"Mr. Gammon had promised to look to it that day; but he so seldom did as
he would talk that we did not believe he had been near it. If it was so,
every life on the train was in peril, and, as I have said, it was then
time for it to come along.

"So Mr. Baxter and I decided to signal the train, and tell them of the
situation. But it was raining hard then, the wind was blowing furiously,
and our matches were damp, so we worked in vain to make a torch. It was
too dark for our flag to be seen. We had no way to stop the train. At
that moment we heard its whistle in the distance and knew it would soon
reach us.

"We were on the backbone of Trestle Summit, where, either way, the track
descends at a sharp grade for over three miles. It was nearly six miles
to Woodsville; but I knew while the mail was climbing the up grade we
could get well on toward the station. So I said to Mr. Baxter:

"'Let's take our hand-car and go on ahead of the train. It's our only
chance.'

"We weren't long in getting the car upon the track. But we had barely
sprung aboard when the mail head-light burst into sight less than half a
mile away!

"'We are too late!' gasped Mr. Baxter; and, whether from fright,
excitement or illness, he fell in a swoon.

"The car had started down the grade. Pulling Mr. Baxter on, so he would
not fall off, I lent my strength to the car's momentum, and we shot down