“Good,” laughed Shirley, and would have said more, but that her attention was attracted by a shout from behind.
Turning, she beheld a terrible sight.
There, not twenty yards away, in a tangled heap, lay the two cars, and even as Shirley turned a small tongue of flame crept from the wreckage.
“Fire!” cried Shirley and, turning quickly, she ran toward the cars. Mabel followed her.
Beside the cars men were rushing hurriedly about, grim-faced and silent.
“Half a dozen women are pinioned beneath the wreck,” replied one man briefly to Shirley’s questioning.
Shirley shuddered, as did Mabel.
“Horrible,” said the latter.
The girls drew closer; then stopped to watch the work of rescue.
The flame had now grown from the size of a man’s hand to something large, and it was plain even to the girls’ inexperienced eyes that it was only a question of minutes until those buried beneath the wreckage would be burned alive, did not help come at once.