“Look at the fire!” screamed a woman. “Oh, God help him! The car’s afire!”
“He’s gone up, whoever he is,” muttered Jim. “They ain’t an axe nor nuthin’ on board, an’ he’s wedged in fast. But come on, boys! I’ll drop in onct mo’!”
“You go with him,” another man said. “Here, you fellows, I can run fastest; I’ll go to the cabin for an axe. Some of you follow me for some water!”
Demming saw the speaker for an instant,—an erect little figure in a foppish gray suit, with a “cat’s eye” gleaming from his blue cravat. One instant he stood on the piece of timber upon which he had jumped; the next he had flung off his coat, and was speeding down the road like a hare.
“D—— ef ’tain’t the Cunnel,” said Demming.
“Come on!” shouted Talboys, never slackening his speed. “Hurry!”
The men went. Demming, weak with pain, was content to look across the gap between the trains and watch those left behind. The smoke was growing denser now, and tongues of flame shot out between the joints of wood. They said the man was at the other end. Happily, the wind blew the fire from him. Jim and two other men climbed in again. Demming could hear them swearing and shouting. He looked anxiously about, seeking a familiar figure which he could not find. He thought it the voice of his own fears, that cry from within the car. “Good God, it’s the Bishop!” But immediately Jim thrust his head out of the window, and called, “The Bishop’s in hyar! Under the cyar seats! He ain’t hurt, but we cyan’t move the infernal things ter get him out!”
“Oh, Lordy!” groaned the vagabond; “an’ I’m so broke up I cyan’t lif’ a han’ ter help him!”
In desperation, the men outside tried to batter down the car walls with a broken tree limb. Inside, they strained feverishly at the heavy timbers. Vain efforts all, at which the crackling flames, crawling always nearer, seemed to mock.