urve turned, and the lights of Brocton were in sight. Before the runaway caboose slowed down entirely it must have gone fully three-quarters of a mile.
Ralph jumped from the car, and ran down the tracks at his best speed. He was breathless as he reached the little depot. It was dark and deserted, but opposite it was the one business street of the town.
Ralph left the tracks finally and made a dash for the open entrance of the general store of the village. The usual crowd of loiterers was gathered there.
"Hello! what's this?" cried the proprietor, as the young fireman rushed wildly into the store.
"Fireman on the Dover freight," explained Ralph breathlessly.
"What's the trouble--a wreck?"
"No, a hold-up. Men! get weapons, a handcar, if there is one here, and we may head off the robbers."
It took some urging to get that slow crowd into action, but finally half-a-dozen men armed with shotguns were running down the tracks following Ralph's lead.
It was a ste
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