cab. Andrews, who was mounting the wood-pile in the tender to see what was
happening behind them, was thrown flat. He scrambled to his feet, his hands
bleeding from the splinters, and climbed up the pile. Then he waved his
arms and yelled in exultation. The yell sounded faintly through the noise
of the engine.

Tom swung from the cab and looked back. The crowd was spilling from the
shed. Several men raced after the train. Others stood watching, dumfounded.

Knight was bending over the throttle, urging the train forward as though he
were putting his own strength into the flying pistons. His lips were drawn
back from his set teeth, and his left hand upon the throttle was white from
its grip. With his right hand he was pounding upon the sill of the cab.

Brown was studying the steam gauge. He had opened the forced draft and the
smoke stack had become a fountain of sparks.

"More wood!" he yelled.

Tom stripped off his coat. The _General_ was pounding upon the rails,
swaying from side to side. It was almost impossible to stand without
clinging to the side of the cab. Tom lurched cautiously toward the tender,
grabbed a log and dragged it back after him. Brown swung the door of the
fire-box open. Tom gasped as the heat struck him. The red flames seemed to
leap out at him, enveloping him, smothering him. He slid the log into the
fire. The door crashed shut again. "More! More!" yelled Brown.

Again and again Tom fed logs into the flames. Each time, Brown opened and
closed the door as though an instant's heat were too precious to be lost.
Brown's eyes were constantly upon the wavering needle of the steam gauge.