The wrecking train from Oxford was on the scene, and a big crew was at work clearing the rails. But Ralph saw that he would be very late when he pulled into Hammerfest that morning. He saw Frank Haley, and the detective told him that, without a doubt, the wreck had been caused by ghouls working in the pay of the wildcat strike leaders. “They knocked out one of our guards, and he only came to after the accident had occurred. He is in the hospital car. He tells me a curious thing, Fairbanks.” “What is that?” asked the young engineer. “He says that at least one of the men who attacked him had his head and face muffled in a flour sack. He had cut a hole through it to see through. Didn’t that fellow at Hardwell report that the bandit that held him up and robbed the station the other night was masked in that way?” “He did. I talked with Fiske myself,” Ralph agreed. “And I had my doubts then that the fellow was merely a robber. In this case it seems to be proved that he did not wreck the train to rob the passengers.” “Nothing like that! It was just a ghastly thing, planned to injure the road. If we could only connect this fellow in the flour-sack mask with Andy McCarrey and his co-workers, we would have a case that would surely send Andy over the road to the penitentiary.” “I hope you get the evidence,” said Ralph heartily. Ralph’s interest, however, was much more closely held by another thing. Where was Cherry Hopkins? Had she been injured? Was she one of those who were in the hospital car that had been brought down from Oxford coupled to the wrecking train? Leaving the detective, Ralph hurried to the hospital car. A doctor who had come down from Shadow Valley Station was just coming out. “Nothing much I can do,” he said cheerfully. “Everybody is in good trim. A pretty case of compound fracture, a comminuted fracture of the left arm, a broken nose and possibly two cases of rib fracture—can’t really tell without an X-ray examination. And——” “But who are the cases, Doctor?” Ralph asked in anxiety. “Are they men or women, or—or girls?” “No young people hurt at all. I should say the youngest patient was thirty-five years of age.” “Great!” exclaimed the young fellow, with a sigh of relief. The doctor stared at him, then grinned. “You’re a sympathetic person—I don’t think!” But Ralph did not stop to explain. He hurried away to mix with the passengers of the wrecked train who hung upon the fringe of the scene where the wreckers were hard at work. He saw few feminine passengers in these groups, and nowhere did he see the face and figure he was in search of. He entered the cars still standing on the rails and walked through from one end to the other. Cherry Hopkins was in none of them. He hesitated at first to speak to anybody about the girl, but finally he saw the conductor of the wrecked accommodation.