el with the floor of the bridge, and he was stretching out his left
hand to grasp one of the rails, when his foot suddenly slipping on a
sloping rafter, he lost his hold altogether, and, to the horror of his
companions, fell with a heavy thud on to the rails beneath him!

"Joe, Joe--speak, man! Are you hurt?" cried Ned.

No answer.

"Lord help us," he continued, "the drunken train'll be up directly. Get
up, man, get up; you'll be killed if you lie there."

Not a word from the unfortunate man.

They all leant over the parapet, straining their eyes to see if Joe
really lay there or had crawled away. They could just make out a dark
heap lying apparently right across the rails: it did not stir; not a
moment was to be lost.

"Here, Ned," cried the man who had seemed to act as a sort of leader of
the party, "just get down the bank somehow, and drag him off the rails.
I'll see if I can drop down from the bridge."

Alas! This was easier said than done. The whistle of the last stopping
train--sarcastically but too appropriately known among the men as "the
drunken train," from the ordinary condition of a considerable number of
its occupants--was already being sounded; but conveyed no warning to the
poor stunned wretch who lay helpless in the engine's path. Frantically
had Ned rushed down the bank of the cutting, while his companion, at the
risk of his own life, sliding, slipping, tumbling among the rafters of
the bridge, had dropped close to the prostrate body, and then sprung to
his feet. It was too late; the instrument of death was upon them. A
moment more, and the train had passed over their miserable companion.

In a few minutes the horror-stricken group were gathered round the poor,
bleeding, mangled mass of humanity. The sight was too terrible to
describe. One thing there could be no doubt about--their unhappy
comrade was entirely past their help; the work of destruction had been
complete; and what was _now_ to be done? Silently all crept back again
to the little stile. A hasty consultation was held.

"Mates," said the chief speaker, "it's a bad job, but it's plain enough
_we_ can't do him no good; it's past that. It's no fault of ours. Poor
Joe!"

"Shall we go down and drag him off the rails on to the bank?" asked Ned.

"Where's the use, man?" replied the other; "we shall only be getting
ourselves into trouble: it'll seem then as if some one else had been
having a hand in it, and we shall be getti