"Yes. For my report."

"Got a name with the initials I. O. W.?"

Banneker ran through the roster in the pocket-ledger. "Not yet. Some one
that's hurt?"

"Don't know what became of her. Peach of a girl. Black hair, big,
sleepy, black eyes with a fire in 'em. Dressed _right_. Traveling alone,
and minding her own business, too. Had a stateroom in that Pullman there
in the ditch. Noticed her initials on her traveling-bag."

"Have you seen her since the smash?"

"Don't know. Got a kind of confused recklection of seeing her wobbling
around at the side of the track. Can't be sure, though. Might have been
me."

"Might have been you? How could--"

"Wobbly, myself. Mixed in my thinks. When I came to I was pretty busy
putting my lunch," explained the other with simple realism. "One of Mr.
Pullman's seats butted me in the stomach. They ain't upholstered as soft
as you'd think to look at 'em. I went reeling around, looking for Miss
I. O. W., she being alone, you know, and I thought she might need some
looking after. And I had that idea of having seen her with her hand to
her head dazed and running--yes; that's it, she was running. Wow!" said
the young man fervently. "She was a pretty thing! You don't suppose--" He
turned hesitantly to the file of bodies, now decently covered with