ran, toward Vogel's lantern, that was bobbing along toward him. The train
had stopped, but now it was puffing slowly forward, throwing a bright
light along the rails.

"It's a C. & S. C. local," Max shouted. "Can't we clear up the right
track?"

Bannon stopped and looked around. About half of the men had followed him,
and were strung out in irregular groups between him and the timbers.
Walking up between the groups came the delegate, with two men, chewing his
cigar in silence as he walked. The train was creeping along, the fireman
leaning far out of the cab window, closely scanning the track for signs of
an obstruction. On the steps between the cars a few passengers were trying
to get a view up the track; and others were running along beside the
train.

"This has gone too far," Bannon muttered. He turned and shouted to the
men: "Clear up that track. Quick, now!"

Some of the men started, but stopped, and all looked at the delegate. He
stepped to one side and coolly looked over the train; then he raised his
hand.

"Don't touch the timbers," he said. "It ain't a mail train."

His voice was not loud, but those near at hand passed the word along, and
the long line of men stood motionless. By that time the train had stopped,
and three of the crew had come forward. They saw the timbers on the track
and hurried toward them, but the delegate called out:--