time even on the best and
most carefully-managed of railroads. The through freight, of which
ex-Brakeman Joe was now conductor, had made its run safely and without
incident to a point within twenty miles of New York. It was jogging along
at its usual rate of speed when suddenly and without the slightest warning
an axle under a "foreign" car, near the rear of the train, snapped in two.
In an instant the car leaped from the rails and across the west-bound
tracks, dragging the rear end of the freight, including the caboose, after
it. Before the dazed train-hands could realize what was happening, the
heavy locomotive of a west-bound freight that was passing the east-bound
train at that moment crashed into the wreck. It struck a tank-car filled
with oil. Like a flash of lightning a vast column of fire shot high in the
air and billows of flame were roaring in every direction. These leaped
from one to another of the derailed cars, until a dozen belonging to both
trains, as well as the west-bound locomotive, were enveloped in their
cruel embrace.

Conductor Joe escaped somehow, but he was bruised, shaken, and stunned
by the suddenness and awfulness of the catastrophe. In spite of his
bewilderment, however, his years of training as a brakeman were not
forgotten. Casting but a single glance at the blazing wreck, he turned and
ran back along the east-bound track. He was no coward running away from
duty and responsibility, though almost any one who saw him just then might
have deemed him one. No, indeed! He was doing what none but a faithful
and experienced railroad man would have thought of doing under the
circumstances; doing his best to avert further calamity by warning
approaching trains from the west of the danger before them. He ran half a
mile and then placed the torpedoes, which, with a brakeman's instinct, he
still carried in his pocket.

_Bang-bang!_ BANG! Engineman Newman, driving locomotive number 385 at
nearer one hundred miles an hour than it had ever gone before, heard the
sharp reports above the rattling roar of his train, and realized their
dread significance. It was a close call, and only cool-headed promptness
could have checked the tremendous speed of that on-rushing train in the
few seconds allowed for the purpose. As it was, 385's paint was blistering
in the intense heat from the oil flames as it came to a halt and then
slowly backed to a place of safety.

Conductor Joe had already returned to the scene of t