Together they crawled forward over
the hot roof. Beneath them the flames crackled.
As they came to the end of the car and looked down into the tender, they
found the men yelling, "Shadrack! Burns!" One of the men was gesticulating
wildly to Andrews.
"Here we are!" yelled Tom. He waved to Andrews.
"We thought you were caught in there," said Wilson, helping them into the
tender. "Dorsey started after you, but the fire forced him back."
"We _were_ almost caught," gasped Tom, still choking from the smoke. The
forward part of the car was a solid mass of flames, which roared and
crackled above the noise of the engine. "Pass some of those logs into the
engine!"
Tom entered the cab and stuffed fuel into the fire-box. Andrews, leaning
from the fireman's window, was gazing back. He called to Tom and pointed.
Behind them, perhaps a mile and a half, came the pursuing engine.
"Tell the men to pull the coupling when we stop," said Andrews. Tom obeyed,
and Ross crawled over the end of the tender, his coat wrapped about his
head to protect him from the flames, which spurted out in the eddies of
wind.
"How much fuel have you left?" asked Andrews.
"Ten sticks."
"This is our last chance, then," Andrews replied.
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