return trip, a night run, I had a big train and a bad rail, but
the "III" did splendid work and made her time while "Her Eyes" approved
every move I made, smiled at me and admired my handling of the engine.
The conductor unbent enough to send over word that it was the best run
he'd ever had from a new man, but the "Eyes" looked, "That's nothing,
you can do it every time, I know you can."

Half over the division, we took a siding for the "Cannon Ball." We
cleared her ten minutes and I had time to oil around while Dennis
cleaned his fire. I climbed up into the cab, wiping the long oiler and
glanced at the clock. The "Eyes" were looking wild alarm--"do something
quick." The "Eyes" had the look, or seemed to me to have the look, you
might expect in those of a bound woman who sees a child at the stake
just before the fire is lighted--immeasurable pain, pity, appeal. I
tried the water, unconsciously; it was all right. I stepped into the
gangway and glanced back. Our tail-lights were "in" and the white light
of the switch flashed safely there, and we had backed in any way. I
glanced ahead. The switch light was white, the target showed main line
plainly, for my headlight shone on it full and clear. What could be the
matter with "Her Eyes."

As I turned to enter the cab the roar of the coming express came down
the wind on the frosty air and my eyes fell on the rail ahead. My God,
they were full to the siding! It was a stub-rail switch, and the stand
had moved the target and the light, but not the rails--the bridle-rod
was broken.

I yelled like a mad man, but the brakeman had gone to the caboose for
his lunch pail. I ran to the switch. It was useless. I fought it an
instant and then turned to the rails. Putting my foot against the main
line rail, I grasped the switch rail and throwing all my strength into
the effort, jerked it-over to the main line, but would it stay until the
train passed over? I felt sure it would not. I looked about for
something to hold it. Part of a broken pin was the only thing in sight.
The headlight of the express shone in my face, and something seemed to
say, "This is your trial, do something quick." I threw myself prone on
the ground, my head near the rails, and held the broken pin between the
end of the siding rail and the main line. The switch rails could not be
forced over without shearing off the pin. The corner of the pilot of
the flying demon caught my right sleeve and tore it off, and the clo