When the trainmen and passengers came forward to look for "the fellows up ahead," they saw large and small envelopes sailing out of the burning débris, and they knew at once that the mail agent must be fast in the wreck. The whistle valve had been forced open, and now the wild, ceaseless cry of the wounded engine drowned all other sounds, and made it impossible for the men to hear the cries of the imprisoned postal clerk. All this he knew, and while the hungry flames were eating their way to where he lay, he pulled the register bag to him and began to shy the valuable mail out into the sagebrush.
When the steam was exhausted, and the cry of the engine had hushed, there came no sound from the engine-men, for their voices were hushed in death. Above the sound of the cracking flames they could hear Doc calling to them from his place below the wreck, and the brave train crew worked desperately right in the very face of the fire to rescue the unfortunate.
Gradually the voice of the prisoner grew fainter and fainter, and before the rescuers reached him it hushed entirely.
