Great gateways sped past them; the motor smashed over sidetracks and spurs and switches as they clattered by the various mine openings, the operator reaching above him to hold the trolley steady as they went under narrow, low places where the timbers had been placed, thick and heavy, to hold back the sagging earth above.
Three miles, four, five, while Anita Richmond held close to Fairchild as the speed became greater and the sparks from the wire above threw their green, vicious light over the yawning stretch before them.

A last spurt, slightly down-grade, with the motor pushing the wheels at their greatest velocity; then the crackling of electricity suddenly ceased, the motor slowed in its progress, finally to stop.

The driver pointed to the right.
"Over there, sheriff--about fifty feet; that's the Reunion opening." "Thanks!" They ran across the spur tracks in the faint light of a dirty incandescent, gleaming from above.

A greasy being faced them and Bardwell, the sheriff, shouted his mission.
"Got to catch some people that are making a get-away through Center City.

Can you send us up in the skip ?" "Yes, two at a time." "All right!" The sheriff turned to Harry.