And now Jack, brave Jack, was all alone in his struggle. Blinded by the wind and the pouring rain, he could scarcely see one iron girder of the trestle. Standing with difficulty and swaying dizzily, he waited until a flash of lightning showed the way before him for one blinding second. In that second he calculated the distance between the girders and now crept on from girder to girder over those hungry waters that seemed to leap at him in an attempt to drag him down into their raging depths.
Once he slipped and fell between the girders and for an instant thought that he was lost, but with cat-like agility he caught at a projecting beam, and, though the angry waters dashed over him and sought to break his hold, they could not, and he pulled himself slowly back to the trestle.
No standing up now! He had learned the danger of that. On hands and knees, drenched by rain and river, buffeted by the terrible wind that tore at him like some living enemy determined on his destruction, he crawled painfully along inch by inch and foot by foot.
His hands, torn and bleeding from his desperate attempts to hold onto the rough iron, almost refused to obey his will. The cold wind and rain chilled him to the marrow and it was only his strong, determined will and dauntless heart that held him to his task.
It seemed to him that he was going so slowly, so terribly slowly, when there was such need of haste. He must hurry! He told himself that the short hour before the train was due must already be gone.
At any moment now he might hear that dreaded whistle and see the monster train bearing down upon him. What if it should come while he was still on the trestle?
For a moment he stopped overwhelmed, controlled only by that physical fear of death that is common to us all. The thought of going down into that swirling flood and yielding his young life to those merciless waves was more than he could bear. Only for a moment did this thought sway him. Almost instantly the realization that upon him depended other lives, and that he must hurry if he would hope to save them restored his courage and banished every thought of self. Again he crept on, trying to hurry and constantly beaten and held back by wind and rain.
On, on, he crept, with bleeding fingers, toward the end of the trestle. Would he never reach it? The downpour of rain lessened, and it grew lighter. He strained his eyes, and, yes! there before him, only a few yards distant now, was the end of the bridge and beyond it, wet rails glistening, the track stretched away.
Rising to his feet, Jack looked eagerly, searchingly along that track. Nothing in sight, he told himself exultingly. He was going to be in time!
The storm was over now, and in the clearer light he hurried along, his bleeding hands and bruised knees forgotten in the joyful thought that he was going to succeed—but at this moment there was a terrible crash and noise of breaking and splintering wood, and he stood transfixed at the sight before him.