ns pulled his shirt back from the sucking draft of the flames.
"'Eads!" he called.

The coin rattled to the floor and both men dropped to their knees.
Another rifle tried for them.

"An' 'eads it is. I st'ys. Any'ow, it's warmer 'ere. Blimey, if them
pants o' mine wasn't somethink to blow about after all. Sometimes it's
the wind, then it's the bloomin' fire. I'll keep a bit o' steam up;
looks as if I'll maybe need a bath when I get 'ome. S'long, ole sport!
Tell Miss Tressa--" He broke into a convulsive chuckle, which another
burst of rifle fire tried to interrupt. "Cripes! Wouldn't I 'a' been
a d'isy for rescuin' lidies? Not 'arf!"

The farewell of the two men who ceaselessly fought and loved each other
was nothing more than a pat on the back, Murphy's the more exuberant
because it smacked louder on the thin shirt of the fireman. Then the
latter was alone. "Mollie sends 'er love," he called into the darkness
after the engineer.

For several minutes Huggins searched the tender for a comfortable spot
for his unprotected body, but scratchy, knobby pieces of wood, with a
foundation of sharp chunks of coal, was not conducive to rest. A
bullet rattling against the engine added to his irritation, and he
looked over the edge and fired his revolver petulantly.

"That'll larn 'em I'm no blinkin' Irishman with a stick."

He crawled painfully to the very back of the tender and fired again.

"In case they thort the first was a misfire," he growled, "or fright."
After a minute or two he began to grin. "Unless them bohunks is bigger
fools than they need be, I guess yer friend 'Uggins is due for a rosy
wreath from his friend Murphy when the sky clears."

He busied himself with a sputtering return fire to show he was still
alive and prepared to exchange compliments. Between intervals of a
vain search for something smooth and soft he expressed his feelings by
a blind banging into the trees. At last he carefully wiped over the
floor, settled himself against the entrance to the tender, and began to
doze. A bullet struck close to his ear.

"Always the w'y," he groaned, moving back to safer quarters. "There's
a fly in every hointment. An' we're as apt to 'it each other as a
woman at a cokernut shy."

A distant burst of firing came down the breeze from toward the trestle.
Huggins leaped to his feet and climbed to the pile of wood, and
recklessly on to the top of the water tank.

"'Urray!" he yelled, dancing in