THE STRAND MAGAZINE . 
3*3 
and let my beauty go again. Lord, how she 
flung herself at the black night, her head- 
lights nosing into the gloom as she tore 
along. 
But we had only run two miles more of the 
flat, when out of the fog the form loomed 
out again. Arms up- dropped. Up — dropped. 
A monster woman waving us down. 
Jack was stoking up then, the glow of the 
red-hot coal upon his face. 
“ For God’s sake ! ” I cried, “ Jack. Here ! 
What’s ahead ? ” 
He dropped his shovel and sprang to his 
side of the cab. 
“ Nothing — dead clear,” he called out. 
“ What’s up, Bill ? ” 
“ Someone — waving us down,” 1 said. 
“ Out ahead in the fog. Eve seen her 
twice, Jack. A woman — stopping us.” 
“ There’s no one,” he said, and pulled a 
flask from his pocket. “ Take a nip, old 
chap. You’re dead worn out from anxiety 
and a want o’ rest, and you’re thinking o’ 
your missus. Sit down and let me run her 
for a stretch, old man.” 
I took a mouthful of the fiery spirit, bm I 
shook my head and kept my fingers on the 
lever. The engine must have her own master. 
“ It’s not that,” 1 said, huskily.. “ I Us 
Jenny, Jack. She said she’d watch. She's 
died since I came out. Oh, she’r died since 
1 came out, and that’s her ahead.” I chink 
I sobbed a little in my sheer misery. 
“ Another nip,” he said. Poor old greaser 
Jack, it was all he could think of to help me. 
£ ‘ That’s imagination,” he said, sharply, “ just 
from want of sleep. Let her out now for the 
hill, Bill.” 
He ran back to his glowing furnace, slipping 
easily along the rocking cab. How little the 
sleepy, grumbling passengers think of the two 
men crouching in the cab as we tear through 
the night. 
1 put the engine at the climb, and she went 
for it with her great heart working, but half- 
way up the figure was there again. Looming 
gi gan tic — arms out — dropped — out — dropped 
again- -waving us down, excitedly, insistently, 
as if angry at my lack of notice. It was too 
much then — I shut off steam and crammed on 
brakes half-way up the steep climb. The 
engine chafed as a horse hard held, the wheels 
gritting on the rails— but I did not whistle 
for back brakes, as yet. 
“ Bill —are you crazy?” Jack sprang to 
my side. “ On the hill, too, man ! ” 
“ No ; it was the figure,” I said. “ She’s 
there, Jack, waving us down. It means 
something.” 
His hard red face grew suddenly thoughtful, 
but he pushed my hand from the brakes. 
“ Don’t stop her, Bill,” he implored, peer- 
ing out into the white swirl at the left side. , 
“ There’s nothing on the line. The inspector I 
will only come along and say you’re drunk- - 
that stuff 1 gave you smells still.” He leant 
out and peered back. “ I see his lamp out 
already; he’s on the footboard. Get on, or 
it will mean losing your job — there’s milling 
ahead, man.” 
I put up the brakes slowly, and my poor H 
engine, loosed once more, took the hill at the 
exhaust — every puff from her overwrought 
self a bitter remonstrance to me. 
“ Look out — sharp, Jack ! ” I cried, as we 
slowly gathered way. “It must be a warn- 
ing. Look ahead, man ! ” 
He had caught a little of my anxiety as we 
toiled and grunted up the hill, and, having 
topped it, there was the long, steep gradient 
with us to the Slaveboy Valley, then the flat 
bit, and double right and left curve before 
the Slaveboy Bridge. 
The engine could take her breath now 
after her toil — the slope was practically with 
her through the tunnel at the other side of 
the bridge and into Edmonton, where we 
stopped. 
We went dizzily down, swooping into the 
white dimness until the cars rocked. 
Jack looked at the clock. “ Let her go, 
Bill,” he said. “ We’re off time, four 
minutes at least, and we were never that 
before. Let me drive her for a spell, Bill, an’ 
you rest.” 
I think he was afraid my hand would be 
unsteady during that plunge downhill, for 1 
was white as death, he told me afterwards, 
and looked utterly fagged out. 
My heart was dead within me. “ Jenny ! 
Jenny! Jenny is dead!” sang the wheels 
as they turned. 
“ No, I’ll keep her,” I said. “ I’ve got to 
mind them all, Jack.” 
We tore down, steam off, racing, if anything, 
too fast, for the curve before the bridge was 
a nasty one. But we had to make up our 
time, and your passenger is only pleased 
when he feels his carriage sway to the breath- 
less speed. 
“ What a flood there’ll be to-night ! ” said 
Jack. “ It’s been too quick a thaw ; the 
snow’s down in masses.” 
The drizzle and the fog swept past us in a 
luminous cloud. 
“ They do say they ( 'n’t build that bridge 
too well,” he added. “ Not tough enough 
for the weight of the spring floods, sir. They 
