is it?" he asked.

"Wreck--there was a collision," answered Saunders.

Father Murray struggled to arise. "Collision? Then I must go forward,
if it is forward--where the people are--maybe dying."

Mark made no attempt to stop him. He knew it would be useless, and he
knew, too, that it was only the Soldier of the Cross called to his
battlefield. When Saunders would have remonstrated Mark motioned him
to silence.

"Let him go, Saunders," he said. "Perhaps his whole life has been a
preparation for this. I have given up trying to interfere with God's
ways."

So the Padre went, and his friends with him. The dead and wounded were
being borne from the two wrecked Pullmans, but the Padre seemed led by
some instinct to go on to where the engine was buried in the torn and
splintered freight cars of the other train.

"The engineer and the fireman! Where are they?" he asked of the
frightened conductor.

The man pointed to the heap of splinters. "In there," he answered.

The priest tore at the pile, but could make no impression on it.

"My God!" he cried to Mark; "they may need me. And I cannot get to
them."

A groan beneath his very hands was the answer. The priest and Mark
tore away enough of the splinters to see the face beneath. The eyes
opened and, seeing the priest, the man essayed to speak; the priest
bent low to catch the words.

"Father--don't--risk--trying--to get me--out--before you hear--my
confession."

"But the flames are breaking out. You'll be caught," remonstrated
Mark. "You have a chance if we act quickly."

"The only--chance--I want--is my--confession. Quick--Father."

With his head held close to that of the dying man, the priest listened.
The men stood back and saw the smoke and flames arise out of the pile
of splintered timbers. Then the priest's hand was raised in absolution.

"Quick now!" called Father Murray; "get him out."

The men stooped to obey, but saw that it was no use. The
blood-spattered face was calm, and around the stiller lips there
lingered a smile, as though the man had gone out in peace and
unexpected contentment.

Turning aside, they found the fireman, and one man from the wrecked
freight, lying beside the tracks--both dead. Then they went to the
lengthening line along the fence. The priest bent over each recumbent
form. At some he just glanced, and passed on, for they were dead. For
others he had only a few words, and an encouraging prayer. But
some