Then the couplings parted.
The end car, turning over and over, struck the river a hundred feet below and impaled itself on a jagged spur of rock hidden under the swirl of waters.
Dean had been battered to insensibility before the car reached the rocks.
He awoke to consciousness through the agonized dream that fiends were staking him down under water and torturing him by letting the water rise higher and higher, until finally he would be drowned by inches.
He awoke, struggling frantically, to the reality which had dictated the dream.
Waters were swirling around him, and his legs were pinned fast in the wreckage of the car tilted up on end amongst the sunken rocks. Burning pains shot through him. Far up above on the bridge men were shouting and rushing wildly.
He screamed out for help. A wave dashed at him and choked the scream on his lips. He struggled to free himself from the wreckage that pinned him fast, and blinding pain drove him to unconsciousness again.
As he awoke for the second time, a groan near by made him twist his head to see who it might come from. It was the minister, held fast amongst the splintered wreckage of the car, his face streaming red from a jagged gash in his grey head.
"I can't get to you! I'm helpless!" cried Dean.
The minister answered very simply: "My friend, see to yourself. The Lord has called me to his side."