Jeff left off toiling when this big thing came into action, for it was the first time that he had ever seen one of the machines at work and he could not do other than stand and marvel at its power. But the wreckers kept right on working. They had all stripped themselves of their heavy coats and now worked in sweaters, and many of them even in shirt sleeves, despite the zero weather. And Jeff could see that most of them were sweating with the terrific exertion that the work called for. Indeed he could hardly believe that human beings could keep right on laboring the way they did and not drop from exhaustion. Already he was so tired that he could scarcely swing the ax he had been wielding and yet he realized that he had not done one-tenth part of the work any one of the wreckers had. The realization made him feel almost ashamed of himself, and gritting his teeth, he spat on his hands and prepared once more to wade into the wreckage with the rest of them.
But before he bent to his task, Big Tim Crowley, who had been climbing over the wreckage, jumped down from the slanting roof of a partly crushed car almost alongside of him. Jeff noticed that there was a strange look on the face of the big boss, as he spoke to Tracy, the conductor, who was prying at a stubborn mass with a crowbar.
“Tracy, you sure none o’ your crew was caught in this?”
“Yep, they’re all accounted for. Why?”
“Well, there’s some poor devil pinned down in under that mass toward the other end and the fire’s movin’ up on him fast. I heard him groaning and I located him. He’s pinned down under an up-ended truck with almost a whole freight car piled on top of him. And t’ fire’s creepin’ in there, too. T’ worst of it is he’s too far into the wreck for us to reach him with t’ derrick, before t’ fire gets to him, and if we go digging for him we’ll bring a whole pile of wreckage down on top of him.”
“Great Scott, you don’t say so,” said Tracy, standing up and looking troubled. “I know he ain’t one of my train crew but he might be a hobo. Kahalan said he thought there was a ’bo tryin’ t’ hop aboard when we left t’ yard at New City, but he said it was too danged cold to go out and drive him off t’ bumpers if he did get aboard. Poor devil. I’ll bet that’s who it is an’ he got nipped.”
Others, including Jeff, had stopped working now and were listening. Jeff looked off toward the other end of the wreck where the fire, undiminished in its fury, was eating into the mass of splintered woodwork that had been perfectly good freight cars a few hours since, and shuddered as he realized the horrible position the man was in; as he realized the horrible death that he was facing, pinned in there waiting for the flames to reach him.
“Well, hobo or not, we got to get him out if we can,” snapped Tim. “But t’ worst of it is he’s in about the nastiest place in t’ whole wreck. We can’t cut our way down to him because there’s a truck and twisted brake beams and like of that in the way, an’ if we go pryin’ around tryin’ to clear things out to get at him we’re liable to bring the whole mass slidin’ down on top o’ him and crush him to death. Anyhow, come on, fellows, we’ll see what we can do.”