The powerful locomotive rushed past, followed by the tender and two cars. Then there was a series of sharp jerks as the lever was reversed by the engineer, the tracks were sanded, and the long train came to a sudden halt. The conductor and several brakemen were out almost instantly, demanding to know what was the matter. “Come pretty near running over that crowd!” cried out the engineer. “If they had not jumped, I reckon I would have killed most of ’em.” “I don’t see any toboggan,” returned the conductor. “I smashed that to kindling wood. There’s part of it on the cowcatcher, and the rest is on the other side of the track.” “By George! that’s so. You can count yourselves mighty lucky, boys,” went on the conductor, to Jack, who was getting up slowly. “I suppose so,” returned Jack, briefly, and then he turned to where Andy was lying, and bent over his younger brother. “Andy! Andy! are you hurt very badly?” “Jack!” murmured the half-unconscious boy. “Oh, my head!” “He struck it on the ties, I guess,” said one of the brakemen. “It’s bleeding a bit. Better rub some snow on it.” By this time Harry and Boxy came limping to the scene, both presenting a most deplorable sight, Boxy especially, with half of his clothing torn from his back. “We can’t wait,” said the conductor. “You want to be more careful how you coast down this hill,” he went on, to the crowd that was beginning to collect. “If you don’t, we’ll have the worst kind of an accident here some day.” He motioned to the engineer, and hurried to one of the cars, followed by the other train hands. In a few seconds the express was once more on its way. The crowd around the boys kept growing, as it spread that an accident had occurred. “Harry Webb’s toboggan was smashed by the express!” “Andy Bascoe was almost killed!” “Every one of them was shaken up badly!” Under the tender care of Jack and the others, Andy soon came to himself. But his head ached fearfully, and he could hardly stand on his feet. “Yo’ sit on my bread-shubble, and I’ll ride yo’ home,” said Pickles Johnsing, who happened to be on hand. “Yo’ can sit on an’ hole him, Jack, if yo’ wants to,” he continued. So Jack got on, and made it comfortable for Andy, whose head he had bound up with his own handkerchief and several others. Although they felt sore in every joint, Harry and Boxy insisted on helping Pickles drag the sled to its destination. “The _Buster_ is smashed to bits,” said Boxy on the way. “I know it,” returned Harry. “But I don’t care,” he added, with a shudder. “I couldn’t bear to ride on her again after that narrow escape.” “Nor I. My! I ain’t done trembling yet,” was Boxy’s confession, in a low tone. The news of the accident had preceded them, and they found Mr. and Mrs. Bascoe anxiously awaiting their appearance. “My boy!” cried the mother, as she caught Andy in her arms. “And you were almost killed?”