Tom ran the car into an open lot beside the tracks, where part of the railroad fence had been torn away.  Two passenger cars were on their sides, and one or two of the box cars had burst open.

“Look at that!” gasped the boy, whose bright eyes took in much that the girls missed, for they were looking for Jane Ann Hicks.  “That’s a menagerie car—­and it’s all smashed.  See!  ‘Rival’s Circus & Menagerie.’  Crickey! suppose some of the savage animals are loose!”

“Oh! don’t suggest such a thing,” begged his sister.

Tom saw an excited crowd of men near the broken cage cars of the traveling menagerie.  Down in the gully that was here crossed by the narrow span of the railroad trestle, there was a thick jungle of saplings and brush out of which a few taller trees rose, their spreading limbs almost touching the sides of the ravine.

It must be confessed that the boy was drawn more toward this point of interest than toward the passenger train where Jane Ann might possibly be lying injured.  But Ruth and Helen ran toward this latter spot, where the crowd of passengers was thickest.

Suddenly the crowd parted and the girls saw a figure lying on the ground, with a girl about their own age bending over it.  Ruth screamed, “Jinny!” and at the sound of the pet name her uncle’s cow punchers had given her, the girl from Silver Ranch responded with an echoing cry.

“Oh, Ruth!  And Helen!  I’m not hurt—­only scratched.  But this poor fellow——­”

“Who is he?” demanded Helen Cameron, as she and Ruth arrived beside their friend.

The figure on the ground was a very young man—­a boy, in fact.  He was roughly dressed, and sturdily built.  His eyes were closed and he was very pale.

“He got me out of the window when the car turned over,” gasped Jane Ann.  “Then he fell with me and has either broken his leg, or twisted it——­”

“Only strained, Miss,” spoke the victim of the accident, opening his eyes suddenly.  Ruth saw that they were kind, brown eyes, with a deal of patience in their glance.  He was not the sort of chap to make much of a trifle.

“But you can’t walk on it,” exclaimed Jane Ann, who was a large-framed girl with even blacker hair than Helen’s—­straight as an Indian’s—­and with flashing eyes.  She was expensively dressed, although her torn frock and coat were not in very good taste.  She showed plainly a lack of that motherly oversight all girls need.

“They’ll come and fix me up after a time,” said the strange youth, patiently.

“That won’t do,” declared Ruth, quickly.  “I suppose the doctors are busy up there with other passengers?”

“Oh, yes,” admitted Jane Ann.  “Lots of people were hurt in the cars a good deal worse than Mr.—­Mr.——?”

“My name’s Jerry Sheming, Miss,” said the youth.  “Don’t you worry about me.”

“Here’s Tom!” cried Helen.  “Can’t we lift him into the car?  We’ll run to Cheslow and let Dr. Davison look at his leg,” she added.