Adventure Magazine Cover — page 134: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

128 Loa. And the water’s low, sor! The water’s low already!” He turned away, leaned out the window. McGann peered up at the little water bottle. At the surging line of water out- lined in the water bottle light. He swallowed. Looked again at Paddy. Then at the water bottle. Finally stood rigid and riveted his gaze on the water which meant life or death for his wife. Not a notch did Paddy push the throttle in. Not a mile slower did their speed be- come. They thundered up the mounting grade and the echoes of their passage rolled far over the silent country side. The water oozed lower in the glass. McGann, jaws set tight, watched it raptly. The surgeon, ignorant of the trick fate had played them, looked calmly out of the window. Watkins opened the fire door, that the steam might come down a few pounds and not pop off. They needed the last drop of water. Up they climbed. The grade became steeper. Paddy had to give her more valve. That took more steam. The water sank and sank. Paddy did not bother to look at the glass. No good now. The water reached the bottom of the glass. For a minute or so it rose to view in little surges. Then even they had not the power to bring it in sight. McGann looked at Paddy. Saw only the back of his head. Then turned again to the empty water-glass. He knew the fate that was swiftly ap- proaching them. Not long before, a freight engine had blown up because of low water. The fireman and engineer were torn to bits. A brakeman on the second car back was killed. McGann had inspected the remains. The sight was still fresh in his mind. The seconds flew. Inside the boiler the water was sinking lower and lower. How low could not be told. Watkins tried the gauge cocks. The bottom one spouted dry steam. That bottom cock was the danger line. They were slipping inside the jaws of death. A cold sweat began to bead McGann’s forehead. His hand worked at the un- lighted cigar until it shredded into bits. He darted irresolute glances at the broad, emotionless back of Paddy Reese. Flynn Paddy gave him no attention. His eyes were riveted on the rapidly mounting track ahead. The shadow of approaching death hung over the dim cab. Watkins’ face was pale. But he was loyal to Paddy’s judgment. He said nothing. Inside the boiler the water was dropping. Nearing the crown plates. Soon they would be exposed. The white-hot fire would heat them red. Warpthem. Weak- en them. Suddenly the steam pressure would burst its bonds. Rend the mighty engine into bits. Wipe them all from the face of the earth in one awful, burning, scalding second. The sweat on McGann’s forehead grew thicker. He wiped it away and his hand trembled. The surgeon, knowing nothing, looked out of his window calmly. The minutes ticked away. They were laboring up the long side of Boulder Moun- tain. Paddy had the valve gear wider. They were using more and more steam. And inside the boiler the water was drop- ping, dropping, at an unknown rate. That was the terrible thing. It was a creeping death, with its arrival screened by inch- thick steel. No notice. Just a sudden rending of its bonds in a spewing torrent of fire and steam. McGann’s face was haggard. He asked hoarsely— “How much farther have we got to go?” The brooding figure on the seat did not move. “T said,”’ repeated McGann louder, “‘how much farther have we got to go?” Slowly Paddy faced him. ‘°Tis prayin’ ye’d better be, instead o’ shouting,”’ he said grimly. McGann shivered involuntarily. And Paddy turned back, leaving him with his thoughts. McGann wiped his forehead again. His hand trembled. He looked at the boiler fearfully. Suddenly his voice came, almost a croak. “T—J] think you’d better stop!”’ Paddy gave him no reply. McGann placed his shaking hand on Paddy’s shoulder. Repeated— ‘Stop the engine!’ Paddy wheeled suddenly and looked at him. His glance, through the goggles, was menacing. COnmiclboooks.c©