Great Thunderer far across the plains. If he could reach the cut and get upon that shelf, the Great Thunderer might save him. He put the last ounce of his strength into the race and reached the cut three rods ahead of the hound. Down the cut he raced straight toward the oncoming train. He could hear it thundering and rumbling. If he was not in time, it would crush him. He had seen one of his brothers horribly mangled by a train. But what did it matter? That would be no worse than old Bugler's deadly jaws, so he raced on. The train was barely three hundred feet away. It was thundering, snorting and hissing, the very demon of death.
Bugler was crying the cry of the pack at his heels. He gathered all his remaining strength and reached the ledge. Once he sj'rang and missed but he was up and tried again. The second time he missed, but still another spring he had left in him. This time with all the strength of desperation, he sprang and reached the ledge and safety, just as the train thundered by.
