Out of the grimy smoke two figures slowly loomed up; one carried the other on his back; whether shanty men or not, no one could tell. The crowd, no longer controlled by the foreman, surged about the opening. Ready hands were held out, but the man carrying his comrade waved them aside and staggered on, one hand steadying his load, the other hanging loose. The big foreman started to rush in, but stopped. Something in the burdened man's eye had checked him, it was as if a team were straining up a steep hill, making any halt fatal. “It's the boss and the clerk!” shouted the foreman. “Fall back, men,--fall back, damn ye!” The man came straight on, reached the lips of the opening, lunged heavily to the right, tried to steady his burden and fell headlong. CHAPTER XV The street lamps were already lighted on the following afternoon--when Ruth, with Peter and Miss Felicia, alighted at the small station of Corklesville. All through the day she had gone over in her mind the words of the despatch: Explosion in tunnel. MacFarlane hurt--serious--will recover. Break news gently to daughter. Bolton Asst. Engineer Other despatches had met the party on the way down; one saying, “No change,” signed by the trained nurse, and a second one from Bolton in answer to one of Peter's: “Three men killed--others escaped. MacFarlane's operation successful. Explosion premature.” Their anxiety only increased: Why hadn't Jack telegraphed? Why leave it to Bolton? Why was there no word of him,--and yet how could Bolton have known that Peter was with Ruth, except from young Breen. In this mortal terror Peter had wired from Albany: “Is Breen hurt?” but no answer had been received at Poughkeepsie. There had not been time for it, perhaps, but still there was no answer, nor had his name been mentioned in any of the other telegrams. That in itself was ominous. This same question Ruth had asked herself a dozen times. Jack was to have had charge of the battery--he had told her so. Was he one of the killed?--why didn't somebody tell her?--why hadn't Mr. Bolton said something?--why--why--Then the picture of her father's mangled body would rise before her and all thought of Jack pass out of her mind. As the train rolled into the grimy station she was the first to spring from the car; she knew the way best, and the short cut from the station to where her father lay. Her face was drawn; her eyes bloodshot from restrained tears--all the color gone from her cheeks. “You bring Aunt Felicia, Uncle Peter,--and the bags;--I will go ahead,” she said, tying her veil so as to shield her face. “No, I won't wait for anything.”