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 he was. He tried carefully at first to pull his tongue free, but every effort seemed to glue it more firmly to the rail. Then he pulled desperately until it seemed as though he would pull his tongue out, but it did no good. Finally, this struggling made him sick and faint, and he lay down to rest and to think.

This was another trap. It was the work of men. Another of their plans to capture him. First Bud Holcome had caught him by the paw, and now he was caught in a much worse manner, by his tongue.

Even as Redcoat struggled desperately to free himself, yet was held fast by that terrible grip of the frosty rail upon his tender tongue, the voice of the mighty thunderer, that long demoniacal shriek which Redcoat knew so well, sounded. It was just as he had thought. He had been caught and held upon the track in order that the thunderer might grind him to dust. But this was not all, for the horror of this dread sound had barely died away in his ears when he heard the rhythmic breathing of that strange ma-