The train had dropped most of its passengers
during the day and had only an average of ten people to a coach,
and they were seated and sleeping near the centres of each car. By
what seemed a miracle, none were killed.
Just as the sun rose, the drummer formed the passengers in line,
with the conductor bringing up the rear, and marched them to a
cabin where he saw smoke curling up from the edge of a field.
The relief train from Florence, four miles away, arrived at eight,
just four hours from the time the accident occurred, bringing the
surgeons and new officers to take charge, and the drummer resigned
his command.
The new conductor took the name and address of each passenger as
they sat in grim array swathed in blankets in the cabin.
Gordon gave the name of "Mr. and Mrs. Frank Gordon, New York," for
himself and Kate, who sat beside him. Ruth, not hearing him, with
an absent look gave the address, "Mrs. Frank Gordon, New York."
The conductor looked from one to the other, puzzled, and the drummer
grinned.
"A Mormon Elder, by the Lord--and he lives in Gotham!" he whispered
to the youngster he had in tow.
Lucy lay in her mother's lap suffering from an ugly gash across
her forehead.
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