The scene was one of confusion and terror. Cries and groans of the wounded mingled with the weeping of those who had lost loved ones in the crash. Then came the noise of axes, hammers and saws on wood, the implements being used to free some imprisoned victims, held down by heavy timbers.
It seemed that all were now rescued who could escape by their own efforts or be carried out by the workers. There only remained the possible dead under the wreck and those who might be held fast in it. The boys had a brief respite from their strenuous labors. They were standing together, hardly able to realize what they had seen and taken part in.
Suddenly a small boy rushed up to where the chums were standing. He seemed greatly excited.
“Come here, quick!” he called.
“What is it, Andy Rush?” asked Bob.
“Man—pinned under a big beam—groaning awful—makes me have the shivers—I tried to get him—couldn’t—head hurt I guess—come on—help me—we’ll save his life,” and finishing his usual disjointed and rapid-fire remarks Andy hurried off, followed by the three chums on the run.
He led them to the rear end of a telescoped car. There, pinned under a pile of seats, was a gray haired man, his white locks stained with blood. He was groaning feebly.
With a quick eye Jerry saw one particular plank that was holding the others like a wedge. He caught up a hammer and, with a few heavy blows, knocked the splintered timber out of place. Then he and the other boys were able to lift the man out. As they carried him to where the other wounded were lying on improvised cots, the wounded passenger murmured:
“Jess!—Jess!—Where are you? Jess! Jess!”