A coach had caught fire. Flash hurried there, helping a brakeman pull two shrieking women from the debris. By working furiously they were able to make certain that no one had been left under the wreckage. Soon the car was a blazing inferno, adding to the terror of the frightened survivors.
“What caused the wreck?” Flash demanded of the brakeman.
“Rail out of place,” the man answered grimly.
“Done deliberately to derail the train?”
“Can’t say,” the other replied. “Not allowed to talk.”
The rapidly darkening sky increased the difficulty of rescue work. Flash toiled on, unaware of fatigue.
As the first truckload of doctors, nurses, and stretcher bearers arrived from Columbia, he made his way back to the car which he and Joe had occupied throughout the journey. The Pullman was overturned but had not been crushed. Nearly all passengers riding in it had escaped with only minor injuries.
The car was now deserted. Flash crawled inside. Locating his former seat he groped about in the dark. Almost at once his hand encountered Joe Wells’ luggage, and a moment later he found his own camera.
Eagerly, he examined the lens and tested the mechanism.
“This is luck with a capital L,” he exulted. “It doesn’t seem to be damaged.”