df.theedge-第56部分

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　too　late。
　　I　ran　faster；　round　the　curve　There　was　another　curve　in　a　further　hundred　yards；　but　it　would　have　to　do。　I　put　the　torch　down　beside　the　track；　rubbed　the　end　of　one　of　the　flares　sharply　against　one　of　the　rails；　and　begged　it；　implored　it；　to　ignite。
　　It　lit　with　a　huge　red　rush　for　which　I　was　not　prepared。　Nearly　dropped　it。　Rammed　the　spike　into　the　wood　of　one　of　the　ties。
　　The　flare　burned　in　a　brilliant　fiery　scarlet　that　would　have　been　visible　for　a　mile；　if　only　the　track　had　been　straight。
　　I　picked　up　the　torch　and　ran　on　round　the　next　bend；　the　red　fire　behind　me　washing　all　the　snow　with　pink　Round　that　bend　there　was　a　much　longer　straight　I　ran　a　good　way；　then　stopped　again　and　lit　a　second　flare；　jamming　its　point　into　the　wood　as　before。
　　The　Canadian　had　to　be　almost　there。　I'd　lost　count　of　the　time。　The　Canadian　would　e　with　its　bright　headlights　and　see　the　flare　and　stop　with　plenty　of　margin　in　hand。
　　I　saw　pin…point　lights　in　the　distance。　I　hadn't　known　we　were　anywhere　near　habitation。　Then　I　realized　the　lights　were　moving；　ing　The　Canadian　seemed　to　be　advancing　slowly　at　first。　and　then　faster。。。　and　it　wasn't　stopping。。　There　was　no　screech　of　brakes　urgently　applied。
　　With　a　feeling　of　dreadful　foreboding；　I　struck　the　third　flare　forcefully　against　the　rail；　almost　broke　it；　felt　it　whoosh；　stood　waving　it　beside　the　track；　beside　the　other　flare　stuck　in　the　wood
　　The　Canadian　came　straight　on。　I　couldn't　bear　it；　couldn't　believe　it。　It　was　almost　impossible　to　throw　the　flare　through　the　window。。　the　window　was　too　small；　too　high　up；　and　moving　at　thirty…five　miles　an　hour。　I　felt　puny　on　the　ground　beside　the　huge　roaring　advance　of　the　yellow　bulk　of　the　inexorable　engine　with　its　blinding　lights　and　absence　of　brain
　　It　was　there。　Then　or　never。　There　were　no　faces　looking　out　from　the　cab。　I　yelled　in　a　frenzy。　'Stop'；　and　the　sound　blew　away　futilely　on　the　bow　wave　of　parting　air。
　　I　threw　the　flare。　Threw　it　high；　threw　it　too　soon；　missed　the　empty　black　window。
　　The　flare　flew　forward　of　it　and　hit　the　outside　of　the　windscreen；　and　fell　on　to　the　part　of　the　engine　sticking　out　in　front；　and　then　all　sight　of　it　was　gone；　the　whole　long　heavy　silver　train　rolling　past　me　at　a　constant　speed；　making　the　ground　tremble；　extinguishing　beneath　it　the　second　flare　I'd　planted　in　its　path　It　went　on　its　mindless　way；　swept　round　the　curve；　and　was　gone。
　　I　felt　disintegrated　and　sick；　failure　flooding　back　in　the　pain　I'd　disregarded。　The　trains　would　fold　into　each　other；　would　concertina；　would　heap　into　killing　chaos。。。。　In　despair；　I　picked　up　the　torch　and　began　to　jog　the　way　the　Canadian　had　gone。　I　would　have　to　face　what　I　hadn't　been　able　to　prevent；　have　to　help　even　though　I　felt　wretchedly　guilty。。。　couldn't　bear　the　thought　of　the　Canadian　ploughing　into　the　Lorrimores'　car。。　someone　would　have　warned　the　Lorrimores。。。　oh　God；　oh　God　。。。　someone　must　have　warned　the　Lorrimores。。。　and　everyone　else。　They　would　all　be　out　of　the　train；　away　from　the　track。。　Nell。。。　Zak。。。　everybody。
