It was recompense for all
those long hours of tension and violent effort. The men danced, shouted,
and hammered each other upon the back. Andrews' face, drawn by hours of
anxiety, relaxed into a smile.
"There's one bridge down!" he shouted. "How much fuel have we?"
"This is the last of it," answered Tom. He kicked the two logs which lay on
the tender floor, ready to be shoved into the fire-box.
Andrews went to the tender and gathered the men about him. "What we'll do
from here on," he said, "depends upon whether the Rebs come through that
bridge. If they don't get through, we'll have time enough to gather fuel
and burn the bridges ahead of us. If they do get through, the only thing
that we can do is to abandon the engine and take to our legs."
"Stop and fight 'em," protested Boss.
"No," answered Andrews. "We're not here to fight. It won't do us or the
North any good. We're here to burn bridges and we've done it. If we can't
reach the next bridge our work is done. Scatter--each man for himself!"
The _General_ came into a long straight track, which had the small town of
Ringgold at its northern end. "If we don't see them by the time we reach
the next curve it means they're stopped," said Andrews.
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