True to his Colours | Page 8

the bridge could be distinctly seen on either side, as the four men
stood on the roadway of the bridge itself midway over the line.
"Ned," said one of the men in a hoarse whisper, "just cross right over,
and see if there's any one about."
The man addressed crept cautiously over to the farther side of the line,
and along the road either way for a hundred yards or more, and then
returned to his companions.
"It's all right," he whispered; "there's not a soul stirring, as I can hear or
see."
"Well, wait a bit," said the man whom he addressed; "just let's listen."
All was perfectly quiet.

"Now, then," said the first speaker again, "the express won't be long
afore it's here; who'll do it?"
"Why, Joe Wright, to be sure; he's got the most spirit in him. I know
he'll do it," said another voice.
"He's got most beer in him, at any rate," said the first speaker.
There was a gruff chuckle all round.
"Well, I'm your man," said Wright; "I've carried the bag, and I may as
well finish the job."
"Look alive, then," cried Ned, "or the train'll pass afore you're ready."
"You just shut up," growled Joe; "I knows what I'm about."
So saying, he began to climb over the parapet of the bridge, grasping in
his left hand the bag, which was apparently an ordinary travelling or
carpet-bag, rather below the average size. Having clambered over the
top rail, he let himself down among the huge beams which sprung out
from the great upright posts, and served to strengthen and consolidate
the whole structure.
"Mind how you get down, Joe; take care you don't slip," said more than
one voice anxiously from above.
"All right," was the reply; "I'm just ready."
"Stick fast, and mind where you drop it; she's coming!" cried Ned half-
out loud, in a voice of intense excitement.
Joe Wright was now half standing, half hanging over the up-rails, a few
feet only above where the roofs of the carriages would pass. The low,
labouring sound of the coming train had been heard for some moments
past; then it swelled into a dull roar as the light wind carried it forward,
then became fainter again as the wind lulled; and then burst into a
rushing, panting whirlwind as the engine turned the bend of the curve.
Forward dashed the train, as though it were coming with a will to batter

down the bridge at a blow; light flashing from its lamps, fiery smoke
throbbing out from the funnel in giant puffs, and a red-hot glare
glowing from beneath the furnace.
"Now then!" shouted the men from above. "All right!" Joe shouted
back in answer. "Shra-a-a-auk!" roared the train, as with diminished
speed it passed beneath them. At that moment Wright, leaning down,
dropped the bag. It fell plump on a hollow place into a tarpaulin which
covered some luggage on the roof of one of the first-class carriages,
and was whisked far away in another second, not to be disturbed from
its snug retreat till it reached the great metropolis.
"I've done it," cried Wright from below.
"Now then," cried Ned in return, "get back as fast as you can, and be
careful."
No reply. Joe was making his way back as best he could; but it was no
easy task, for his hands had become very cold, and the great oaken
supports of the bridge were slippery with the moisture which had
gathered thickly on them.
"Well done," said one of his companions, stooping over to watch his
progress; "a little more to the left, Joe."
The climber struggled upward. And now his right-hand was nearly on a
level with the floor of the bridge, and he was stretching out his left
hand to grasp one of the rails, when his foot suddenly slipping on a
sloping rafter, he lost his hold altogether, and, to the horror of his
companions, fell with a heavy thud on to the rails beneath him!
"Joe, Joe--speak, man! Are you hurt?" cried Ned.
No answer.
"Lord help us," he continued, "the drunken train'll be up directly. Get
up, man, get up; you'll be killed if you lie there."

Not a word from the unfortunate man.
They all leant over the parapet, straining their eyes to see if Joe really
lay there or had crawled away. They could just make out a dark heap
lying apparently right across the rails: it did not stir; not a moment was
to be lost.
"Here, Ned," cried the man who had seemed to act as a sort of leader of
the party, "just get down the bank somehow, and drag him off the rails.
I'll see if I can drop down from the bridge."
Alas! This was