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Updated: May 11, 2025
Peeping carefully in, to see that his friend, John Ratcliffe, was alone, Jack entered. "Well, John," he said, "the engine's still going." "Ay, Jack; but if what's more nor one has told me to-day be true, it be for the last time." "Look here, John; Mr. Brook has been a good master, will you do him a good turn?"
And then he understood that he must have sat down near the track of the railroad, for those lights were on the end of a train, and the big yellow light on the giant's head must have been the engine's headlight. Well, the road followed the railway for a distance, and it couldn't be such an awful way to the Star Circle Ranch. Should he go on, or should he sleep some more?
A band had been crossing just at the moment of the engine's passage. The pathos of it was beyond expression. It was a slaughter, a massacre of innocents. The iron monster had charged full into the midst, merciless, inexorable. To the right and left, all the width of the right of way, the little bodies had been flung; backs were snapped against the fence posts; brains knocked out.
The ice-cake was threatening to slip away, to seesaw, turn turtle and waltz off, to the tune of blood-curdling sounds: screams for help here, there, everywhere, always with the background of that menacing hiss of steam in the great engine's boilers that low, sneezing uz-z-z! as if it were taking cold from its bath the engine that, at any moment, might explode.
I wonder if anything has happened to the train!" There was a pause. Then came another single shriek from the engine's whistle. It sounded appealingly, as if the steam monster was in distress. "Look! Look!" shouted Mark. "We are going much faster than we were!" At the same instant there was a crash and a jolting sound. The train seemed to break in two parts at about the centre.
Perry, looking on, asked sarcastically if he was feeling the engine's pulse, and Joe haughtily replied that he wanted to make sure the cylinders weren't overheating.
One day, when we were quite friendly, he brought from his home all the rails, in a carpet-bag, and gave an exhibition of his engine's speed, attaching the cars and getting up sufficient steam to cause the engine to race about the room at a rate which was actually exciting. He had an arrangement by which it would pick up water and stop automatically.
There was a warning shriek from the engine's steam-whistle, as if it were impatient to be off, and angrily wanting to know why it was kept thus unnecessarily waiting. Following up the scream of the whistle came the last cling! clang! of the railway-porter's bell, telling belated passengers that "time" was "up."
A railroad man with a flag made several swift moves. Down the track an engineman, in his cab, answered with a short blast of, the whistle. Then he threw over the lever, and a train of ten flat cars started along in the engine's wake. It was the first test the "small test," Tom called it of the track that now extended across the surface of the Man-killer.
Though he hoped that his own endurance and the engine's would stand the strain of the whole distance without stopping, he had chosen his course so that, if he felt the necessity of alighting for brief intervals, he might at least find pleasant country and amicable people.
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