She felt almost a sensation of nausea at the pit of her stomach.
She did not weep or lose control of herself. But she felt
frightfully helpless.

There seemed nothing to do but to stand there, clinging to the door
handle, and watch the car reeling down the slope at a speed that
promised disaster at the curve, if not before. Never in her life,
in any time of emergency, had Nan Sherwood felt so utterly
helpless.

The girl from the West said not a word. She, too, clung to the
handle and stared through the pane at the crumpled figure of the
motorman on the platform. But she remained thus only for a moment.

Suddenly she swung sideways and pushed Nan away from the door. The
latter tumbled into the nearest seat. Hanging by her left hand to
the door handle, Rhoda Hammond doubled her gloved right and smashed
one of the glass panes in the door.

At the crash of glass Nan sprang to Rhoda's side, and everybody
screamed. The conductor burst open the rear door and started
forward. Rhoda paid no attention to the shouts behind her.

She reached through the broken pane and lifted the latch which held
the two halves of the door together. She flung them apart and
leaped down the single step to the enclosed front platform of the
car, Nan close at her side.

The conductor arrived. But it was the girl from Rose Ranch who did
it all. She seized the controller and turned off the current. Her