turned slowly away and walked into the caboose.
The train lay at the north end of the passing siding but one minute, waiting for the hands on the engineer's watch to point to 3:04, when it steamed quietly away, gaining speed rapidly as the train reached the town limits.
Mercedes was awakened by hearing her office call, "LC," being repeated rapidly; the train dispatcher at Pittsburg was calling her. Arousing herself she answered at once.
"No. 49?" asked the dispatcher.
"Not yet," she replied. Then, leaving the key open, she glanced up at the clock. It was exactly 3:05. The iron levers which throw the signals, she made sure, were set to show a red light. Before closing the key, however, she got up and walked to the door, looking up and down the track. At the top of the semaphore tower, she noticed that the lamp was burning; but the fog was so dense she could not see many yards from the office—nor could she see the wooden arms of the semaphore signal, although standing almost under them. But as the lamp was burning, and the levers were set to show red, which meant "stop," she was assured that a train could not have passed during the fifteen minutes she slept; yet a strange feeling that something was wrong prevented her closing the key for fully a minute, as she knew when it was closed an order would probably be sent
