For ten minutes Brakeman Joe lies insensible and motionless, just as he fell.  His own train has gone on without him, and now another is approaching.  Its shrill whistle sounds near at hand, and the rails, across which the helpless form is stretched, are already quivering with the thrill of its coming.  There seems no earthly help for him; nothing to warn the controlling mind of that on-rushing mass of his presence.  In a few seconds the tragedy will be over.

Suddenly, crack! crack! two loud reports ring out sharply above the roar and rattle of the train, one just after the other.  The engineman is keenly alert on the instant; and, with one hand on the brake lever, the other on the throttle, he peers steadily ahead.  The head-light, that seems so dazzling, and to cast its radiance so far, to those approaching it, in reality illumines but a short space to him who sits behind it, and the engineman sees no evidence of danger.  There is no red beacon to stop him, nor any train on the track ahead.  He is beginning to think the alarm a false one, when another report, loud and imperative, rings in his startled ear.  In an instant the powerful air brakes are grinding against the wheels of every car in the night express, until the track is lighted with a blaze of streaming sparks.  A moment later the rushing train is brought to a stop, inside half its own length.

Even now nobody knew why it had been stopped, nor what danger threatened it.  It was not until the engineman left his cab, and discovered the senseless form of Brakeman Joe lying across the rails, less than a hundred feet away, that he knew why he had been signalled.  The wounded man was recognized at once, as belonging to the train ahead of them; but how he came in that sad plight, and who had placed the warning torpedoes to which he owed his escape from death, were perplexing questions that none could answer.

Very tenderly they lifted him, and laid him in the baggage car.  Here Conductor Tobin found him a few minutes later, when, to his surprise, the night express, that generally whirled past him at full speed, slowed up and halted beside his own train, standing on the siding.  “Yes,” this was his brakeman, one of the best and most faithful fellows in the service; but how he got where they found him, or what had happened, he could not explain.  He had lost another man off his train that night, a young fellow named Rodman Blake.  Had they seen anything of him?  “No! well, then he must have thrown up his job and gone into Euston where he belonged.  Good-night.”  In another minute only a far-away murmur among the sleeping hills told of the passing of the night express.

Brakeman Joe was placed on the station agent’s little cot bed, and the doctor was sent for.  That was all they could do, and so Freight Number 73 also pulled out, leaving him behind.  A minute later, and it too was gone, and the drowsy echoes answered its heavy rumblings faintly and more faintly, until they again fell asleep, and all was still.

Through the long hours of the night Rod Blake sat and silently suffered.  The distress of the gag in his mouth became wellnigh intolerable, and his wrists swelled beneath the cords that bound them, until he could have cried out with the pain.  He grew thirsty too.  Oh, so thirsty! and it seemed as though the daylight would never come.  He had no idea what good, or even what change for the better, the daylight would bring him; but still he longed for it.  Nor was the young tramp who shared his imprisonment at all happy or comfortable.  He too was thirsty, and hungry as well, and though he was not gagged nor bound, he suffered, in anticipation, the punishment he expected to receive when he and his wickedness should be discovered.  Thus, whenever the train stopped, a sense of his just deserts terrified him into silence; though while it was in motion his ravings were terrible to hear.

At length the morning light began to show itself through chinks and crevices of the closed car.  Conductor Tobin and his men reached the end of their run, and turned the train over to a new crew, who brought with them a fresh locomotive and their own caboose.

Still the young tramp would not give in.  The morning was nearly gone, and Rod was desperate with suffering, before he did, and, during a stop, began to shout to be let out.  Nobody heard him, apparently, and when the train again moved on, the situation of the prisoners was as bad as ever.

Now the fellow began to grow as much alarmed for fear he would not be discovered, as he had previously been for fear lest he should be.  In this state of mind he decided that at the next stop the shouting for help should be undertaken by two voices instead of one.  So he removed the gag from Rod’s mouth, and cut the cord by which his wrists were bound.  The poor lad’s throat was dry and husky; but he readily agreed to aid in raising a shout, as soon as the train should stop.

In the meantime the arrival of Freight Number 73 was awaited with a lively interest at the very station it was approaching, when this agreement between the prisoners was made.  It was aroused by a despatch, just sent along the line by the agent in whose charge Brakeman Joe had been left.  The despatch stated that he had recovered sufficiently to give a partial account of what had been done to him by a gang of thieves, whom he had discovered trying to rob car number 50.  It requested the first agent who should see Train Number 73, to examine into the condition of car number 50, and discover if anything had been stolen from it.  It also stated that Brakeman Joe was very anxious concerning the safety of a young stockman, who had been on the train, and assisted him to drive off the thieves; but who had not since been heard from.

Thus, while the imprisoned inmates of car number 50 were waiting with feverish impatience for the train to reach a station at which it would stop, the railroad men belonging to this station, were waiting for it with a lively curiosity, that was wholly centered on car number 50.