THE MOTH. 
3 2 3 
melt into blackness where they should have 
run grey across the river. 
“ You — oh, look there — or am I mad ? ” 
he yelped. “ Look there, Bill Summers ! ” 
There was no talk of dreaming now. 
a God in Heaven above us, the bridge has 
gone ! IBs gone ! ” He screamed and leapt 
from the rocking timbers to the solid line. 
Then crept out again, lamp in hand, until the 
feeble rays fell on emptiness. Not twenty 
yards from where we stood the Slaveboy 
Bridge had been completely swept away. 
The flood was fretting, with yellow, foaming, 
dripping jaws at jagged ends of broken 
timber, tearing fresh mouthfuls with each 
onrush. Huge baulks swayed and went 
down, even as wc looked. Here and there a 
few jagged ends dangled pitifully, a piece of 
broken trestle swung in the middle, one 
length of rail ran on to an unbroken baulk, 
then as the river mouthed and leapt, it fell, 
and there was nothing but the ever-widening 
gap ; the turgid, unchecked flood. 
The inspector’s fingers were tight upon my 
arm. I bore the marks for days. We stood 
silent on the remnant of the groaning bridge, 
looking first at the flood, then at each other. 
Voices shouted to us from the line, but we 
took no heed. 
<£ Who — waved us down ? ” whispered 
Inspector Jones, hoarsely. “ Who could have 
done it — out here ? For if they had not 57 
lie pointed to the maddened torrent. 
If they had not, the engine would have 
leaped at top speed into that awful void, 
dragging her helpless human freight to a 
swift but hideous death, trapped like rats 
in that mighty flood ; no time to stop her or 
to jump out, when that yawning chasm 
opened suddenly in front. 
“ Who waved us down ? ” he repeated. 
“ Who ? ” 
I could only shake my head. 
He ran back then. “ The bridge has gone,’ 7 
he roared out, running up the line and waving 
his lamp frantically. “ The bridge has been 
swept away. But for the driver’s stop we 
should have been all drowned like rats. Oh, 
it’s too awful.” He was wildly excited. 
Passengers poured from the carriages, 
listening and shuddering ; they scurried 
along to look for themselves, they came back 
and wrung my hands and promised me a 
subscription. I stood dully quiet — I had not 
stopped the train. 
“ Search the line back there. Look under- 
neath. We may have killed the man who 
saved us ! ” 
Lamps flashed under the carriages, were 
waved about to either side, but there was no 
one there. 
‘ £ Sharp there ! Back her to Dennistown 
and get the news to Edmonton,” cried the 
inspector, as he finished his search ; “ the 
freight will be due here in an hour.” 
“ Who did it, Jack? ” I whispered, as they 
were all searching. “ What was it ? ” 
u What was it ? ” I gasped out, watching 
Summers. Africa seemed to have faded 
away, and I could see the desolate line, hear 
the hoarse roar of the flooded river. 
t£ Ah, who ? ” — his eyes were very sad. ££ I 
got into the cab. I had forgotten my 
sleeplessness by now. Jack was out upon 
the line, looking about him, aimlessly. I 
peered out into the front, wondering if I 
should still see the figure, and then I saw 
what it had been. 
££ That moth was inside the big head-light., 
and its fluttering, tortured wings had thrown 
at intervals, as it moved, a gigantic, distorted 
shadow on the luminous fog outside. Those 
were the arms which had waved us down so 
persistently and saved the train ! 
“ Something prevented me from telling the 
crowd outside, 1 opened the light, took it 
out, and put it carefully away — the mystery 
was explained. 
££ But my heart was heavy as I backed the 
engine up the hill and down to Dennistown, 
where we ’phoned to save the freight, then 
back to Koolnay with our tale of disaster and 
escape. The station was filled all nuht, 
wires flashing here and there, but I left 
them and ran home — and ” — Summers’s voice 
grew very quiet — £C my Jenny was gone — 
peacefully —in her sleep. There was no trace 
of pain in her tired face, and she smiled as she 
had often done to welcome me home. 
“ Driver Summers got his subscription and 
testimonial for prompt action. I could have 
taken my pick of trains then. But 1 never 
drove the old engine, or any other, again. 
My heart was too sore with the duty which 
had taken me away that night. 
£l I became a wanderer on the face of the 
earth, with only that scorched thing to keep 
me company. The moth was in the lamp, 
Grey, but — she promised to watch the 
run ” His voice trailed away ; he got 
up, walking to the window. I said nothing. 
Then, after an interval of quite five minutes, 
he turned to me with a quiet smile 
“ You don’t wonder at my keeping that 
moth now, do you ? ” he said, gently. 
