"Is he killed?"
"No; he's alive. He's coming around now."
Phil sat up and rubbed his eyes.
All at once he understood what had happened. He staggered to his feet holding to a man standing beside him.
"Why don't you do something?" cried Phil. "Don't you know there are people in that car?"
"It's burning up. Nobody dares get in till the wreckers can get here and smash in the side of the car," was the answer.
"What?" fairly screamed Phil Forrest. "Nobody dares go in that car? Somebody does dare!"
"Come back, come back, Phil! You can't do anything," shouted a fellow performer.
But the lad did not even hear him. He was leaping, falling and rolling down the bank, regardless of the danger that he was approaching, for the flames already showed through a broken spot in the roof of the car, which was lying half on its side at the foot of the embankment.
Without an instant's hesitation Phil, as he came up alongside, raised a foot, smashing out the remaining pieces of glass in a window. Then he plunged in head first.