Meanwhile Jean Grayson had followed her bustling conductor into the
sleeper with a sense of deep relief. She had been frankly frightened
since the rough old tramp-looking creature across the aisle had
landed a worn-looking wallet surreptitiously in her lap and asked if
he hadn't heard her say she was going to Mr. Harrington at Hawk
Valley, and would she be so good as to give that case of important
papers to him and not let anyone else know she had it?
She had accepted the trust because she did not know what else to do;
and after all, it seemed a simple enough request. The man had
explained that he had to go off in another direction at the next stop
and could not deliver the goods himself and it was most important
that it get to her brother at once. There did not seem to be any
good reason why she should refuse, and yet it had frightened her, and
she wished with all her heart that she had gone with the conductor to
see about the sleeper and not stayed here to have this dirty old
leather case put into her keeping by that dirty old man. She did not
know what to do with it. She hated to put it in her dear little new
handbag, and she restrained her well cut nose from a shrinking sniff
as she hastily put it out of sight.
She had sat looking out of the darkened window with her heart in a
tumult as the tall young man with the fine eyes and the air of
reckless assurance came back to his seat. What had he to do with the
old fellow? Could he be his son? No, never! But did he know about
the important papers? Could he have put the old man up to giving
them to her, so that, under some pretence or other, he himself might
speak to her? She did not dare to look his way lest he should
presume upon the old man's speaking. This, her first Western trip,
was a fearsome thing to her, although she revelled in the joy of it.
Yet, when she arose to follow the conductor and gave one swift
comprehensive glance toward the opposite seat, she saw a respectful
pair of gray eyes looking interestedly at her, with nothing
presumptuous in them, and she instantly felt that there was no need
to fear that young man. He might be dressed like a cow-boy, but he
had eyes like a gentleman.
Miss Grayson was tired, for she had come a long journey, stopping a
day on the way with relatives who had taken her sight-seeing and kept
her going every minute, so that she was glad to creep into her berth
as soon as the porter had made it up.
She shrank in dislike from the leather case in her handbag, and after
some hesitation took it out and wrapped it in a leaf from a magazine
she had brought with her. She could not bear to have the thing in
with all her nice fresh handkerchiefs and dainty little articles. It
seemed contaminating. She had a half impulse to throw it away or
lose it; and then her conscience reproached her loudly for so
dishonorable a thought. The papers might be valuable, of course, and
in that case her brother would have just cause to blame her if she
did not bring them. At the same time she hated the thought of
carrying around anything that had been in the possession of that
repulsive-looking man.
As she settled herself to sleep and drew around her the folds of the
soft silk Pullman robe that had been her mother's parting surprise,
loving thoughts of those she had left behind her filled her mind.
All the little tender words, looks and acts of loving sacrifice that
she might be well fitted out for this journey, came flocking to be
recognized, until unbidden tears filled her eyes. This silken robe
was an extravagance, she knew, and would be paid for by many a denial
on the part of father and mother, but it represented their great love
for her. A thought of what they would have felt about her being
accosted by that rough man and asked to carry that package for him
came to trouble her, yet what other possible thing was there for her
to do but to accept it? It certainly could not be dynamite or an
infernal machine. Her mother would have thought of something of that
nature the first thing,--or infection, perhaps smallpox or something
equally horrible. That was possible, of course. But still, the man
looked healthy enough.
Her father? Yes, her father would undoubtedly have approved of her
taking the package. Her father was one who never thought of himself
when anything in the shape of duty demanded attention, and he had
brought her up with the same feeling. Anyway, now that she had taken
it and agreed to deliver it, there seemed nothing more to be done but
to keep her word, and it was a simple enough affair, of course, and
after all, quite reasonable. Why should it bother her so?
Nevertheless, it mingled with her dreaming thoughts as she drifted
off to sleep, and a kind of assurance with regard to it came as she
remembered the steady, clear eyes of the younger man.
Softly in her silken wrapping she lay and slept while the monotonous
hum of the rushing train only lulled her to deeper slumber.
Suddenly, in the midst of the commonplace sounds of the journey there
came a grinding, grating shriek as of strong metal hard pressed and
unable to withstand. A crash, a jolt, then terrible confusion. The
very foundations of the earth seemed upshaken, the cars climbing
through the awful air, then pitching, writhing, tossing, and at last
settling uncertainly in strange positions, while the night was filled
with horrid sounds too varying to analyze. Cries of women and
children! Groans of men in mortal agony; breaking glass and
splintering timbers; rending of metal in reluctant, discordant clang!
And below, rising menacingly to threaten all, came the lurid glare of
flame, the wild, exultant crackle of fire that knows its opportunity
and power; the desperate hysterical clamor of those who have
discovered it, and the mad, brave shouts of those who would attempt
to conquer it.
