OVER THE TOP OF THE TRAIN.

At Rodman’s startling announcement Conductor Tobin sprang to his feet, reached for the bell-cord, and gave it two sharp pulls. A single whistle blast from the locomotive made instant reply that his signal was received and understood. So promptly was it obeyed that as the conductor and his two brakemen ran to the front platform to swing far out and look along the sides of the express cars ahead of them, the grinding brakes were already reducing the speed of the flying train.

Suddenly a pistol shot rang angrily out, and a bullet crashed into the woodwork close above Rod Blake’s head. He and the conductor were leaning out on one side while the other brakeman occupied the opposite one.

“Give the signal to go ahead at once, or I’ll come back there and blow your brains out!” came in a hoarse voice from a side door of the money car.

“All right, I’ll do it; only don’t shoot,” shouted Conductor Tobin in answer, giving the desired signal to the engineman, by raising and lowering his lantern vertically, as he spoke. At the same time he said hurriedly to the brakeman on the opposite side of the platform, and thus concealed from the robber’s view:

“Drop off, Tom, and run back to number 10. Telegraph ahead to all stations, and we’ll bag that fellow yet!”

The man did as directed, swinging low and giving a forward spring that landed him safely beside the track, though the train was still moving fully twenty miles an hour.

The engineman, though greatly puzzled at receiving the signal to go ahead immediately after being ordered to stop, had obeyed it, thrown off brakes, and the train was again gathering its usual headway.

“Now Rod,” said Conductor Tobin, as the other brakeman disappeared; “I want you to make your way over the top of the train to the engine, and tell Eli what is taking place. Tell him to keep her wide open till we reach Millbank, and not to give her the “air” till we are well up with the station. It’s a tough job for you, and one I hate to send you on. At the same time it’s got to be done, and after your experience on the freight deck, I believe you are the lad to undertake it. Anyway, you’ll be safe from that pistol when once you reach the cab.”

“But I don’t like to leave you here alone to be shot,” remonstrated Rod.

“Never mind me. I don’t believe I’ll get shot. At any rate, this is my place, and here I must stay. Now move along, and God bless you.”

There was a strong hand-clasp between the conductor and brakeman, and then the latter started on the perilous journey he had been ordered to undertake. It was no easy task to maintain a footing on the rounded roofs of those express cars as they were hurled on through the night at the rate of nearly a mile a minute; while to leap from one to another seemed almost suicidal. Not more than one brakeman in a thousand could have done it; but Rod Blake, with his light weight, athletic training, and recent experience combined with absolute fearlessness, was that one. His inclination was to get down on his hands and knees and crawl along the slippery roofs. If he had yielded to it he would never have accomplished the trip. He believed that the only way to make it was by running and clearing the spaces between cars with flying leaps, and, incredible as it may seem, that is the way he did it. He had kicked off his shoes before starting, and now ran with stockinged feet.

The occupants of the cab were as startled by his appearance beside them as though he had been a ghost, and when his story was told the engineman wanted to stop the train at once and go back to the assistance of the imperilled messenger. Rod however succeeded in persuading him that, as the messenger’s fate was probably already decided, their only hope of capturing the robber lay in carrying out Conductor Tobin’s plan of running at such speed that he would not dare jump from the train until a station prepared for his reception was reached.

When the engineman finally agreed to this, and before he could utter the remonstrance that sprang to his lips, Rodman clambered back over the heaped-up coal of the tender, swung himself to the roof of the forward car and began to retrace his perilous journey to the rear end of the train. He argued that if Conductor Tobin’s place was back there exposed to the shots of a desperate man, his brakeman’s place was beside him. Even if Rod had not been a railroad boy, or “man,” as he now called himself, his natural bravery and sense of honor would have taken him back to that coach. Ever since he had enlisted in the service that demands as strict obedience as that required of a soldier and an equal contempt of danger, this lad was doubly alert to the call of whatever he regarded as duty. There is no service in the world, outside of the army, so nearly resembling it in requirements and discipline as that of a railroad. It is no place for cowards nor weaklings; but to such a lad as Rod Blake it adds the stimulus of excitement and ever-present danger and the promise of certain promotion and ample reward for the conscientious performance of every-day duties.

So Rod, feeling in duty bound to do so, made his way back over the reeling roofs of that on-rushing train to the side of his superior officer. As he scrambled and slipped and leaped from car to car he fully realized the imminent peril of his situation, but was at the same time filled with a wild exhilaration and buoyance of spirits such as he had never before known.

Conductor Tobin, standing just inside the coach door with pale face and set lips, was amazed to see him. For a moment he fancied the lad had been daunted by the task imposed upon him and had turned back without reaching the locomotive. When he realized that Rod had not only made the perilous trip once, but twice, his admiration was unbounded, and though he tried to scold him for his foolhardiness the words refused to come. He shook the young brakeman’s hand so heartily instead that the action conveyed a volume of praise and appreciation.

Now, as they watched together with an intense eagerness for the lights of Millbank they became conscious of a yellow glare, like that of an open furnace, streaming from the side door of the money car.

“The scoundrel has set the car on fire!” gasped Conductor Tobin.

“Don’t you think we ought to break in the door with an axe and make a rush for him?” asked Rod.

Before the other could reply, a long, ear-splitting whistle blast announcing their approach to a station sounded from the locomotive.