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I didn't see the danger in time； and it didn't growl； it wasn't a bear； it had two legs and it was human。 He must have been hiding behind rocks or trees in the shadow thrown by my torch。 I saw his movement in the very edge of my peripheral vision after I'd passed him。 I sensed an upswept arm； a weapon； a blow ing。
There was barely a hundredth of a second for instinctive 。 evasion。 All I did as I ran was to lean forward a fraction so that the smash came across my shoulders； not on my head。
It felt as if I had cracked apart； but I hadn't。 Feet； hands； muscles were all working。 I staggered forward； dropped the flares and the torch； went down on one knee； knew another bang was travelling。 Thought before action。。。 I didn't have time。 I turned towards him； not away。 Turned inside and under the swinging arm； rising； butting upwards with my head to find the aggressive chin； jerking my knee fiercely to contact between the braced legs； punching with clenched fist and the force of fury into the Adam's apple in his throat。 One of the many useful things I'd learned on my travels was how to fight dirty； and never had I needed the knowledge more。
He grunted and wheezed with triple unexpected pain and dropped to his knees on the ground； and I wrenched the long piece of wood from his slackening hand and hit his own head with it； hoping I was doing it hard enough to knock him out； not hard enough to kill him。 He fell quietly face down in the snow between the rails； and I rolled him over with my foot； and in the deflected beam of the torch which lay unbroken a few paces away； saw the gaunt features of the man called Johnson。
He had got； I reckoned； a lot more than he was used to； and I felt intense satisfaction which was no doubt reprehensible but couldn't be helped。
I bent down； lifted one of his wrists and hauled him unceremoniously over the rail and into the shadows away from the track。 He was heavy。 Also the damage he'd done me； when it came to lugging unconscious persons about； was all too obvious。 He might not have broken my back； which was what it had sounded like； but there were some badly squashed muscle fibres somewhere that weren't in first…class working order and were sending stabbing messages of protest besides。
I picked up the torch and looked for the flares； filled with an increased feeling of urgency； of time running out。 I found three of the flares； couldn't see the fourth； decided not to waste time； thought the bears would have to lump it。
Must be lightheaded； I thought。 Got to get moving。 I hadn't e anything like half a mile away from the train。 I swung the beam back the way I'd e； but the train was out of sight round a corner that I hadn't noticed taking。 For a desperate moment I couldn't remember which direction I'd e from： too utterly stupid if I ran the wrong way。
Think； for God's sake。
I swung the torch both ways along the track。 Trees； rocks； silver parallel rails； all exactly similar。
Which way？ Think。
I walked one way and it felt wrong。 I turned and went back。 That was right。 It felt right。 It was the wind on my face； I thought。 I'd been running before into the wind。
The rails； the ties seemed to stretch to infinity。 I was going uphill also； I thought。 Another bend to the right lay ahead。
How long did half a mile take？ I stole a glance at my watch； rolling my wrist round which hurt somewhere high up； but with remote pain； not daunting。 Couldn't believe the figures。 Ten minutes only。。。 or twelve。。。 since I'd set off。
A mile in ten minutes was ordinarily easy。。。 but not a mile of sleepers and stones。
Johnson had been waiting for me； I thought。 Not for me personally； but for whomever would e running from the train with the flares。
Which meant he knew the radio wouldn't work。
I began actively to worry about George being missing。
Perhaps Johnson had fixed the hot box； to begin with。
Johnson had meant the trains to crash with himself safely away to the rear。 Johnson was darned well not going to succeed。
With renewed purpose； with perhaps at last a feeling that all this was really happening and that I could indeed stop the Canadian； I pressed on along the track。
George's voice floated into my head； telling me about the row between Johnson and Filmer。 Filmer told Johnson not to do something； Johnson said； 'I'll do what I frigging like。' Filmer could have told him not to try any more sabotage tricks on the train； realizing that trouble was anyway mounting up for him； trouble from which he might not be able to extricate himself if anything disastrous happened。
Johnson； once started； couldn't be stopped。 'Easier to start a train running downhill than to stop it； eh？' Johnson with a chip on his shoulder from way back； the ex…railwayman； the violent frightener。
I had to have gone well over half a mile； I thought。 Half a mile hadn't sounded far enough： the train itself was a quarter mile long。 I stopped and looked at my watch。 The Canadian would e in a very few minutes。 There was another curve just ahead。 I mustn't leave it 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 h