As Allan dashed forward toward the child, he saw the engineer, his face livid, reverse his engine and jerk open the sand-box; the sand spurted forth under the drivers, whirling madly backwards in the midst of a shower of sparks, but sliding relentlessly down upon the terror-stricken child. It was over in an instant—afterward, the boy could never tell how it happened—he knew only that he stooped and caught the child from under the very wheels of the engine, just as something struck him a terrific blow on the leg and hurled him to one side.
He was dimly conscious of holding the little one close in his arms that she might not be injured, then he struck the ground with a crash that left him dazed and shaken. When he struggled to his feet, the engineer had jumped down from his cab and Welsh was speeding toward them across the tracks.
“Hurt?” asked the engineer.
“I guess not—not much;” and Allan stooped to rub his leg. “Something hit me here.”
“Yes—the footboard. Knocked you off the track. I had her pretty near stopped, or they’d be another story.”
Allan turned to Welsh, who came panting up, and placed the child in his arms.
“I guess she’s not hurt,” he said, with a wan little smile.
But Jack’s emotion had quite mastered him for the moment.
“Mamie!” he cried, gathering her to him. “My little girl!” And the great tears shattered down over his cheeks upon the child’s dress.
The others stood looking on, understanding, sympathetic. The fireman even turned away to rub his sleeve furtively across his eyes, for he was a very young man and quite new to railroading.