car swept up and baffled him, bringing its right forward wheel up beside the left rear wheel of his car, then more slowly forging up until, with its weight, bulk, and superior power, it forced him inch by inch to the right, toward the tracks, until his right-hand wheels left the road and ran on uneven turf, until the left-hand wheels as well lost grip on the road metal, until the car began to dip on the slope to the tracks.
He heard the far hoot-toot of a freight locomotive. There followed a maniac moment, when the world was upside down. Alan's car slipped and skidded, swung sideways with frightful momentum toward the tracks, caught its wheels against the ties, and. …
The sun swung in the heavens like a ball on a string. There was a crash, a roar. There was nothing—oblivion. …
The car had turned turtle, pinning Rose and Alan beneath it.
And there was something very like a miracle in all this: for neither was killed, nor even injured beyond bruises. Alan started back to consciousness to find himself inextricably jammed beneath the machine, only his head and shoulders protruding, and in the same moment found himself looking into the eyes of Rose and heard her voice.
"Alan!" she gasped. "You are not killed?"
