the train. He had not been seen; he could not have been.
There, suspended by one hand between the baggage car and the tender, with the other he loosened the couplings; but in consequence of the traction, he would never have been able to pull out the yoking-bar if a sudden jolt of the engine had not made the bar jump out, and the train, detached, was left farther and farther behind, while the locomotive flew on with new speed.
Carried on by the force acquired, the train still rolled on for a few minutes, but the brakes were maneuvered from the inside of the cars, and the train finally stopped less than one hundred paces from Kearney Station.
The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the firing, ran hastily to the train. The Sioux did not wait for them, and before the train stopped entirely the whole band had decamped.
But when the passengers counted each other on the platform of the station, they noticed that several were missing, and among others the courageous Frenchman, whose devotion had just saved them.
CHAPTER XXX
IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SIMPLY DOES HIS DUTY
Three passengers, including Passepartout, had disappeared. Had they been killed in the fight? Were they taken prisoners by the Sioux? As yet it could not be told.
The wounded were quite numerous, but none mortally. The one most seriously hurt was Colonel Proctor, who had fought bravely, and who fell struck by a ball in the groin. He was carried to the station with the other passengers, whose condition demanded immediate care.
Aouda was safe. Phileas Fogg, who had not spared himself, had not a scratch. Fix was wounded in the arm—but it was an unimportant wound. But poor Passepartout was missing, and tears flowed from the young woman's eyes.
Meanwhile, all the passengers had left the train. The wheels of the cars were stained with blood. To the hubs and spokes hung ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach long red trails were seen on the white plain.
