“Thanks be!  Grey’s Point is this side of the trestle.  We can stop them,” shouted Joe, and without argument “the gang” turned, tearing at a breakneck pace around the curve, and through the cut, in a hopeless effort to make their home town before the special reached it.

Breathlessly they ran for ten minutes, stumbling along the sleepers, recovering, then forging ahead, until, cutting the evening air, came a long, thin whistle, and immediately afterwards the black nose of an engine and a ribbon of smoke rounded a distant curve, and came bearing down on them at the rate of forty-five miles an hour.

“The gang” paused, standing rock still for an instant, then five of them danced up and down, waving their arms wildly, to signal the train to stop.  But the sixth boy—­Benny Ellis—­white as a sheet, was tearing madly at his collar, and dragging off his coat.  Then quick as a flash he skinned from his narrow shoulders his blue cotton shirt, faded almost white by the summer suns, and dashing down the track towards the oncoming engine, whirled it high above his head in five distinct circles, while his young voice, hoarse with a frenzy of fear, shrieked, “Father, father!  Oh, dad, try to remember.  Try, try!”

And from the cab of the great mogul, Engineer Ellis was peering out with his keen eyes piercing the track ahead, his hand at the throttle.

“Jim,” he called abruptly to his fireman.  There was something in his tone that made Jim fling himself to the window.  Then both men exclaimed simultaneously, “It’s a hold-up.”

“There’s six of them, and one’s got a gun,” gasped the engineer.  “We’ll have to crowd on steam and rush them, unless they’ve wrecked the track.”  Then, as the huge iron monster lifted itself to greater speed, Mr. Ellis saw something like a white flag wave in the air then fall.  Once more it circled, one, two, three, four, five times above someone’s head, fell again, then was tossed from one hand high in the air and caught in the other.

“Jim, I’ve seen that signal somewhere.  It means something.”  Then, like a photograph, he seemed to see a lake, two boys swimming, and a black bear and cubs on a far shore, while Benny’s voice rang in his ears:  “Five circles means ‘Great danger,’ and a toss from one hand to the other up through the air means ‘Don’t move; stay where you are.’”

“It’s the boys, Jim,” gasped the engineer.  “There’s something wrong.”  Before the words had left his lips the shrill whistle was shrieking for “brakes”—­“double brakes” at that—­and the gigantic engine almost leaped from the rails as the halter was thrown about her neck.  On she rushed, slipping, grinding, rocking in her restraint.  The train crew and passengers in the rear car pitched almost on their faces with the violent checking of speed, until, snorting and pulsing and belching, the great mogul came to a standstill.

“Oh, daddy, you did remember, you did, after all!” cried a very white-faced little boy who peered up into the cab window with horrified eyes, while his naked shoulders heaved, and his hand clutched a torn, faded blue shirt.