as nearly beside himself, that Bartholomew not
only was not at fault, but that by his nerve he had actually saved the
train.

"I'll tell you, Neighbor," I suggested, when we got straightened
around. "Give us the 109 to go ahead as pilot, and run her around the
river division with Foley and the 216."

"What'll you do with Number Six?" growled Neighbor. Six was the local
passenger west.

"Annul it west of McCloud," said I instantly. "We've got this silk on
our hands now, and I'd move it if it tied up every passenger train on
the division. If we can get the stuff through, it will practically beat
the strike. If we fail, it will beat the company."

By the time we had backed to Newhall Junction, Neighbor had made up his
mind my way. Mullen and I climbed into the 109, and Foley, with the 216,
and none too good a grace, coupled on to the silk, and flying red
signals, we started again for Zanesville over the river division.

Foley was always full of mischief. He had a better engine than ours, and
he took great satisfaction the rest of the afternoon in crowding us.
Every mile of the way he was on our heels. I was throwing the coal, and
have reason to remember. It was after dark when we reached the Beverly
Hill, and we took it at a lively pace. The strikers were not on our
minds then; it was Foley who bothered.

When the long parallel steel lines of the upper yards spread before us,
flashing under the arc lights, we were away above yard speed. Running a
locomotive into one of those big yards is like shooting a rapid in a
canoe. There is a bewildering maze of tracks, lighted by red and green
lamps, which must be watched the closest to keep out of trouble. The
hazards are multiplied the minute you pass the throat, and a yard wreck
is a dreadful tangle; it makes everybody from road-master to flagman
furious, and not even Bartholomew wanted to face an inquiry on a yard
wreck. On the other hand, he couldn't afford to be caught by Foley, who
was chasing him out of pure caprice.

I saw the boy holding the throttle at a half and fingering the air
anxiously as we jumped over the frogs; but the roughest riding on track
so far beats the ties as a cushion, that when the 109 suddenly stuck her
paws through an open switch we bounced against the roof of the cab like
footballs. I grabbed a brace with one hand, and with the other reached
instinctively across to Bartholomew's side to seize the throttle. But as
I tried to shut him off, he j