Bob
Burns, who was pulling the flyer that night, saw the signal, and
immediately applied the emergency brakes. Then he looked again and the
red-light was gone. But caution is a magic watchword with all railroad
men, and he stopped. Climbing down out of the cab of the engine, he took
his torch, and started out to investigate. He didn't have far to go,
when he came upon the limp, inanimate form of Mary Marsh, the
extinguished red-light tightly clasped in her cold little hand.
"My God! Mike," he yelled to his fireman, "it's a woman. Why, hang me,
if it isn't the little lady from Dunraven. Wonder what she is doing out
here." He wasn't long in ignorance, because a brakeman sent out ahead
saw that the bridge had gone.
Rough, but kindly hands, bore her tenderly into the sleeper, and under
the ministrations of her own sex, she soon came around. So soon as she
had seen the flyer stopping she realized that she had succeeded and
womanlike--she fainted. Her clothes were torn to tatters, and taken all
in all this little heroine was a most woebegone specimen of humanity.
A wrecking office was cut in by the baggageman, who happened to be an
old lineman, and she sent the message to "DS," telling him of the wreck.
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