allan did his best to force himself to eat, but the strangeness of the hour and the excitement of the promised adventure took all desire for food from him. he managed, however, to drink a cup of coffee, but his hands were trembling so with excitement he could scarcely hold the cup. it was a wreck, and a bad one. how terrible to lose a moment! he was eager to be off. but jack knew from experience the value and need of food while it could be obtained, in view of what might be before them.

“it’ll take ’em some time t’ git’ th’ wreckin’-train ready,” he said. “git our waterproofs, mary.”

but mary had them waiting, as well as a lot of sandwiches. she had been through such scenes before.

“there, stuff your pockets full,” she said to allan. “you’ll want ’em.”

jack nodded assent, and took his share.

“and now, good-bye, mary,” said jack. “no, don’t wake the baby. if we git back by t’-morrer night, we’ll be lucky. come on, allan.”

the snow was still falling heavily as they left the house, and they made their way with some difficulty to the corner of the yards where the wrecking-train stood on its spur of siding. a score of section-men had already gathered, and more were coming up every minute. nobody knew anything definite about the wreck—some one had heard that bill miller, the engineer, was hurt. it seemed they were taking a doctor along, for allan saw his tall form in the uncertain light. and the train-master and division superintendent were with him, talking together in low tones.

jack began checking off his men as they came up and reported.

an engine backed up and coupled on to the wrecking-train, and the men slowly clambered aboard. the switch at the end of the siding was opened.

“how many men have you got, welsh?” asked mr. schofield, the train-master.

“thirty-six, so far, sir.”

“all right. we’ll pick up the gangs on twenty-three and four as we pass. go ahead,” he shouted to the engineer. “we’ve got a clear track to vinton,” and he followed allan and jack up the steps into the car.

there was a hiss of steam into the cylinders and the train pulled slowly out upon the main track, the wheels slipping over the rails at first, but gripping better as the train gathered headway and shot eastward into the whirling snow. operators, switchmen, station-agents, flagmen, all looked out to see it pass. it had only two cars—one, a long flat car loaded with ties and rails, piled with ropes and jacks and crowbars. at one end stood the heavy steel derrick, strong enough to lift even a great mogul of a freight-engine and swing it clear of the track.

in the other car, which looked very much like an overgrown box-car, was the powerful donkey-engine which worked the derrick, more tools, a cooking-stove, and a number of narrow cots. two oil-lanterns swung from the roof, half-illuminating the faces of the men, who sat along the edges of the cots, talking together in low tones.

at byers, the section-gang from twenty-three clambered aboard; at hamden came the gangs from twenty-four and twenty-five. nearly sixty men were crowded together in the car; but there was little noise. it reminded allan of a funeral.

and it was a funeral. the great railroad, binding east to west, was lying dead, its back broken, useless, its circulation stopped. the line was blocked, the track torn up—it was no longer warm, living, vital. it had been torn asunder. it was a mere useless mass of wood and steel. these men were hastening to resurrect it, to make it whole again.

at mcarthur the superintendent came aboard with a yellow paper in his hand,—the conductor’s report of the accident,—and he and the train-master bent their heads together over it. the men watched them intently.

“is it a bad one, sir?” asked jack at last.

“bad enough,” answered the superintendent. “it seems that first ninety-eight broke in two on the grade just beyond vinton. track so slippery they couldn’t hold, and she ran back into the second section. they came together in the cut at the foot of the grade, and fifteen cars loaded with nut coal were wrecked. miller seems the only one hurt, but the track’s torn up badly.”

“nut coal!” said jack, with a whistle. “we’ve got our work cut out for us, boys.”

the men nodded—they knew now what to expect. and they fell to talking together in low tones, telling stories of past wrecks, of feats of endurance in the breathless battle which always follows when this leviathan of steel is torn asunder. but the superintendent had used one word which allan had not wholly understood, and he took the first opportunity to ask jack about it.

“what did mr. heywood mean, jack,” he inquired, “when he said the train broke in two?”

