Perhaps Jack exaggerated unconsciously, but there was no doubt that Mr. Schofield, like every other good train-master, knew his division thoroughly—the location of every switch, the length of every siding, the position of every signal, the capacity of every engine. Nay, more, he knew the disposition of every conductor and engineer. When Milliken, for instance, wired in a protest that he couldn’t take another load, he would smile placidly and repeat his previous orders; if Rogers made the same complaint, he would wire back tersely, “All right.” He knew that Milliken was always complaining, while Rogers never did without cause. He knew his track, his equipment, and his men—and that is, no doubt, the reason why, to-day, he is superintendent of one of the most important divisions of the system. The wrecking-train slowed and stopped, and the men clambered painfully to the ground, and went forward to take a look at the task before them. It was evident in a moment that it was a bigger one than any had anticipated—so big, indeed, that it seemed to Allan, at least, that it would be far easier to build a new track around the place than to try to open the old one. From side to side of the deep cut, even with the top, the coal was heaped, mixed with splintered boards and twisted iron that had once been freight-cars. High on the bank perched the engine, thrown there by the mighty blow that had been dealt it. On either side were broken and splintered cars, and the track was torn and twisted in a way that seemed almost beyond repair. It was a scene of chaos such as the boy had never before witnessed, and even the old, tried section-men were staggered when they looked at it. It seemed impossible that anything so puny as mere human strength could make any impression upon that tangled, twisted mass. The doctor hurried away to attend to the injured engineer, who had been removed to the caboose by the crew of the second section, while the officers went forward to look over the battle-field. At the end of three minutes they had prepared their plan of action, and the men responded with feverish energy. Great cables were run out and fastened to the shattered frames of the coal-cars, which were dragged out of the mass of wreckage by the engine, and then hoisted from the track and thrown to one side out of the way. The donkey-engine puffed noisily away, while the derrick gripped trucks and wheels and masses of twisted iron and splintered beams, and swung them high on the bank beside the road with an ease almost superhuman. The men went to work with a will, under the supervision of the officers, dragging out the smaller pieces of wreckage. Hour after hour they toiled, until, at last, only the coal remained—a great, shifting, treacherous mass—ton upon ton—fifteen car-loads—a veritable mountain of coal. And here the derrick could be of no use—there was only one way to deal with it. It must be shovelled from the track by hand!