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"Very well, sir," replied the Superintendent, and then they talked of other matters. In the meantime, during the long run in from the Minkskill bridge, Rod had plenty of time to think over his recent interview with President Vanderveer.
Already men were at work repairing the telegraph line, and an hour later a bridge gang, with a train of timber-laden flats, was on its way to the Minkskill bridge. Number 10 drew this train, and Rod was delighted to have this opportunity to learn something of bridge building.
"Cut loose from the train, Rod!" he cried in a voice husky and choked with a terrible dread. "True, word was just coming over the wire that the centre pier of Minkskill bridge had gone out from under the track, and for me to stop all trains, when that last bolt struck the line, and cut me off. If you can't catch that special there's no hope for it. It's the only thing left to try."
The special was the first train to cross the Minkskill bridge after it was repaired and pronounced safe, and as it was followed by all the delayed passenger trains, the through freight did not pull out for more than an hour later.
Only after Rod had done everything in his power to ensure a full head of steam and paused for a moment's breathing-spell, did he step up behind the engineman and ask, "What is it, True?" "Minkskill bridge gone! We are trying to catch the special," answered the driver, briefly, without turning his head. It was enough; and Rod instantly comprehended the situation.
Ten seconds later the special stood motionless, with its pilot pointing out over the Minkskill bridge. President Vanderveer had not recognized the panting, coal-begrimed, oil-stained young fireman who had so mysteriously boarded his car while it was running at full speed; but Eltje knew his voice.
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