snow had packed in about the switch-bridle and
made it hard to move, but finally, with the help of the fireman, the
switch was turned, and the yard engine stood on the main track. The
engineer glanced over his shoulder, but there was nothing behind him
save the storm-swept night. Suddenly he felt the earth tremble, and,
filled with indescribable horror, he pulled the whistle open and leaped
through the window. The cry of the yard engine was answered by a wild
shriek from Blackwings. Guerin closed the throttle, put on the air and
opened the sand-valves. The sound of that whistle, blown back over the
train, fell upon the ears of Patsy and the two dead-heads, and filled
them with fear. A second later they felt the clamp of brake-shoes
applied with full force; felt the grinding of sand beneath the wheels,
and knew that something was wrong. The old engineer tore the curtains
back from "lower six," and spread out his arms, placing one foot against
the foot of the berth, and threw himself on top of the two sleepers.
Patsy and the Philosopher braced themselves against the seat in front of
them, and waited the shock. Bennie heard the whistle, too, and went out
into the night, not knowing where or how he would light. Young Guerin
had no time to jump. He had work to do. His left hand fell from the
whistle-rope to the air-brake, and it was applied even while his right
hand shoved the throttle home, and opened the sand-valves--and then the
crash came. Being higher built, Blackwings shot right over the top of
the yard engine, turned end for end, and lay with her pilot under the
mail car, which was telescoped into the express car. The balance of the
train, surging, straining, and trembling, came to a stop, with all
wheels on the rail, thanks to the faithful driver, and the open
sand-pipes. The train had scarcely stopped when the conductor and the
two dead-heads were at the engine, searching, amid the roar of escaping
steam, for the engine crew. A moment later Bennie came limping in from a
neighboring field where he had been wallowing in a snow-drift. The
operator, rushing from the station, stumbled over the body of a man. It
was Guerin. When the engine turned over he had been hurled from the cab
and slammed up against the depot, fifty feet away. The rescuers,
searching about the wreck, shouted and called to the occupants of the
mail car, but the wail of the wounded engine drowned their voices. In a
little while both men were rescued al