<h2 id="c3"><span class="h2line1">CHAPTER III</span> <br/><span class="h2line2"><i>A TRAIN WRECK</i></span></h2>
<p>Flash lay stunned for several minutes, unable to
comprehend that the train actually had been derailed.
Screams of terror and moans of pain mingled
with the shouted orders of the trainmen. The sounds
came to him as if from a long distance away.</p>
<p>Dazedly he sat up, dragging himself from beneath
a pile of twisted steel and splintered wood. Blood
streamed from a gash in his head, but miraculously, he
seemed to have suffered no serious injury.</p>
<p>In the gathering twilight he could see that every
car had left the track. The engine, taking the baggage
car with it, had rolled down a steep embankment.
It lay on its side, belching steam like a wounded
dragon.</p>
<p>Flash pulled himself to his feet and called hoarsely:
“Joe! Joe!”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_23">23</div>
<p>A moan of pain came from beneath a pile of debris
almost at his feet. He saw an arm protruding from
the wreckage. Frantically, he worked at a car seat
which had wedged fast, and finally succeeded in lifting
it off. Joe lay there, his face twisted in agony.</p>
<p>“Go easy,” he muttered. “My leg’s broken. And
my insides are scrambled.”</p>
<p>Flash managed to get a supporting arm under Joe’s
shoulders, but when he raised the man to a half-standing
position, he crumpled back again.</p>
<p>“No use,” the cameraman moaned. “It’s broken.
What a fix! Pictures to the right and left, and me
with a busted leg and no camera! Leave me to die!”</p>
<p>Joe’s spirited complaint slightly reassured Flash.
If his friend could think of pictures, it was unlikely
that he had suffered serious internal injuries. But
there was no question about the leg. It was broken.</p>
<p>Stretching Joe out as comfortably as possible, he
looked about for a board which could be used as a
splint.</p>
<p>“Listen,” said Joe, “you can’t do me any good.
Run to the nearest farmhouse and send out a call for
ambulances and doctors!”</p>
<p>“I don’t like to leave you, Joe.”</p>
<p>“Go on, I say!”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_24">24</div>
<p>Aroused to action, Flash started for the nearest
house, a quarter of a mile away. Crawling beneath a
barbed wire fence, he ran through a plowed field. The
ground was soft from recent rains. He stumbled and
fell flat. Scrambling up, his clothes covered with mud,
he raced on, finally reaching the house.</p>
<p>The kitchen door was opened by a housewife who
screamed when she saw him. In dramatic words,
Flash told what had happened and begged the use of
a telephone.</p>
<p>He called the nearest town of Columbia and was
promised that all available aid would be rushed to the
scene. Then, as an afterthought, he dispatched a
telegram to the <i>Brandale Ledger</i>, providing the first
news of the train disaster.</p>
<p>Followed by the excited housewife, her husband,
and a hired man, Flash ran back to the wreck.</p>
<p>Confusion had increased. Frantic persons moved
in a bewildered way from one place to another, searching
for loved ones. Already a number of inert bodies
had been removed from the wreckage. Only the trainmen
seemed cool and effective in their actions.</p>
<p>A coach had caught fire. Flash hurried there, helping
a brakeman pull two shrieking women from the
debris. By working furiously they were able to make
certain that no one had been left under the wreckage.
Soon the car was a blazing inferno, adding to the terror
of the frightened survivors.</p>
<p>“What caused the wreck?” Flash demanded of the
brakeman.</p>
<p>“Rail out of place,” the man answered grimly.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_25">25</div>
<p>“Done deliberately to derail the train?”</p>
<p>“Can’t say,” the other replied. “Not allowed to
talk.”</p>
<p>The rapidly darkening sky increased the difficulty
of rescue work. Flash toiled on, unaware of fatigue.</p>
<p>As the first truckload of doctors, nurses, and
stretcher bearers arrived from Columbia, he made his
way back to the car which he and Joe had occupied
throughout the journey. The Pullman was overturned
but had not been crushed. Nearly all passengers
riding in it had escaped with only minor injuries.</p>
<p>The car was now deserted. Flash crawled inside.
