Flames were now visible to all who were close to the bridge, and the scorching heat, the stifling smoke, and the ash-laden wind combined to make waiting almost unendurable. Brows of fainting ones were being bathed in the merciful stream, and the strongest were becoming fearful. "Thank God, she's coming!" The shout was from the throat of the Station Agent who had been down the track listening for the return of the work-train. The words had scarcely ended when the shrill whistle from the little engine confirmed the statement. When a few days later a number of men were discussing the disaster, one of them spoke for each individual at the stream when he said, "Say! I used to hate that blooming raspy whistle, but that day it was the finest bit of music I ever heard." Dave Minehan slowed up as he neared the bridge, and the Agent signalled him to stop, and at once scrambled aboard to let him know that everybody had reached the bridge and that there was no need to try to go farther. Old Dave was trembling with excitement and irritation, but just then he had no time to tell of the fretful delay over a hot box, and all the trouble entailed in putting in a new "brass" at Twyford--and neither then nor later did he tell of the terrible strain that he had endured in taking his train through a piece of blazing bush three miles down. The eager, frightened people were rushing up the banks, but Dave kept his train moving until it was about midway on the bridge. From the cab he shouted to them to "keep off." The moment he brought his train to a standstill he leaped from his engine and again thundered the same prohibition. Sharply he yelled to the men to line up and form a bucket-brigade. The fireman passed a dozen buckets from the tender, and Dave, with harsh and hasty commands, got the men on their job. For about five minutes, with a rapidity that would have done credit to a trained brigade, the double line passed the buckets and old Dave dashed the water over such portions of the cars as in his judgment needed the protection. In the meantime he had ordered the rest of the men to soak a few camp blankets that he had taken the precaution to bring along. "There's one bad spot where you'll maybe need to cover yourselves a bit: it'll be raining fire by when we get back--better give your coats and hats a dip too, boys! Get a move on!" It was no longer possible to remain on the bridge. The old engineer shouted "All aboard," and hurried back to his engine. The women and children were rushed into the passenger car. At one end stood the Nicholsons, while in the corner the bereaved Italian mother sat with her lifeless child. More than once had the minister felt that he must insist on her leaving her burden behind, but each time that he glanced at the sad face and saw the passionate pleading of her eyes, and observed the tender clasp of the mother arms, his courage deserted him.