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CHAPTER IV.

MELANCHOLY scene of wreck and disaster was that which greeted the

eyes of Mr. Gray when perhaps half an hour later he stepped from the platform and made his way forward. Through some strange neglect of telegraphic orders from Butte, the conductor and engineer of No. 12 had not been bidden to side-track at Thunder Gap, but had been sent spinning on their way down grade five miles to Alkali Flats, where the road crossed to the northeast and began to climb over the divide to Boulder Creek, and right here, at the end of a straight-away mile of track, the head-light of the Pacific express flashed into view. Each engineer sighted the glaring eye of the other's steed at the same instant. Each sounded his warning cry. Each instantly reversed his lever, reckless of cylinderheads. Long had vainly sprung the air-brake, and No. 12's brakemen had spun their iron wheels for all they were worth, but still, with the fearful momentum of their down-grade rush, the two trains dashed at each other like maddened bulls, and engineer and fireman, having done all that mortal men could do, jumped for

their lives a second or two before the crash. The lighter train of the two, the express, had so far slackened speed that Long and his fireman, landing and rolling in the soft sand, were but slightly hurt. The engineer of the freight, however, was tumbled heels over head, and then knocked senseless by a flying splinter. The fireman had only just been found as Gray reached the point where the two engines, locked deep in each other's embrace, stood welded together, a tangled mass of metal. The whistle of one of them, dislocated by the shock, was emitting a low, moaning sound, as of some huge beast in agony. The tender of the express had telescoped half its length through the mail-car, and the postal clerk had been hauled from under a confused heap of coal and mail-sacks. The mail-car in turn had smashed in the front of the express, and this, forced flat against the front of the baggage-car, left the messenger a helpless prisoner within his own premises, unable to open even a side door. How the baggage-man escaped death he never could tell. He and his trunks were hurled to the front end of the car, all in a heap, yet, barring damages to clothing and cuticle, he was little the worse for the adventure. Then came the car-load of recruits. Hardly a man of their number had a whole skin left. The seats were wrenched loose, the windows were shattered. The smoker, too,

was a sight; its few occupants had been hurled about promiscuously, and were still swearing when Gray got to the front. People in the day-coach were less damaged, but equally dazed, and in the two Pullmans consternation reigned supreme. The excursionists were all sound asleep up to the instant of impact, and those in the upper berths had been tumbled into the aisle, and all the car-load violently shaken. But in the forward Pullman the actual damage was greater. The porter was groaning with a twisted back. Two of the men were badly wrenched. Lieutenant Rawson

had a bump as big as a grape-shot on the side of his head. Mrs. Mainwaring, though uninjured, was so terrified as to be worse than helpless, and as for the fair girl with her, she had happened to be awake, had lifted herself on her elbow at the shriek of the whistle, fearful of ill, and almost instantly had been dashed against the edge of the seat and cruelly stunned. Of the freight train, the six cars immediately behind the engine were crushed to fragments, and the fragments hurled far and wide. It was from under a heap of these they lugged the fireman as Gray appeared, and this summed up the damage to person and material, but not to nerves, tempers, or records for piety. The language of Mr. Jarvis and his friend of the freight train beggared description. The cavalry sergeant felt an access of envious respect as he

listened. Lieutenant Rawson invited both to have a drink, and this time it was accepted.

It was a five-mile stretch up to the Gap, and much more than that back to Boulder, but news of the mishap had to be sent and help summoned. It was then that Gray's shabby tramp had come to the fore. He had been warmed, fed, and rested, as he had not been for a week. He was used to walking, he said, and offered to carry the conductor's pencilled despatch. It should have been sent by a brakeman of the freight, but both were lamed and badly bruised. Jarvis looked more than uncertain at first, but finally gave the man the important paper. Twenty minutes later, the two cowboys, despite bangs and bruises, declared that they too would "hoof it," and pushed ahead through the pallid dawn. Gray, silent and observant, appeared just as they departed, and found the lieutenant, the two conductors, and the cavalry sergeant in a quadrangular council. At sight of the new-comer Jarvis cautioned silence, and dissolved the meeting.

The girl whom Gray had so promptly and tenderly cared for had recovered consciousness within five minutes. She looked up, dazed and startled, into the strange face bending over her, and then almost instantly asked for Mrs. Mainwaring.

"She is unhurt," said Gray, quietly. "Don't worry. You have quite a bruise here on the

side of your head. Please lie still until I check the bleeding. Mrs. Mainwaring will be back in a moment."

Mrs. Mainwaring had been there, half distracted, wringing her hands and laughing and crying by turns, and was now lying in her berth, being ministered to by some sympathetic woman from the other car. Another had come to aid Gray, but, seeing how deftly he bathed and stanched the wound, she confined her attentions to wetting towels and passing them to the strange gentleman. So skilful were his ministrations that the young lady presently declared herself, able to sit up and walk, and insisted on seeing Mrs. Mainwaring. She was assisted to her feet, and, leaning on his arm, was taken to her friend. Gray left her there, slipped quietly away, and came forth, his heart beating with odd emotion.

The next thing he found to do was to help straighten out the fireman of the freight, who was shaking like an aspen, completely demoralized and almost crying. He, too, had struck soft sand when he leaped from the train, but after a somersault or two had been buried under an avalanche of splintered board, distributed from the roofs, sides, and flooring of the shattered cars. The heavy trucks, wheels, and beams fortunately had not been hurled more than a dozen yards from the track, but kindling-wood in distracting quantities had been