Excerpt: ... terrific strain put upon her powers of speed and endurance. "Whew! there was a tilt," whistled Roberts, as No. 93 scurried a curve where she threatened to dip clear over sideways into a swampy stretch which had undermined the solid roadbed. Ralph gave a sudden gasp. He had watched every movement of the machinery. To his expert, careful ear every sound and quiver had conveyed a certain intelligent meaning. Now, however, No. 93 was emitting strange noises--there was a new sound, and it boded trouble. It came from the driving rod. Roberts caught the grinding, snapping sound, stared hard from his window, craning his neck, his eyes goggling, and then drew back towards the tender with a shout: "Go easy, Fairbanks; something's tearing loose--look out!" The warning came none too soon. Ralph slipped from his seat and dropped backwards into the tender just in time. A giant steel arm had shot through the front of the cab. It was the right driving rod. It came aloft and then down, tearing a great hole in the floor. It shattered the cab to pieces with half a dozen giant strokes. It smashed against the driving wheels with a force that threatened to wreck them. Then it tried to pound off the cylinder. The flying arms next took the roof supports, snapping them like pipe stems, and buried the fireman in a heap of debris. "Jump!" gasped Roberts. "I stay," breathed Ralph. And, stripped of everything except her cylinder, No. 93 dashed on--a wreck. CHAPTER XVI-THE WRECK The battered locomotive continued its course for nearly half a mile, with engineer and fireman crouching back on the coal of the tender. There was a diversion of the circling driving rod as the pace slackened. Then a violent hissing sound told of a leak somewhere in the machinery. The great steel locomotive slowed down like a crippled giant. "She's dead," said Roberts, choking a queer sound way down in his throat. "Old 93!" Ralph jumped to the ground and the fireman after...
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