He cursed weakly as Banneker, without answering, re-stowed his packet
and ran on.

A thin wisp of smoke rising above the nearer wall of rocks made the
agent set his teeth. Throughout his course the voice of the engine had,
as it were, yapped at his hurrying heels, but now it was silent, and he
could hear a murmur of voices and an occasional shouted order. He came
into sight of the accident, to face a bewildering scene.

Two hundred yards up the track stood the major portion of the train,
intact. Behind it, by itself, lay a Pullman sleeper, on its side and
apparently little harmed. Nearest to Banneker, partly on the rails but
mainly beside them, was jumbled a ridiculous mess of woodwork, with here
and there a gleam of metal, centering on a large and jagged boulder.
Smaller rocks were scattered through the _mélange_. It was exactly like
a heap of giant jack-straws into which some mischievous spirit had
tossed a large pebble. At one end a flame sputtered and spread
cheerfully.

A panting and grimy conductor staggered toward it with a pail of water
from the engine. Banneker accosted him.

"Any one in--"

"Get outa my way!" gasped the official.

"I'm agent at Manzanita."

The conductor set down his pail. "O God!" he said. "Did you bring any