"But I should deny it," I retorted hotly.

"Of course you would, old chum, and I shouldn't blame you neither, but you
wouldn't stand no chance against me"--he leaned forward and tapped me on
the knee as though to emphasize his words--"_I could lie your life away_."

He sank back in his seat, his face aglow with conscious superiority. The
clamour of the wheels increased as if they were live things burning with
the fever of some bloodthirsty hunt.

"Firing her up," said the red man; "always racing time, these passenger
wagons. It's a dog's life and no blooming error." He prodded my foot with
his. "I said 'it's a dog's life and no error.'"

"What is?" I growled.

"Engine-driving, of course. I'm on the road myself. Goods-pushing just now,
but I've been on the expresses off and on, though it don't suit me--too
much flaring hurry."

He rattled off into technicalities of his trade, embroidered with tales of
hair-bristling adventures and escapes.

"Yes, old chum, there's more in our trade than what most fat-headed
passengers thinks. As long as an accident don't occur they don't know what
trouble we've been to avoiding of it. I've a good mind to give 'em a
smash-up now and again just to teach 'em gratitood. F'instance, me and me
mate was running a local down Ilfracombe way last week when what d'you
think we runned into?"