　　I　ran　round　the　curve。　Ahead；　lying　beside　the　track；　still　burning；　was　the　flare　I'd　thrown。　Fallen　off　the　engine。　The　first　flare　that　I'd　planted　a　hundred　yards　ahead　before　the　next　curve　had　vanished　altogether；　swept　away　by　the　Canadian。
　　There　was　nothing。　No　noise；　except　the　sighing　wind。　I　wondered　helplessly　when　I　would　hear　the　crash　I　had　no　idea　how　far　away　the　race　train　was；　how　far　I'd　run。
　　Growing　cold　and　with　leaden　feet；　I　plodded　past　the　fallen　flare　and　along　and　round　the　next　bend；　and　round　the　long　curve　following。　I　hadn't　heard　the　screech　of　metal　tearing　into　metal；　though　it　reverberated　in　my　head。　They　must　have　warned　the　Lorrimores；　they　must　。。。　I　shivered　among　the　freezing　mountains　from　far　more　than　frost。
　　There　were　two　red　lights　on　the　rails　far　ahead。　Not　bright　and　burning　like　the　flares；　but　small　and　insignificant；　like　reflectors　I　wondered　numbly　what　they　were；　and　it　wasn't　until　I'd　gone　about　five　more　paces　that　I　realized　that　they　weren't　reflectors；　they　were　lights。。。　stationary　lights。。。　and　I　began　running　faster　again；　hardly　daring　to　hope；　but　then　seeing　that　they　were　indeed　the　rear　lights　of　a　train。。。　a　train。。。　it　could　be　only　one　train。。。　there　had　been　no　night…tearing　crash。。。。　The　Canadian　had　stopped。　I　felt　swamped　with　relief；　near　to　tears；　breathless。　It　had　stopped。。。　there　was　no　collision　。。。　no　tragedy。。。　it　had　stopped。
　　I　ran　towards　the　lights；　seeing　the　bulk　of　the　train　now　in　the　torch's　beam；　unreasonably　afraid　that　the　engineers　would　set　off　again　and　accelerate　away。　I　ran　until　I　was　panting；　until　I　could　touch　the　train。　I　ran　alongside　it；　sprinting　now；　urgent　to　tell　them　not　to　go　on。
　　There　were　several　people　on　the　ground　up　by　the　engine。　They　could　see　someone　running　towards　them　with　a　torch；　and　when　I　was　fairly　near　to　them；　one　of　them　shouted　out　authoritatively；　'Get　back　on　the　train；　there's　no　need　for　people　to　be　out　here。'
　　I　slowed　to　a　walk；　very　out　of　breath。　'I。。。　er。。。'　I　called；　'I　came　from　the　train　in　front。'　I　gestured　along　the　rails　ahead；　which　were　vacant　as　far　as　one　could　see　in　the　headlights　of　the　Canadian。
　　'What　train？'　one　of　them　said；　as　I　finally　reached　them。
　　'The　race　train。'　I　tried　to　breathe。　Air　came　in　gasps。　'Transcontinental。。。　mystery。。。　race　train。'
　　There　was　a　silence。　One　of　them　said；　'It's　supposed　to　be　thirty…five　minutes　ahead　of　us。'
　　'It　had。。。'　I　said；　dragging　in　oxygen；　'a　hot　box。'
　　It　meant　a　great　deal　to　them。　It　explained　everything。
　　'Oh。'　They　took　note　of　my　uniform。　'It　was　you　who　lit　the　fusees？'
　　'Yes。'
　　'How　far　ahead　is　the　other　train？'
　　'I　don't　know。。。。　Can't　remember。。。　how　far　I　ran。'
　　They　consulted。　One；　from　his　uniform；　was　the　Conductor。　Two；　from　their　lack　of　it；　were　the　engineers。　There　was　another　man　there；　perhaps　the　Conductor's　assistant。　They　decided…the　Conductor　and　the　train　driver　himself　decided　to　go　forward　slowly。　They　said　I'd　better　e　with　them　in　the　cab。
