The Promise
Page 8
CHAPTER VII
THE WRECK
The early darkness of late autumn settled over the flat country. Tinylights twinkled from distant farmhouses as the Limited plowed throughthe night.
The athletic young man continued to stare moodily out of the window.
The black expanse of country became more thickly studded with lights.They flashed in the foreground in regular constellations as the trainwhizzed with undiminished speed past tall block towers and tinysuburban stations.
Long parallel rows, narrowing to a point under a distant hazy nimbus,marked the course of the outreaching arteries of a great city. Warningbells clanged peremptorily at the lowered gates of grade crossings.
The car wheels crashed noisily over an ever-increasing number of frogsand switch points, an occasional brilliantly illuminated trolley carcrept slowly over its rails, and the hundreds of green and red andyellow lights of the widening railroad yards lent a variety of color tothe scene.
That infallible harbinger of an approaching terminal, the coloredporter, had appeared in the doorway, whisk-broom in hand,when--suddenly--there was a grinding jar; the heavy coach trembledthrough its length, and from forward came a muffled roar followed bythe tearing crash of riven metal.
The car reared upward--higher and higher it climbed to theaccompaniment of the terrible crunching grind that proclaims undirectedpower and benumbs the brain with the horrid possibilities of energyuncontrolled. When almost perpendicular the sleeper toppled and crashedsidewise across other tracks at right angles to its course.
New sounds supplanted the mighty noise of tearing and rending--littlesounds--the sharp jangle of smashing glass, and the thin wail of aninfant. These were borne to the young man's ears as from a distance.
It was very dark and he was conscious of a great weight which seemed tobe crushing the breath from his body. He raised his arms and tore atthe thing on his chest. It yielded slightly to the pressure of hishands but remained immovable. He reached above it and encounteredmetal--a large iron cylinder with projecting pipes twisted and bent.Frantically he tore at the weight, exerting to the utmost the mightystrength of his shoulders. Inch by inch he worked it sidewise, usingthe pipes as levers until at length it rolled free and settled with acrash among the wreckage at his side. The other--the thing thatyielded--he lifted easily and sat up, filling his exhausted lungs withgreat drafts of cool air.
His head ached terribly. He passed his hand across his forehead andwithdrew it wet and dripping. He struck a match and as the tiny flameflickered and went out he struck another and another.
At his side lay the torso of the young reporter, his head mashed by theheavy water-cooler. He shuddered as he realized that this was the thinghe had lifted from his chest.
In the opposite corner the elderly man struggled to release his armfrom the grip of a wedging timber. The body of the porter, doubledgrotesquely, partially protruded from under a seat.
His last match died out and he crept to the side of the imprisoned man.A heave at the timber satisfied him as to the futility of accomplishinganything in the darkness and without tools.
He stood erect and groped for the door of the compartment which helocated in the ceiling almost directly above him. Drawing himselfthrough the aperture, he made the narrow passage, but such was theposition of the car that it was only with the greatest difficulty hesucceeded in worming his way along, using the dividing wall as a floor.
He gained the body of the coach, and from the darkness about him camegroans and curses mingled with great gasping sobs, and that mostterrible of all sounds, the shriek of a woman in the night-time.
He located a window and, smashing the glass with his elbow, crawledthrough.
From every direction men were running toward the scene of the wreck,calling to each other in hoarse, throaty bellows, while here and therein the darkness lanterns flashed.
Sick and dizzy he lowered himself to the ground and staggered acrosssome tracks. He snatched a lantern from the hand of a bewilderedswitchman and stumbled again toward the overturned car.
Others swarmed upon it. He heard the blows of axes and the smashing ofglass. Already an army of men were engaged in the work of rescue.
Inert forms were passed through windows into waiting arms to bedeposited in long, ghastly rows upon the cinders of the road-bed, underthe flaring torches. A cold, drizzling rain was falling and the smellof smoke was in the air.
A group of firemen hurried past carrying hand-extinguishers. Thelantern-light gleamed wetly upon their black rubber coats and metalhelmets, from under the brims of which their set faces showed grimlywhite. Far up the track an ambulance gong clanged frantically.
The young man reentered the coach through a window and made his wayslowly toward the smoking compartment, pushing his lantern before him.Reaching the door, he peered over the edge.
Some one was kneeling beside the elderly man, working swiftly by thenarrow light of an electric pocket lamp. As his eyes became accustomedto the dim light of the interior, he realized that the elderly manseemed to be resisting the efforts of the other who knelt upon hisunpinioned arm. From between the lips, which were forced wide apart,protruded the ends of a handkerchief--he was gagged!
The hands of the kneeling man worked rapidly, but not in the pryingloose of the timber which lay across the other's arm. From the sidepocket of his coat, where it evidently had been hurriedly thrust,dangled a watch chain which the young man recognized as belonging tothe dead reporter.
Suddenly the atrocity of the situation dawned upon him. He had heard ofsuch things, of the ghouls who haunt the scenes of great disaster,preying upon the bodies of the dead--robbing the helpless.
With a curse he seized the wirebound railway lantern. At the sound theman looked up--it was the cigar salesman. The young man swung theweapon with all his might. It cut the air in a descending arc, but theother avoided the blow and the heavy lantern crashed against the walland went out.
Without an instant's hesitation he dived through the opening and metthe fiend as he was rising to his feet. Together they rolled among thewreckage. While no match for his antagonist in size, the pickpocket wastough and wiry and apparently uninjured. He fought viciously, with theviolence of desperation.
The athlete could hear the voice of the elderly man, who with his freehand had torn the gag from his mouth, roaring encouragement. Hereceived a stinging blow on the cheek from which the warm blood gushedinstantly. Knucks, he thought, the cur!
Suddenly his groping hand came in contact with the other's throat justabove the rim of his collar. Instantly his fingers closed aboutyielding flesh, their ends biting deep between the muscles.
As the clutch tightened the man redoubled his efforts. His body writhedand he lashed out furiously with hands and feet. Blows rained upon theyoung man's head but he burrowed close, shielding his face--and alwayshis grip tightened--the finger ends drawing closer and closer together.
He was only half-conscious now and the blows ceased to hurt. Heexperienced a sense of falling from a great height. His subconsciousmind concentrated upon one idea--to maintain his hold. He must griptighter and ever tighter.
The other ceased to struggle and lay limp beneath his body, but of thishe knew nothing. The muscles of his arms were rigid, the clampedfingers, nearly together now, were locked, and all the world was ablank.