Cora was frantically pulling on the brake lever. Her face was now
white with fear, but even in the midst of this terror she felt a
curious calmness. It was just as if she were looking at some picture
of the scene. She thought she was miles and miles away. Her foot was
pressed down so hard on the brake pedal that it felt as if her shoe
would burst off.

But the car slid along, nearer and nearer the track, along which the
train was thundering--rushing to meet the auto-to annihilate it.

"Stop! Stop!" screamed Isabel. "Stop!" She rose in her seat.

"Sit down!" commanded Cora.

"But stop!" pleaded Isabel. "We'll all be killed! Stop! Oh, Cora,
stop!"

"I'm trying to!" was the grim reply. "But--I can't the brake--the
brake is jammed!"

The last words came out jerkily, for Cora was pulling on the brake
handle with all her force.

Nearer and nearer sounded the approaching train. The auto was
sliding down the hill with ever-increasing speed, but Cora never let
go her hold of the steering wheel.

Once more she tried to pull the brake lever. It would not come back
another notch. The engineer of the train was blowing more frantic
signals. He leaned from his cab window and motioned the auto back.