“that’s so,” and jack laughed. “it’s your first one—i’d forgot that. i wish it was mine,” and he forthwith explained just how the accident had probably happened.

a “break-in-two” occurs usually as a train is topping a heavy grade. the unusual strain breaks a coupling-pin or pulls out a draw-bar, and the portion of the train released from the engine goes whirling back down the grade, carrying death and destruction with it, unless the crew can set the brakes and get it stopped. or, on a down-grade, a coupling-pin jumps out and then the two sections come together with a crash, unless the engineer sees the danger in time, and runs away at full speed from the pursuing section. it is only freights that “break in two,” for passenger couplings are made heavy enough to withstand any strain; besides, the moment a passenger-train parts, the air-brakes automatically stop both sections. but to freight crews there is no danger more menacing than the “break-in-two,” although, happily, this danger is gradually growing less and less, with the introduction of air-brakes on freight-cars as well as passenger.

freight-trains, when traffic is heavy, are usually run in sections, with as many cars to each section as an engine can handle. the sections are run as close together as they can be with safety, and, in railroad parlance, the first section of freight-train ninety-eight, for instance, is known as “first ninety-eight”; the second section as “second ninety-eight,” and so on.

in this instance, the first section of train ninety-eight had broken in two at the top of a long grade, and fifteen coal-cars, together with the caboose, had gone hurtling back down the grade, finally crashing into the front end of the second section, which was following about a mile behind. the conductor and brakemen, who were in the caboose, after a vain attempt to stop the runaway cars with the hand-brakes, had jumped off, and escaped with slight bruises, but the engineer and fireman of the second section had had no warning of their danger until the cars swept down upon them out of the storm. there was no time to jump—it would have been folly to jump, anyhow, since the high walls of the cut shut them in on either side; yet the fireman had escaped almost unhurt, only the engineer being badly injured. the impact of the collision had been terrific, and, as the telegram from the conductor stated, fifteen cars had been completely wrecked.

so much the section-men understood from the superintendent’s brief description, and jack explained it to allan, while the others listened, putting in a word of correction now and then.

on and on sped the wrecking-train through the night. the oil-lamps flared and flickered, throwing a yellow, feeble light down into the car, where the men sat crowded together, for the most part silent now, figuring on the task before them. it was evident that it would be no easy one, but they had confidence in their officers,—the same confidence that soldiers have in a general whose ability has been fully tested,—and they knew that the task would be made as easy as might be.

the atmosphere of the car grew close to suffocation. every one, almost, was smoking, and the lamps soon glowed dimly through the smoke like the sun upon a foggy day. outside, the snow still fell, thickly, softly; their engineer could not see the track twenty feet ahead; but the superintendent had told him that the way was clear, so he kept his throttle open and plunged blindly on into the night, for every moment was valuable now; every nerve must be strained to the utmost tension until the task of clearing the track had been accomplished.

so the fireman bent steadily to the work of keeping up steam, clanging the door of the fire-box back and forth between each shovelful of coal, in order to keep the draught full strength. the flames licked out at him each time the door was opened, lighting the cab with yellow gleams, which danced across the polished metal and illumined dimly the silent figure of the engineer peering forward into the storm. the engine rocked and swayed, the wind swirled and howled about it, and tried to hold it back, but on and on it plunged, never pausing, never slackening. any one who was on the track to-night must look out for himself; but, luckily, the right of way was clear, crossing after crossing was passed without accident; the train tore through little hamlets, awakening strange echoes among the darkened houses, and, as it passed, the operator would run out to look at it, and, after a single glance, would rush back to his key, call frantically for “g i,”—the despatcher’s office,—and tick in the message that the wrecking-train had got that far on its journey.

back in the wrecking-car the superintendent had taken out his watch and sat with it a moment in his hand.

“we’re going a mile a minute,” he remarked to the train-master. “higgins is certainly hitting her up.”

the train-master nodded and turned again to the conductor’s report. he was planning every detail of the battle which must be fought.

jack glanced at allan, and smiled.

“you’re wonderin’ how he could tell how fast we’re going, ain’t ye?” he asked.

“yes,” said allan, “i am. how did he tell?”

“by listenin’ t’ th’ click o’ th’ wheels over th’ rails,” answered jack. “each rail’s thirty foot long—that is, there’s a hundred an’ seventy-six to th’ mile. mister heywood probably kept tab on them fer fifteen seconds and counted forty-four clicks, so he knowed we was goin’ a mile a minute.”