Locating his former seat he groped about in the dark.
Almost at once his hand encountered Joe Wells’ luggage,
and a moment later he found his own camera.</p>
<p>Eagerly, he examined the lens and tested the mechanism.</p>
<p>“This is luck with a capital L,” he exulted. “It
doesn’t seem to be damaged.”</p>
<p>Continuing the search, he located his equipment
case which provided him with a stock of flash bulbs
and film holders.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_26">26</div>
<p>Without losing another moment, he began making a
photographic record of the disaster. First he shot an
over-all scene, showing the general wreckage. The
derailed engine where two men had lost their lives,
was worth another picture. He took one of the burned
coach, one of the rail which had caused the wreck, and
then turned his attention to human interest shots of
the passengers.</p>
<p>A number of prominent persons had been aboard
the train. Whenever he recognized a passenger he
snapped a picture, but he wasted no film. Every shot
told a story.</p>
<p>Gradually, Flash worked his way forward to where
he had left Joe Wells. Failing to see the newsreel
man he assumed that stretcher bearers had carried
him to a waiting ambulance.</p>
<p>More for his own record than because it had news
possibilities, he shot a picture of the crushed car in
which he had been riding at the time of the wreck. As
the flash went off, he saw a dark figure move back,
away from him.</p>
<p>Reassuringly, he called to the fleeing person.
There was no answer.</p>
<p>Instead, from the railroad right of way, a familiar
voice shouted hoarsely: “That you, Evans?”</p>
<p>“Joe!” he answered.</p>
<p>He found the newsreel man sitting with his back to
a telephone pole where he had dragged himself, there
to await attention from the first available doctor.</p>
<p>“How are you feeling, Joe?” Flash asked him anxiously.</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_27">27</div>
<p>“I’ll see if I can’t get you some blankets. And I’ll
try to bring a doctor.”</p>
<p>“Skip it,” said Joe quietly. “Some of these other
folks need attention a lot worse than I do. I see you
found your camera.”</p>
<p>“Your luggage, too,” Flash told him encouragingly.</p>
<p>“Stow it in a safe place if you can find one,” Joe
advised. “I saw a suspicious-looking fellow going
through one of the cars. Helping himself to what he
could get!”</p>
<p>“I think I must have seen that same man. He
slipped away when I took a picture a moment ago.
The wrecking crew ought to be here soon. They’ll
put a stop to such business.”</p>
<p>“Don’t let me keep you from shooting your pictures,”
said Wells abruptly.</p>
<p>“I’m almost through now.”</p>
<p>As Flash spoke, both men were startled to hear a
moan of pain. The sound came from the wrecked
Pullman close by.</p>
<p>“Some poor fellow pinned under there!” exclaimed
Joe.</p>
<p>Turning his camera and holders over to his friend
for safe keeping, Flash darted to the wreckage. In
the indistinct light he saw a man sitting with head
buried in his hands. The lower portion of his body
seemed to be imprisoned.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_28">28</div>
<p>“Major Hartgrove!” Flash exclaimed, reaching his
side.</p>
<p>The army man stared at the young photographer in
a dazed manner. He kept fumbling in his vest pocket,
mumbling to himself.</p>
<p>“I was struck on the head.... My papers ...
my wallet!”</p>
<p>“I don’t believe anyone struck you, Major,” Flash
corrected. “You were in a wreck.”</p>
<p>“Don’t you think I know that much!” the army
man snapped. “I was struck—struck over the head.”</p>
<p>It occurred to Flash that the Major might have
been struck and robbed by the person he had observed
slipping away into the darkness. But as the man began
to mumble again, he reverted to his original opinion.
The Major had been dazed by the terrific impact
of the wreck and did not know what he was
saying.</p>
<p>Flash tried ineffectively to pull away the heavy
timbers which held the man fast.</p>
<p>“It’s no use,” he gasped at last. “I’ll bring help.”</p>
<p>Leaving the Major, he met two burly trainmen carrying
lighted lanterns. With their aid he finally succeeded
in freeing the army man. As he had feared,
the Major was severely injured. One foot was
crushed and his head had been wounded.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_29">29</div>
<p>A doctor came hurrying up with an emergency kit.
