he coming passenger were men, women and children.

"Duty, lad," said Griscom, in a kind of desperate gasp. "We must not
hesitate. Pile in the black diamonds and hope for the best. If we can
reach the creek before the runaways, we can switch them onto a spur.
It means a smash into the freights there. But anything to save the
precious lives aboard the night passenger from Stanley Junction."

They ran on slowly, then, gaining speed, got a full head of steam on
the cylinders. At a curve the bridge lights came into view.

"What do you see?" demanded Griscom, his band trembling on the
throttle, wide open now.

"She's coming," cried Ralph. "I caught the glint of the bridge lights.
She's not six hundred yards away."

It was a desperate situation now. Both engineer and fireman realized
this. The backward swing was caught, and down the course they had just
come their locomotive sped with frightful velocity.

It was a mad race, but they had the advantage. One mile, two miles,
three miles, the depot, down the main, and before the engine had
stopped, Ralph was on the ground. He ran to the switch, set it, and
then both listened, watched and waited.

"There are the runaways," said Ralph.

Yes, there they were, speeding like phantoms over the rain-glistening
steel. Nearer and nearer they came, passed the siding, struck the
switch, ran its length, and then a crash--and the night passenger from
Stanley Junction was saved!

"I don't know what the damage will be," muttered Griscom in a
long-drawn breath of relief, "but we have done our duty as we saw
it."

They got back on the siding and removed the red lights before No. 48
arrived. The night passenger sped tranquilly by, her train crew little
dreaming of the peril they had escaped.

The next afternoon, when they arrived at Stanley Junction, the
assistant superintendent of the road highly commended their action in
regard to the runaway freights.

Ralph went home tired out from strain of work and excitement. As he
neared the house he noticed a wagon in the yard and a horse browsing
beside it.

"Why," he said, "that rig belongs to Limpy Joe."

Ralph hurried into the house. He found both Joe and Zeph in the
sitting room. They were conversing with his mother, with whom the
cripple boy had always been a great favorite.

"Well, fellows, I am glad to see you," said Ralph heartily, "but what
brought you here?"

"Plainly," replied Limpy Joe--"Ike Slump."

"Why, what do you me