Over and over they rolled, each trying to shield himself as much as he could by the overcoat he wore. Jack went down to the bottom of the hill on his head, and poor Andy came over him, striking his forehead on a railroad tie, the blow rendering him unconscious.
Boxy slid along on his chest to one side, and crashed into a mass of brush with such force that his clothing was torn to ribbons, and his face and hands were scratched in a dozen places.
Harry struck on his back, and turned half-a-dozen different ways before he could stop himself. When finally he did come to a halt, it was within two feet of the railroad tracks.
The powerful locomotive rushed past, followed by the tender and two cars. Then there was a series of sharp jerks as the lever was reversed by the engineer, the tracks were sanded, and the long train came to a sudden halt. The conductor and several brakemen were out almost instantly, demanding to know what was the matter.
“Come pretty near running over that crowd!” cried out the engineer. “If they had not jumped, I reckon I would have killed most of ’em.”
“I don’t see any toboggan,” returned the conductor.
“I smashed that to kindling wood. There’s part of it on the cowcatcher, and the rest is on the other side of the track.”
“By George! that’s so. You can count yourselves mighty lucky, boys,” went on the conductor, to Jack, who was getting up slowly.
“I suppose so,” returned Jack, briefly, and then he turned to where Andy was lying, and bent over his younger brother. “Andy! Andy! are you hurt very badly?”
“Jack!” murmured the half-unconscious boy. “Oh, my head!”