“here we are,” remarked the train-master, as the wheels clanked over a switch, and, sure enough, a moment later their speed began to slacken.

jack looked down at allan and grinned again, as he saw the astonishment written on the boy’s face.

“you’re wonderin’ how mr. schofield could tell that, ain’t you?” he asked. “why, bless you, he knows this here division like a book. put him down on any part of it blindfolded and he’ll tell you right where he is. he knows every foot of it.”

perhaps jack exaggerated unconsciously, but there was no doubt that mr. schofield, like every other good train-master, knew his division thoroughly—the location of every switch, the length of every siding, the position of every signal, the capacity of every engine. nay, more, he knew the disposition of every conductor and engineer. when milliken, for instance, wired in a protest that he couldn’t take another load, he would smile placidly and repeat his previous orders; if rogers made the same complaint, he would wire back tersely, “all right.” he knew that milliken was always complaining, while rogers never did without cause. he knew his track, his equipment, and his men—and that is, no doubt, the reason why, to-day, he is superintendent of one of the most important divisions of the system.

the wrecking-train slowed and stopped, and the men clambered painfully to the ground, and went forward to take a look at the task before them. it was evident in a moment that it was a bigger one than any had anticipated—so big, indeed, that it seemed to allan, at least, that it would be far easier to build a new track around the place than to try to open the old one. from side to side of the deep cut, even with the top, the coal was heaped, mixed with splintered boards and twisted iron that had once been freight-cars. high on the bank perched the engine, thrown there by the mighty blow that had been dealt it. on either side were broken and splintered cars, and the track was torn and twisted in a way that seemed almost beyond repair. it was a scene of chaos such as the boy had never before witnessed, and even the old, tried section-men were staggered when they looked at it. it seemed impossible that anything so puny as mere human strength could make any impression upon that tangled, twisted mass.

the doctor hurried away to attend to the injured engineer, who had been removed to the caboose by the crew of the second section, while the officers went forward to look over the battle-field. at the end of three minutes they had prepared their plan of action, and the men responded with feverish energy. great cables were run out and fastened to the shattered frames of the coal-cars, which were dragged out of the mass of wreckage by the engine, and then hoisted from the track and thrown to one side out of the way. the donkey-engine puffed noisily away, while the derrick gripped trucks and wheels and masses of twisted iron and splintered beams, and swung them high on the bank beside the road with an ease almost superhuman. the men went to work with a will, under the supervision of the officers, dragging out the smaller pieces of wreckage. hour after hour they toiled, until, at last, only the coal remained—a great, shifting, treacherous mass—ton upon ton—fifteen car-loads—a veritable mountain of coal. and here the derrick could be of no use—there was only one way to deal with it. it must be shovelled from the track by hand!

it was a task beside which the labours of hercules seemed small by comparison. but no one stopped to think about its enormousness—it had to be done, and done as quickly as possible. in a few moments, sixty shovels were attacking the mighty mass, rising and falling with a dogged persistence which, in the end, must conquer any obstacle.

dawn found the men at this trying work. at seven o’clock hot coffee and sandwiches were served out to them, and they stopped work for ten minutes to swallow the food. at eight, a cold rain began to fall, that froze into sleet upon the ground, so that the men could scarcely stand. still they laboured doggedly on. train-master and superintendent were everywhere, encouraging the men, making certain that not a blow was wasted, themselves taking a hand now and then, with pick or shovel. there was no thought of rest; human nature must be pushed to its utmost limit of endurance—this great leviathan of steel and oak must be made whole again. all along its two hundred miles of track, passengers were waiting, fuming, impatient to reach their destinations; thousands of tons of freight filled the sidings, waiting the word that would permit it to go forward. here in the hills, with scarcely a house in sight, was the wound that stretched the whole system powerless—that kept business men from their engagements, wives from husbands, that deranged the plans of hundreds; ay, more than that, it was keeping food from the hungry, the ice was melting in refrigerator-cars, peaches and apples were spoiling in hot crates, cattle were panting with thirst,—all waiting upon the labours of this little army, which was fighting so valiantly to set things right.