The boys fell to with a will, as did the other passengers from the wrecked Limited and from the Express. Several of the unfortunates had already been rescued, and were being laid on the cushioned car seats, or carried back to the rear train.
“Here’s someone under this window!” cried Jerry, as in the darkness, illuminated by the glow from the fire, he saw a white hand tapping on the glass, that had, through some strange agency, not broken.
“Chop ’em out!” cried Bob, raising his axe.
“Go easy there!” yelled Jerry. “You’ll do more harm than good!” The tall lad tapped on the pane, and a face was thrust close to it.
“Protect yourself from the flying glass,” ordered Jerry. “We’re going to break it, and pull you out. Cover yourself up.”
A few taps with the axe served to shatter the pane, after Jerry had noticed that the dim figure wrapped itself in a blanket, for this car was a sleeper. Soon the hole was big enough to haul out a fairly large person, and Jerry and Ned carefully scraped away the jagged points of glass.
“Come on now!” cried Jerry, thrusting his hands down into the opening. “We’ll lift you out!”
He caught hold of the wrist of someone, and Ned the other hand. They lifted, and there came into view a little girl, with light, curly hair. She did not seem to have a scratch on her, but she was crying from fright. As soon as Jerry had her in his arms she screamed out:
“Oh, where is mamma—and papa?”
A man came bursting through the crowd at the sound of the child’s voice.