"Which man is that?"
The first doctor pointed to Shackmiller, who was being carried into the hospital car.
"He has a fractured skull," went on the doctor who had made the first examination. "He's the worst hurt of the lot. It was a mighty lucky accident otherwise."
Two engines had come with the relief train, and also a big wrecking derrick. Now that the passengers—injured as well as those not hurt—were being looked after, the wrecking crew turned their attention to saving as much of the railroad property as possible.
By means of a switch, the empty freight cars were pulled away, so that no more of them, save those entangled in the locomotive, would burn. Then the passenger coaches were pulled out of the way, some of them having to be put back on the rails. Others were lifted to one side, as so much junk, for in a railroad wreck, after the saving of life, next in importance comes the "clearing of the line," so that traffic may not be held up any longer than necessary.
With as many of the cars cleared away as possible, the wrecking crew next attacked the fire. There was no water with which to fight it, but chemical extinguishers were used, and with long poles and axes the burning timbers were torn apart, so as to afford the flames less to feed on. In a remarkably short time, comparatively speaking, the scene of the wreck was much changed, and something like order was brought out of chaos.
"Get aboard! Get aboard the relief train, those who wish to go on to their destinations!" called the conductor.
"I guess that means us; doesn't it?" asked Andy.
"Sure it does," asserted Frank.
"Unless you're going to back out," added Billy.