“How long are we likely to be delayed, conductor?”

The speaker was Shirley, and the date was one week from the day on which the girl, by her daring ride, had saved scores in the Illinois town and in the valley from perishing in the flood.

Shirley and her friend Mabel had left their chum’s home the day before. In the morning they caught a train out of St. Louis, and now, in the afternoon, they had learned that their train would be held indefinitely in Indianapolis because of a serious wreck ahead.

“There is no telling, miss,” was the conductor’s answer to Shirley’s question. “The wreck is a bad one, and it is impossible to say just when the track will be cleared. If we wait for that, it is likely to be hours. We may, however, be routed over some other line. I shall know within a quarter of an hour.”

“Thank you,” replied Shirley, and the two girls continued to pace up and down alongside their car.

Half an hour later the conductor approached them.

“The wreck is more serious than at first reported,” he said, “and because of some unknown reason we cannot be routed over another line. Therefore, it will be at least six hours before we will leave.”

“My gracious,” said Shirley, “we can make better time than that by taking the Interurban.”

“Yes,” said the conductor, “and in that way you can reach Cincinnati in time to catch the 6 o’clock L. & N., which will put you in Paris at ten. If you wait for us you will have to remain all night in Cincinnati.”

Shirley turned to Mabel.

“Let’s get our things and hurry and catch the trolley car,” she said.

The two girls boarded the delayed train and hastily collected their belongings. The conductor was courteous enough to see them to a taxicab, which soon whirled them across the city. Here they found that they could get an electric car in fifteen minutes, which, barring accidents, would get them in Cincinnati in ample time for the six o’clock train south.

The girls climbed aboard the car, settled themselves comfortably, and fell to talking. At last the car started, and soon they were beyond the city and whirling along rapidly.

For an hour they rode, the car stopping occasionally to take on or to discharge passengers; and then, suddenly, slackening slightly to round rather a sharp curve, the car dashed forward again; and there came a sharp cry from passengers in the front seats.

At the same instant the motorman reversed his power, and there was a terrific jolt. Prompt as the motorman’s action had been it had not been prompt enough.

A terrible shock followed as the car dashed into another coming along the single track from the opposite direction. There was a crash of splintering wood and then cries of pain and terror from the passengers.

The first outcry had told all on the car that a disaster was about to occur, and the passengers had sprung to their feet even before the crash—all but Mabel and Shirley.

Glancing quickly out the window, Mabel had perceived the other car bearing down on them, and started to rise. But Shirley saw it at the same moment, and throwing out her hand quickly, she grasped her friend by the arm and pulled her back into her seat.

“Sit still!” she commanded.

When the shock came, Shirley, sitting next to the window, was hurled back over her seat with terrible force, while broken glass was showered upon her. Then, as the car crumpled, in some unaccountable manner both girls were hurled through the air some distance away, where they both lay for a moment, stunned.

Shirley was the first to come to herself, and her thought was of her friend. Although she reeled dizzily, she succeeded in pulling herself (unconsciously) to her feet, and at a first glance about her saw Mabel lying near. Shirley staggered to the side of her chum and bent down.

She raised the girl’s head to her knee and rubbed the cold face with her hand.

“Mabel! Mabel!” she called anxiously.

There was no reply, and again Shirley gave her attention to trying to revive her friend. At last her efforts were rewarded.

Mabel’s head moved slightly, and Shirley, bending closer, saw a faint color come into her face. At last she opened her eyes, and said feebly:

“What is it? What has happened?”

“Wreck,” was the brief reply, “and we are both lucky not to have been killed. How do you feel? Where are you hurt?”

“I feel a little dizzy,” said Mabel, making an attempt to get to her feet, but falling back. “I don’t believe I am hurt very much, though.”

A second time she tried to get to her feet and this time she succeeded. She took one look at Shirley’s face and then seized her friend in her arms.

“Shirley!” she exclaimed. “Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

“Hurt?” repeated Shirley, starting back.

“Yes, your face is covered with blood.”

Shirley passed her hand over her face and it came away red.

“I—I—didn’t know I was hurt,” she said in surprise.

