With the _phut_ of the closing safety-valve came the
conductor's cry of "All aboard!" and then the long-drawn sobs of the big
engine as Cranford started the train. Judson knew that in all human
probability the superintendent's special had already passed Timanyoni,
the last chance for a telegraphic warning; and here was the passenger
slipping away, also without warning.
Goodloe came back to the telephone when the train clatter had died away,
and took up the broken conversation.
"Are you there yet, John?" he called. And when Judson's yelp answered
him: "All right; now, what was it you were trying to tell me about the
special?"
Judson did not swear; the seconds were too vitally precious. He merely
repeated his warning, with a hoarse prayer for haste.
There was another pause, a break in the clicking of Goodloe's telegraph
instruments, and then the agent's voice came back over the wire: "Can't
reach the special. It passed Timanyoni ten minutes ago."
Judson's heart was in his mouth, and he had to swallow twice before he
could go on.
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