As they swung past Parker's Run a little farther on, Dan saw the freight, or, rather, what was left of it, on the siding. It had been cutting out four flat-cars loaded with ties, and he understood the difficulty at a glance. On the main track a brick-and-stone culvert spanned the Run, but the siding crossed it on a flimsy wooden bridge. This bridge had probably been burning as the freight backed in for the flatcars, and when it attempted to pull out the weakened structure had collapsed and the engine had gone through into the cut. It rested on its forward end, jammed between the steep banks, with its big drivers in the air. Of the cars there remained only the trucks and iron work. Near by a tool-shed had formerly stood, but that was gone, too. The wheels and gearing of a hand-car in the midst of a heap of ashes marked the spot. Dan turned to his father. “Are you all right, daddy?” he asked. “Yes, Dannie.” “Mind your footing. It will be pretty shaky back there.” They were still in the burned district, where a change in the wind that afternoon had driven the fire back on itself. It had made a clean sweep of everything inflammable. Luckily the road had been freshly ballasted, and the track was in fair condition to resist the flames. But an occasional tie smouldered, and from these the rushing train thrashed showers of sparks. Dan kept his eyes fastened on the rails, which showed plainly in the jerky glare of the headlight It was well to be careful while care was possible. By-and-by he would have to throw aside all caution and trust to chance. Now he increased his speed, and the insistent thud of the wheels drowned every other sound, even the far-off roar of the flames. At his back, at intervals, a ruddy glow shot upward into the night, when Roger Oakley threw open the furnace door to pass in coal. Save for this it was still quite dark in the cab, where Dan sat with his hand on the throttle lever and watched the yellow streak that ran along the rails in advance of the engine. Suddenly the wall of light ahead brightened visibly, and its glare filled the cab. They were nearing the fire. Dan jammed the little window at his elbow open and put out his head. A hot blast roared past him, and the heat of the fire was in his face. He drew the window shut. It was light as day in the cab now. He leaned across the boiler's end, and, with a hand to his lips, called to his father, “Are you all right?” The old man drew himself erect and crept nearer. “What's that you say, Dannie?” he asked. His face was black with coal-dust and grime. “Are you all right? Can you bear the heat?” “I am doing very nicely, but this ain't a patch on what it's going to be.” “Yes, it will be much worse, though this is had enough.” “But we can stand it. We must think of those poor people at Antioch.”