"Get that door open," he shouted at Joan, above the hissing steam. "Don't jump till I say the word. Trying to make a flat place. You hear?"
Joan nodded. There were deep gullies on either side. She glanced over her shoulder. The engine seemed almost on top of them—But Archie kept his eye on his mirror.
"Can't make it," he said suddenly. "All ready? Now! Jump!"
To the after mortification of her entire life, Joan could not move. She understood the necessity, her head was quite clear and calm, but her limbs refused her bidding.
The next instant he had seized her, tossed her out like a bundle, she was falling—falling....
There came a crash, the splintering of glass and iron.
Long after she was able to, Joan dared not open her eyes. She fought back the coming of consciousness, tried not to think.
She was on a moving something—a wagon perhaps, or a train. There was murmuring of voices near her. She strained her ears. The voices were strange.
She wanted to pray, but could not remember God's name.