the clearing of the abandoned brick-works, ran low for a distance under cover of a long drying-frame, and scrambling through the low doorway of an old tile oven, threw himself upon the floor, done out, but confident that at last he was safe.

As he lay panting and listening, Alex turned his thoughts again to the train. Had the foreman made his escape? With so many promptly after him, it seemed scarcely probable. Then the saving of Twenty was still upon his own shoulders!

And there was little time in which to do anything, for she was due at 7:50, and it must be after 7 already!

Could he not reach the switch itself, and throw it back just before the train was due? That would be surest. And in the rapidly growing darkness there should be at least a fair chance of getting by any of the foreigners who might be on the watch.

Determinedly Alex gathered himself together, and crawled back to the entrance. Near the doorway he stumbled over something. “Oh, our old switch lantern!” he exclaimed, holding it to the light, and momentarily paused to examine it. For it had been placed under cover there the previous fall by himself and some other boys, after being used in a game of “hold-up” on the brick-yard siding.

“Just as we left it,” said Alex to himself, and was about to put it aside, when he paused with a start, studied it sharply a moment, then uttered a cry, shook it to see that it still contained oil, and scrambled hurriedly forth, taking it with him.

A moment he paused to listen, then set off on the run for the old yard semaphore, dimly discernible a hundred yards distant. Reaching it, he caught the lantern in his teeth, and ran up the ladder hand over hand, clambered onto the little platform, and turned toward the town.

Yes! Through the trees the station lamps were plainly visible! With a cry of delight Alex at once set about carrying out his inspiration. Quickly trimming the lantern wick, he lit it, with his handkerchief tied it to the semaphore arm, and turned it so that the bull’s-eye pointed toward the station.

Then, catching off his cap, he held it over the bull’s-eye, and alternately covering and uncovering the stream of light, began flashing across the darkness signals that corresponded with the telegraphic call of the Bixton station.

“BX,” he flashed. “BX, BX, BX!

“BX, BX—AW (his private sign)! BX, BX, AW!”

The station lights streamed on.

“Qk! Qk! BX, BX!” called Alex.

His right hand tired, and he changed to the left. “Surely they should be on the lookout for me, and see it,” he told himself. “For when I go fishing I am always home at—”

One of the station lights disappeared. Breathlessly Alex repeated his call, and waited. Was it merely some one pulling down a blind, or—

The light appeared again, then disappeared, several times in quick succession, and Alex uttered a joyful “Hurrah!” and turning his whole attention to the lamp, that the signals might be perfect, began flashing across the night his thrilling message of warning:

“THE FOREIGN TRACK HANDS—”

From a short distance down the spur came a shout. Startled, Alex hesitated. Again came a cry, then the sound of swiftly running feet.

He had been discovered! In a panic Alex turned and began to scramble down the ladder. But sharply he pulled up. No! That would be playing the coward! He must complete the message! And bravely choking down his terror, he climbed back onto the platform, and while the running feet and threatening cries came nearer every moment, continued his message:

“HANDS ARE—”

“Stop dat! Queek! I shoot! I shoot!” cried the voice of Big Tony, immediately below him. Again for a moment Alex quailed, then again went bravely on, while the old semaphore rocked and swayed as the enraged Italian threw himself at it and scrambled up toward him.

“GOING TO RUN—”

With a plunge the big trackman reached up and caught him by the ankle, wrenched him back from the lantern, and clambered up beside him. Catching the light off the semaphore arm, he thrust it into the boy’s face. “O ho!” he exclaimed. “So it you, da station-man boy, eh? An’ you da one whata help Hennessy get away, eh?

“An’ whata now you do wid dis?” he demanded fiercely, indicating the lantern.

“If you can’t guess, I’m not going to tell you,” declared Alex stoutly, though his heart was in his throat.

“O ho! You wonta, eh? Alla right,” said Tony softly through his teeth, and in a grim silence more terrifying than the threat of his words, he blew the lantern out, tossed it to the ground, and proceeding to clamber down, grasped Alex by the leg and dragged him down after.

But help was at hand. As they reached the ground a second tall figure loomed up suddenly out of the darkness. “Who dat?” demanded Big Tony. The answer was a rush, and a blow, and with a throttled cry of terror the big track worker went to the ground in a heap, the foreman on top of him.

Alex uttered a cry of joy, then with quick wit, while the two men engaged in a terrific struggle, he darted in search of the lantern, found it, fortunately unbroken, and in a trice was again running up the semaphore ladder.

As he once more reached his post on the platform the big Italian succeeded in breaking from the foreman, scrambled to his feet, and dashed off across the brick-yard. “Come down, Alex. It’s all over,” called Hennessy, gathering himself up. “And now we’ve got to hike right off, a mile a minute, for the main-line if we are to stop that train. They ran me so far I only just got back. Unless Twenty’s late we—”

“I am trying to stop her from up here,” interrupted Alex, relighting the lantern.

“Up there? What do you mean?” exclaimed the foreman.

“Signalling father at the station, with the telegraph code,” said Alex as he replaced the lantern on the semaphore arm. “Come on up.”

“Al,” said the incredulous foreman as he reached the platform, “can you really do it?”

“I had it going when that Italian stopped me. Watch.”

But Alex was doomed again to interruption. Scarcely had he begun once more flashing forth the telegraph call of the station when from the direction of the woods came a shout, several answers, then a rush of feet.

“Some of the Poles!” exclaimed the foreman. “But you go ahead, Al, and I’ll see that they don’t get up to interfere,” he added, determinedly.

The running figures came dimly into view below. “If any of you idiots come up here I’ll crack your heads!” shouted Hennessy, warningly.

“I’ve got the station again,” announced Alex. “Now it will take only a few minutes.”

One of the men below reached the ladder, and, looking up, shouted threateningly: “Stop dat! Stop dat, or I shoot!”

“Go ahead, Al,” said the foreman, looking down. “He hasn’t a gun.” But even as he spoke there was a flash and a report, and a thud just over Alex’s head.

“Yes, stop! Stop!” cried the foreman. “Stop. They’ve got us. No use being foolhardy.”

Leaning over, he addressed the men below. “Look here,” he said, persuasively, “can’t you fellows see that Big Tony is only using you to make trouble for me, because I fired him for being drunk? As I told you at first, everything he has said is untrue. Why won’t you believe it?”

The men were silent a moment, then one of them addressed Alex. “Boy, is dat true?”

“Every word of it,” said Alex, earnestly. “And I would have heard all about it at the station if they had intended cutting your wages, or