He gave the Major first aid treatment and ordered
stretcher bearers to carry him to a waiting ambulance.
Joe Wells also was given a hasty examination and
transported to the hospital conveyance.</p>
<p>“May I ride along to town?” Flash requested the
driver. “I have some pictures I ought to rush through
to my paper.”</p>
<p>“Jump in,” the man invited. With a quick glance
at the young man, he added: “You don’t look any
too good yourself. Feeling shock?”</p>
<p>Flash sagged into the seat beside the driver.</p>
<p>“I’m feeling something,” he admitted. “I guess I’m
all in.”</p>
<p>Until now excitement had buoyed him, and made
him unaware of either pain or fatigue. He shivered.
His teeth chattered from a sudden chill.</p>
<p>The driver stripped off his own topcoat and made
Flash put it on.</p>
<p>“Better get yourself a bed at the hotel if you can,”
he advised. “You’ll feel plenty in another hour.”</p>
<p>Flash shook his head. With pictures to be sent to
the <i>Brandale Ledger</i>, he couldn’t afford to pamper
himself. He had to keep going until his work was
finished.</p>
<p>“Where is the nearest airport?” he questioned.</p>
<p>“We pass it on our way to Columbia.”</p>
<p>“Then drop me off there,” Flash requested.</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_30">30</div>
<p>A few minutes later he said good-bye to Joe Wells,
promising to come to the hospital as soon as he could.</p>
<p>“Don’t fail,” the newsreel man urged, “there’s
something I want you to do for me.”</p>
<p>At the airport Flash arranged to have his undeveloped
film rushed to the <i>Brandale Ledger</i>. From the
shipment he kept back only shots which he was certain
would be of no use to the editor.</p>
<p>This important duty out of the way, he walked into
town. There he dispatched a lengthy message, reporting
to Riley such facts as he had been able to
gather. Not until then did he allow himself to relax.</p>
<p>Already the town was crowded to overflowing with
survivors of the wreck. Hotels, restaurants and the
railroad station were jammed. Every available bed
had been taken. Flash waited in line twenty minutes
for a hot cup of coffee.</p>
<p>Battered and still chilled, he tramped to the hospital.
Inquiring about Joe Wells and Major Hartgrove,
he was relieved to learn that they both were doing as
well as could be expected. After a long delay he was
allowed to talk with the newsreel cameraman.</p>
<p>At sight of Flash, Joe’s face brightened.</p>
<p>“I thought you’d come,” he said. “Do you know
what the doctor just told me? I’ll be laid up for
weeks!”</p>
<p>“That’s a tough break, Joe.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_31">31</div>
<p>“Yeah. Flash, will you do me a favor?”</p>
<p>“You know I will.”</p>
<p>“Doyle’s expecting me to meet him at Indianapolis
tomorrow morning,” Joe went on jerkily. “He has the
sound wagon and all our equipment.”</p>
<p>“I’ll send him a telegram right away.”</p>
<p>The cameraman shook his head impatiently.</p>
<p>“Listen, Flash,” he said persuasively, “I want you
to take my place. Meet Doyle and protect the <i>News-Vue</i>
people on the race pictures.”</p>
<p>“But I don’t know anything about newsreel work!”
Flash protested.</p>
<p>“Sure you do,” Joe denied. “Doyle can help you a
lot.”</p>
<p>“Riley is expecting me to get pictures for him.”</p>
<p>“You can do that, too. You won’t lose a thing by
helping me out of this hole. It’s a big favor, I know,
but you’re the only person who can swing it for me.
What do you say?”</p>
<p>Flash hesitated briefly. Joe made it all sound very
easy, but he knew it wouldn’t be. Any newsreel pictures
he might take likely would be worthless. The
journey on through the night to Indianapolis meant
sheer torture. But he owed it to his friend to at least
make the attempt.</p>
<p>“I’ll do it, Joe,” he promised. “I’ll do it for you.”</p>
<div class="pagenum" id="Page_32">32</div>
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