　　Gratefully；　lungs　settling；　I　climbed　up　and　stood　watching　as　the　engineer　released　the　brakes；　put　on　power　and　set　the　train　going　at　no　more　than　walking　pace；　headlights　bright　on　the　empty　track　ahead。
　　'Did　you　throw　one　of　the　fusees？'　the　engineer　asked　me。
　　'I　didn't　think　you　were　going　to　stop。'　It　sounded　prosaic；　unemotional。
　　'We　weren't　in　the　cab；'　he　said。　'The　one　you　threw　hit　the　windscreen　and　I　could　see　the　glare　all　the　way　down　inside　the　engine　where　I　was　checking　a　valve。　Just　as　well　you　threw　it。。。　I　came　racing　up　here　just　in　time　to　see　the　one　on　the　track　before　we　ran　over　it。　Bit　of　luck；　you　know。'
　　'Yes。'　Bit　of　luck。。。　deliverance　from　a　lifetime's　regret。
　　'Why　didn't　the　Conductor　radio？'　the　Conductor　said　crossly。
　　'It's　out　of　order。'
　　He　tut…tutted　a　bit。　We　rolled　forward　slowly。　There　was　a　bend　ahead　to　the　right。
　　'I　think　we're　near　now；'　I　said。　'Not　far。'
　　'Right。'　The　pace　slowed　further。　The　engineer　inched　carefully　round　the　bend　and　it　was　as　well　he　did；　because　when　he　braked　at　that　point　to　a　halt；　we　finished　with　twenty　yards　between　the　front　of　the　Canadian's　yellow　engine　and　the　shining　brass　railing　along　the　back　platform　of　the　Lorrimores'　car。
　　'Well；'　the　engineer　said　phlegmatically；　'I　wouldn't　have　wanted　to　e　round　the　corner　unawares　to　see　that。'
　　It　wasn't　until　then　that　I　remembered　that　Johnson　was　somewhere　out　on　the　track。　I　certainly　hadn't　spotted　him　lying　unconscious　or　dead　on　the　ground　on　the　return　journey；　and　nor　obviously　had　the　Canadian's　crew。　I　wondered　briefly　where　he'd　got　to；　but　at　that　moment　I　didn't　care。　Everyone　climbed　down　from　the　Canadian's　cab；　and　the　crew　walked　forward　to　join　their　opposite　numbers　ahead。
　　I　went　with　them。　The　two　groups　greeted　each　other　without　fuss。　The　race　train　lot　seemed　to　take　it　for　granted　that　the　Canadian　would　stop　in　time。　They　didn't　discuss　flares；　but　hot　boxes。
　　The　journal…box　which　held　the　near　side　end　of　the　rearmost　of　the　six　axles　of　the　horse　car　had　overheated；　and　it　had　overheated　because；　they　surmised；　the　oil　inside　had　somehow　leaked　away。　That's　what　was　usually　wrong；　when　this　happened。　They　hadn't　yet　opened　it。　It　no　longer　glowed　red；　but　was　too　hot　to　touch。　They　were　applying　fresh　snow　all　the　time。　Another　ten　minutes；　perhaps。
　　'Where's　George　Burley？'　I　asked。
　　The　race　train　baggage　handler　said　no　one　could　find　him；　but　two　sleeping…car　attendants　were　still　searching　for　him。　He　told　the　others　that　it　was　a　good　thing　he'd　happened　to　be　travelling　in　the　horse　car。　He　had　smelled　the　hot　axle；　he　said。　He'd　smelled　that　smell　once　before。　Terrible　smell；　he　said。　He'd　gone　straight　forward　to　tell　the　engineer　to　stop　at　once。　'Otherwise　the　axle　would　have　broken　and　we　could　have　had　a　derailment。'
　　The　others　nodded。　They　all　knew。
　　'Did　you　warn　any　of　the　passengers？'　I　asked。
　　'What？　No；　no；　no　need　to　wake　them　up。'
　　'But。。。