to close the throttle. There was a grinding of
fire from the wheels, a running jangle of slack-taking down the long
line of empties, and the freight train shot ahead, snatching its rear
end out of harm's way just as Gallagher, dreaming that his boiler had
burst and that all the fiends of the pit were screeching the news of it,
came to life and snapped on the air.

When the stop was made, the little Irishman roused his fireman, got off
and footed it up the line to see what he had done. Graham had stopped
his engine when he was sure his train was clearing the lower switch, and
was on his way back to find out what had happened to Gallagher. The two
men met in the shadow of the halted material empties, and it was the
Irishman who began it.

"Paste me wan, Scotchie," he said. "'Tis owin' to me."

Without a word the Scotchman gave the blow, catching the little man full
in the chest and knocking him half a car-length. That was enough.
Gallagher picked himself up out of the gravel, the lust of battle hot
upon him.

"Wan more like thot, ye divvle, and I cajo lick ye if ye wor
Fin-mac-Coul himself," he panted; and Graham gave it judiciously, this
time on the point of the jaw. For five bloody minutes it went on, give
and take, down and up; methodically on Graham's part, fiery hot on
Gallagher's. And in the end the Irishman had the heavier man backed
against the string of empties and yelling for quarter.

"Are you full awake now, ye red-hot blastoderm?" gasped Graham,
struggling to free himself when Gallagher gave him leave.

"I am thot, thanks to you, Sandy, lad. 'Twas a foine bit av a scrimmage,
an' I'm owin' ye wan. Good night to ye."

"Ye've got a clear track from this," called Graham, swabbing his
battered face with a piece of cotton waste drawn from one of the pockets
of method. "But ye'd better not take any more cat-naps. Go on with ye,
ye wild Irishman; ye're obstructin' the traffic."

For twenty miles below Ten Mile Gallagher sat on his box like a man
refreshed. Then the devil of sleep postponed beset him again. Once more
the fireman was asleep on the coal, and to the little Irishman's
bombardment of wrenches and other missiles he returned only sodden
groans. Gallagher nerved himself to fight it through alone. Mile after
mile of the time-killing track swung slowly to the rear, and there was
not even the flick of speed to help in the grim battle.

Dawn came when the end-of-track camp was still forty miles away, bu