very, very slowly, and though he had no lantern to wave, in order
to bring it to a halt he need only stand on the track exposed to
the glare of the headlight and wave his arms. David sprang
between the rails and gesticulated wildly. But in amazement his
arms fell to his sides. For the train, now only a hundred yards
distant and creeping toward him at a snail's pace, carried no
head-light, and though in the moonlight David was plainly
visible, it blew no whistle, tolled no bell. Even the passenger
coaches in the rear of the sightless engine were wrapped in
darkness. It was a ghost of a train, a Flying Dutchman of a
train, a nightmare of a train. It was as unreal as the black
swamp, as the moss on the dead trees, as the ghostly tug-boat
tied to the rotting wharf.

"Is the place haunted!" exclaimed David.

He was answered by the grinding of brakes and by the train coming
to a sharp halt. And instantly from every side men fell from it
to the ground, and the silence of the night was broken by a
confusion of calls and eager greeting and questions and sharp
words of command.

So fascinated was David in the stealthy arrival of the train and
in her mysterious passengers that, until they confronted him, he
did not note the equally stealthy approach of three men. Of these
one was the little man from the tug. With him was a fat, red-faced
Irish-American He wore no coat and his shirt-sleeves were drawn
away from his hands by garters of pink elastic, his derby hat was
balanced behind his ears, upon his right hand flashed an enormous
diamond. He looked as though but at that moment he had stopped