But the Southerners had seen it in time to avoid
collision.
The gap between the two locomotives narrowed; then they came together
gently. One of the men jumped to the _General's_ tender, rushed into the
cab and shut the throttle. The locomotive which had carried the raiders on
that wild trip from Big Shanty was again in the hands of the Confederates.
Tom stood behind a tree watching them. Presently the _Texas_ started north,
pushing the _General_ before her. The last of its fuel and steam had been
used in that final charge down the track.
Tom walked into the woods, away from the railroad, and sank to the ground
exhausted. Minutes passed while he lay there resting. Every muscle in his
body was sore, and it was enough just to stretch out with his head against
the cool moist ground. The problem of getting out of the enemy's country
and back to his own lines seemed too remote to be considered now. But
presently he sat up and began to wonder what would happen next. He was
about twenty miles from Chattanooga--he knew that from studying the map at
Marietta. Mitchel's lines lay to the west, probably fifty miles away. To
the north lay the flooded Tennessee River, which he would have to cross.
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