, they clapped each other on
the back and swore splendidly. He was amazed and his own good humour
gave way to fierce resentment. What right had these ruffians to laugh at
the misfortunes of that unhappy maid?

A switchman came up, and one of the men, a lank American whom we should
recognise by the sound of his voice (having heard it before), asked
whither the train was bound and when it would first stop in its flight.

"At the Poo quarries, seventeen kilometers down the line. They cut out a
few empties there. She goes on to the division point after that."

"Any trains up from that direction this morning?" demanded "Newport."

"Not till this afternoon. Most of the crews are in the city for the--"
But the switchman had no listeners beyond that statement.

And so it was that the news spread over town at five o'clock that
Truxton King was where he could do no harm. It was well known that the
train would make forty miles an hour down the steep grade into the lower
valley.

Up into the city strolled Sir Vagabond, his fiddle in his hand, his
heart again as light as a feather. Some day--ah, some day! he would see
her again on the road. It was always the way. Then he would tell her how
unhappy he had been--for a minute. She was so pretty, so very pretty! He
sighed profoundly. We see no more of him.

When Truxton King first awoke to the fact that they were no longer lying
motionless in the dreary yards, he leaped to his feet with a startled
shout of alarm. Loraine sat up, blinking her eyes in half-conscious
wonder. It was broad daylight, of course; the train was rattling through
the long cut just below the city walls. With frantic energy he pulled
open the door. For a minute he stared at the scudding walls of stone so
close at hand, uncomprehendingly. Then the truth burst upon him with
the force of a mighty blow. He staggered back, his jaw dropping, his
eyes glaring.

"What the dev--Great God, Loraine! We're going! We're moving!" he cried
hoarsely.

"I know it," she gasped, her body rocking violently with the swaying of
the wild, top-heavy little car.

"Great Scott! How we're pounding it! Fifty miles an hour. Where are we?"
he cried, aghast. He could scarcely keep his feet, so terrific was the
speed and so sickening the motion.

She got to her feet and lurched to his side. "Don't fall out!" she
almost shrieked. He drew back with her. Together they swayed like reeds
in a windstorm, staring dizzi