Looking about, Mabel saw a pool of water nearby. Quickly she ran to it and wet her handkerchief. Then she ran back and proceeded to wash her friend’s face.

“It’s not bad,” she said, after an examination. “Looks like a piece of glass had cut you. It’s stopped bleeding, though.”

“Good,” laughed Shirley, and would have said more, but that her attention was attracted by a shout from behind.

Turning, she beheld a terrible sight.

There, not twenty yards away, in a tangled heap, lay the two cars, and even as Shirley turned a small tongue of flame crept from the wreckage.

“Fire!” cried Shirley and, turning quickly, she ran toward the cars. Mabel followed her.

Beside the cars men were rushing hurriedly about, grim-faced and silent.

“Half a dozen women are pinioned beneath the wreck,” replied one man briefly to Shirley’s questioning.

Shirley shuddered, as did Mabel.

“Horrible,” said the latter.

The girls drew closer; then stopped to watch the work of rescue.

The flame had now grown from the size of a man’s hand to something large, and it was plain even to the girls’ inexperienced eyes that it was only a question of minutes until those buried beneath the wreckage would be burned alive, did not help come at once.

A sudden cry of anguish came not twenty feet from where the girls stood and, glancing in the direction of the cry, Shirley beheld the head of a little girl of perhaps ten years protruding from beneath the dÉbris.

“Poor thing,” she cried, and dashed forward.

Mabel followed.

In vain did the tot struggle to extricate herself from beneath the wreckage. Crying and screaming, she continued her futile efforts.

At sight of the two girls dashing toward her she cried even more piteously than before.

Shirley caught hold of one arm that was extended, and pulled. Again and again she tried, but in vain; and the harder she pulled the harder the child cried.

Mabel stooped close and made an examination.

“There seems to be a wheel on her foot,” she said, “and she is not strong enough to pull herself from under it.”

Shirley let loose of the tot’s arm, and stooped over the child. Then she rose swiftly, determination written upon her face.

“You pull the child by the arm when I say, ‘Ready!’” she called.

“What are you going to do?” asked Mabel anxiously.

“Never mind,” was the reply. “Just do as I say, and hurry.”

Mabel said no more but, according to Shirley’s instructions, took the little one by the arm and stood ready to pull when Shirley gave the word.

Stooping so that her head was under the edge of the wreck, Shirley poked forth a dainty foot and by burrowing a bit with her toe, at last found the child’s foot beneath the wheel. Then, leaning forward and straining every muscle of arms and limbs, the heavy iron wheel was raised from the ground.

“Ready!” she called to Mabel.

Mabel pulled, and the little girl, still crying and screaming, came from under the wreck.

But the strain upon Shirley had been terrible, and no sooner had the child been dragged to safety, than Shirley’s strength gave out, and the wheel settled down upon her own foot.

She did not cry out, but Mabel’s quick eyes detected her friend’s plight. She uttered an exclamation of dismay and hurried to her aid.

“Shirley!” was all she could say.

With her foot pinned beneath the wheel, Shirley smiled at her.

“I’m caught,” she said simply. “How is the little girl?”

Mabel bent over, and examined her chum’s predicament. Then she laid hold of the wheel and attempted to lift it.

“I can’t move it,” she said, and continued to tug desperately at the wheel and heavy axle.

“You had better call some one to help you,” said Shirley calmly.

Mabel gave up her attempt to lift the wheel and hurried to the opposite side of the tangled wreckage, where she could hear men at work trying to pull other victims from beneath the heap.

The heat from the flames that now almost enveloped the wreck was becoming more intense. It was almost unbearable, and Shirley, imprisoned as she was, stretched as far as possible from the fire.

At Mabel’s call for aid, one of the men gave up his position with the others and followed her to where Shirley lay. It was but the work of a moment for him to lift the wheel sufficiently for Mabel to help Shirley from beneath it.

Shirley arose and tried her foot. It pained her, but hasty examination showed that it was simply bruised. Painfully, assisted by Mabel, she limped after the man, who had raised the wheel, to the opposite side of the wreck, where rescuers were even at that moment pulling the last of the victims from under the cars, away from the tongues of flame.