Above us the roof split wide open and let in the sunlight. Passengers were on the seats, the floor, on their heads!
Then, with a final series of creaks and groans, all was still.
Hawkins and I were near the ragged opening which had once been a door. We climbed out to the ground and looked about us.
Providence had been very kind to Hawkins. The Washington express was standing, unexpectedly, at a water tank—part of it, at least. Her huge locomotive lay on its side.
Our two freight cars and two more passenger cars with them were piled up in kindling wood. Even the next car was derailed and badly smashed.
The Alcomotive, too, reclined upon one side and blazed merrily, a fitting tailpiece to the scene.
But not a soul had been killed—we learned that from one of the groups which swarmed from the express, after a muster had been taken of our own passengers. It was a marvel—but a fact.
Hawkins and I edged away slowly.
“Let's get out o' this!” he whispered hoarsely. “There's that infernal conductor. He seems to be looking for some one.”
We did get out of it. In the excitement we sneaked down by the express, past it, and struck into the hills.