He was a powerful fellow with
whom in a struggle Rod could not have held his own for a minute, but he
was clearly lacking in what railroad men call "sand." Suddenly Rod made a
movement as though to spring at him, at the same time shouting, "Do as I
tell you, sir, and get to work at once!"

CHAPTER XXIII.

A RACE OF LOCOMOTIVES.

In any struggle between two human beings, the one possessed of the more
powerful will is certain to win. In the present case, Rod Blake's will was
so much stronger than that of the fireman that the burly fellow obeyed his
order, turned sullenly away, and began to shovel coal into the roaring
furnace.

Their speed was now tremendous, for though Rod knew but little about the
management of a locomotive engine, he did know that the wider the throttle
was opened the faster it would go. So he pulled the handle as far back as
he dared, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing the dark form of the
fugitive locomotive disclosed by the glare of their own head-light. Now
if he could keep it in sight, and so force the speed, that it would be
impossible for the robber to jump off until some large station was
reached, Rod felt that all would yet go well.

Suddenly the runaway seemed to stop. Then it began to move back toward
them. In another instant they had dashed past it, but not before two
pistol bullets had come crashing through the cab windows. A bit of
splintered glass cut Rod's forehead and a little stream of blood began to
trickle down his face. Without heeding it, he shut off steam, reversed,
opened again, and within half a minute the pursuers were rushing back over
the ground they had just covered.

Again the train robber tried the same game, again the two locomotives flew
by each other, and again pistol balls came singing past Rod Blake's ears.
As for the fireman he had flung himself flat on the floor of the cab. Rod
could hardly believe that he had not been hit by one of those hissing
bullets, but as he felt no wound he again reversed his engine and again
dashed ahead.

Now they gained steadily on the fugitive. His steam was giving out, and he
had neither the time to renew his supply nor the knowledge of how to do
so. The pursuit was decidedly hotter than he had anticipated, and had not
been checked in the least by his pistol shots, as he had hoped it would
be. He must try some other plan of escape, and that quickly. He did not
know how many men were on that fiercely pursuing locomo