"THEY WERE ONLY COWS."
All the time the awful rumbling of the earth went on; it sounded as if the world were turning herself over, and thrashing to and fro in a fit of anger; before every convulsion she uttered a roar which seemed as if it came from a metal ball bowled along a giant alley beneath. It reached its climax by trilling the letter R-r-r-r-r! in a mighty voice. Then came the shock.
Suddenly, as the child was making his way through the horror and desolation of this scene, he felt himself clasped in the outstretched arms of a figure hurrying from the opposite direction. The two came together in the dark with a jolt, and recoiled.
"Goramercy!" said a quavering voice. It was the speech of the old Negro track-walker, taking two days to get to his dying daughter because he could not afford the railroad ticket that would have brought him to her in two hours. Donny recognized the high, cracked, pathetic tones which had addressed him at the station.
"De track's busted!" panted the Negro. "De rails is done gone twist wid de shakes. Dey lays like er heap ob corn-shuck in de win' up yander. Dat ar train don' know hit, an' she'll go to Day ob Jedgment, an' ebery soul aboard ob her! I'se run like de nation fer to warn de town!"
"RUN FOR 'T! RUN!"
"Oh, there isn't any town to warn!" cried Donny. "It's all run off! There isn't anything left but the earthquake and me—and this pup—and nobody to do anything—and my papä's aboard that train! Oh, what shall we do? What shall we do?"
"Run, honey, run!" said the old man, more hopefully. "Mebbe we'll head her off some ways or 'nuther. Run for 't! Run!"