Jean Grayson awoke in dazed bewilderment. For a moment the noise
seemed a part of her dream; her strange, huddled position on the wood
at the foot of her berth, a figment of her imagination. But almost
at once the cold breath from the broken window brought her to her
senses. An accident! It had come then! The thing which her mother
had feared and tried to provide against. She was in a railroad
accident all alone and out in the wilds of the West where she was
utterly unacquainted with anyone! It was characteristic of Jean
that, when she realized her plight, she thought first of how her
mother would take the news, and not of how she would bear the
experience, or whether it meant life and death to herself. That she
must get out of danger and let her mother know of her safety was her
instant impulse, and from that moment her senses were keenly on the
alert for every detail.
Her mother's horror of railroad accidents made the possibilities of
her present position as plain to her as if she had lived the whole
experience before. She seemed to comprehend in a flash just what had
happened, and about the position the car was in at the time. The
lurid glare that was already leaping and flickering outside showed
jagged glass in the window frame, and scattered gleaming fragments
all about her. She must move carefully not to be cut by them. Fire!
That was the next thing she took in. That meant that her only hope
of life was to get out at once. Cautiously she looked out of the
window to get a better idea of things and her heart stood still with
the horror of it all. For one little terrible second she forgot her
mother's fears and felt her own gasping, choking terror at what was
before her. One moment she faced a probable death, felt her
helplessness, and gave a cry of anguish for those who had always
protected her from peril, and who were far away. Then her own brave
courage rose and steadied her nerves. She resolved not to die if
there were any possible way out of it; and terror relaxed its hold
upon her at sight of her courage.
With resolute determination she held her horror-stricken eyes to take
in the situation in detail. She must know everything, see
everything, if she were to save herself, for she comprehended readily
enough that as things were it was every one for himself. No one was
going to risk his life to hunt her up and drag her forth from the
pile of doomed cars.
The train had been crossing a river when the crash came. There was
water down below, black and terrifying in the glare of flame that was
leaping like great tongues among the ruins just ahead. She could not
tell if the cause of the accident had been a broken bridge or a
collision, and knew little about such things to judge. The cars were
piled one upon another in wild confusion, and the Pullman in which
she was immured was standing on its forward end almost
perpendicularly. The engine was overturned and fire was creeping
upward and threatening the whole mass; while below, the great black
stretch of water reflected the sight, making doubly terrible every
feature.
Jean drew back and attempted to look out into the car, but the
curtains were jammed tight by some heavy object which had fallen
against them, and she could get no idea of the situation on that
side. When she at last succeeded in pulling the curtain away enough
to look she saw only a dark precipice below, with writhing forms and
jumbled shapes. No one seemed to have thought of any way of escape
for the passengers, or to be making any attempt to get them out
before it was too late. The shouts and cries that came from below
had no authority among them. It was plain that the only hope of
escape was through the broken window and down into that abyss of
water and fire below.
Jean drew back and felt carefully around for her shoes. She could
not take much with her, and she must work rapidly. The shoes and
little handbag were almost under her, and she drew on the shoes,
fastening a button or two. She hesitated a second with her hand on
the precious bag. All her money, her trunk check and her little bits
of jewelry were in it. She must save them if she could. Those
papers that had been trusted to her were there also. Quickly she
stuffed the bag within the breast of her garments and fastened it
there with a large safety pin, with which she had fastened the berth
curtain the night before, when a refractory button kept coming
undone. Her heart gave a leap of excitement. Now, in her need, she
remembered it, and, groping, found it there in the semi-darkness, big
enough to be found when wanted, and to hold the bag in safety.
She gave one frightened look out the window at the growing, widening
horrors below, and then began slowly, cautiously to creep through,
feet first. It was a dangerous and painful task, as there was much
glass still adhering firmly to the window frame, and she found that
she had to draw back at first and hunt up her hair brush with which
to break away the sharp edges and make the opening large enough.
It seemed an hour, though in reality it was but a moment or two,
before she finally succeeded in getting out of the window, so that
she clung, suspended, both arms still inside the berth, but her body
hanging over the abyss of black depths mingled with flames.
Dark shapes were moving about down there, dark, moaning creatures
were dropping with sickening splashes into the water. She dared not
look to see if they rose. Her head grew light, and she felt her
fingers slipping. Her strength would not hold her long, and she was
almost on the point of trying to creep back inside the berth when a
long cry as of the lost, mingled with moans and screams of women and
children, arose from below, and she saw a great sheet of fire leap up
and lick the lower end of the very car to which she clung. She could
feel the heat of it where she was, and but for the slight inclination
of the car it would have been between her and the water.
With a low moan of horror she closed her eyes and let herself drop.
Down, down, she felt herself falling, through æons of time and space,
and knew that she was wondering how her mother would bear it when she
heard. Then the shock of the water, and darkness closed over her in
a smothering chill.