CHAPTER XXX
SNOWBOUND
Chug!
"A snowslide!" exclaimed Ralph, in dismay.
"An avalanche!" declared Fogg. "Dodge—something's coming!"
With a crash both cab windows were splintered to fragments. The young engineer of No. 999 was nearly swept from his seat as there poured in through the gap a volume of snow.
They had struck an immense snowdrift obliquely, but the fireman's side caught the brunt. As the powerful locomotive dove into the drift, the snow packed through the denuded window-frame at the fireman's seat like grain into a bin. A solid block of snow was formed under the terrific pressure of the compact. It lodged against the coal of the tender with a power that would probably have crushed the life out of a person standing in the way.
"Whew!" shouted Fogg. "Lucky I ducked."
Ralph stopped the engine, which had been going slower and slower each minute of the past hour. They had gotten about half the distance to Rockton. Long since, however, both engineer and fireman had fully decided that they would never make terminus that night.
They had left Stanley Junction under difficulties. The snow was deep and heavy, and there was a further fall as they cleared the limits. There was no wind, but the snow came down with blinding steadiness and volume, and at Vernon they got the stop signal.
The operator stated that the line ahead leading past Fordham Cut was impassable. The passenger was stalled ten miles away, and orders from Rockton were to the effect that the Overland Express should take the cut-off. This diverged into the foothills, where there were no such deep cuts as on the direct route, and where it was hoped the drifts would not be so heavy.
Neither Ralph nor Fogg was familiar with their new routing. For an hour they made fair progress. Then they began to encounter trouble. They did not run a yard that the pilot wheels were not sunk to the rims in snow. Landmarks were blotted out. As they found themselves blindly trusting to the power of the giant locomotive to forge ahead despite obstacles, they were practically a lost train.
It was now, as they dove bodily into a great drift choking up an embankment cut, that they realized that they had reached a definite angle in their experience of the run, and were halted for good.
No. 999 barely pushed her nose far enough out of the enveloping drift, to enable Ralph by the aid of the glaring headlight to discern other drifts further ahead.
"We're stalled, that's dead sure," declared Fogg. "Signal the conductor and see what the programme is."
It was some time after the tooting signal that the conductor put in an appearance. He did not come along the side track. That was fairly impossible, for it would have been sheer burrow progress. He came over the top of the next car to the tender, a blind baggage, and as he climbed over the coal in the tender his lantern smashed and he presented a pale and anxious face to the view of the cab crew.
"What's the prospects?" he inquired in a discouraged tone.
"It looks like an all-night layover," reported Ralph.
"There's nothing ahead, of course," said the conductor calculatingly. "There's a freight due on the in track. Behind us a freight was to come, provided No. 11 put out from Stanley Junction to-night."
"Which I doubt," said Fogg.
"If we could back to Vernon we'd be in better touch with something civilized," went on the conductor. "The wires are all down here."
"I can try it," replied Ralph, "but without a pilot the rear car will soon come to a bump."
"Give her a show, anyway," suggested the conductor.
Two minutes' effort resulted in a dead stop. The young engineer knew his business well enough to understand that they were in danger of running the train off the track.
"I'll send a signal back, if a man can get back," decided the conductor.
The backing-up had left a clear brief space before the train. Ralph took a lantern and left his fireman in charge of the locomotive. He was gone about ten minutes, and came back panting and loaded down with the heavy, clinging snow.
"May as well bunk in right here," ventured Fogg.
"That's it," answered Ralph definitely. "It's drift after drift ahead. No use disabling the locomotive, and we simply can't hope to dig our way out."
The conductor came forward again looking miserable. A red lantern had been planted as far down the tracks as the brakeman dared to go. The conductor and Ralph held a conversation. Fogg, a veteran in the service, was appealed to for a final decision.
"You've hit it," said the fireman sagely and with emphasis. "It's a permanent blockage, and our only chance is for the Great Northern to find us out or for us to wait until the snow melts."
"If this snow keeps up we'll be buried under," said the conductor.
"Well, we've got to make the best of it," advised Fogg. "If we can make it, build a big fire ahead there as a warning or signal, although I don't believe there's much stirring at either end. Then it's just a question of food and warmth."
"Food!" repeated the conductor, who was fat and hearty and looked as if he never willingly missed his meals; "where in the world are we to get food? They cut the diner off at the Junction, and there probably isn't a farmhouse or station along this dreary waste for miles."
"Well, I fancy we'll have to stand the hunger," said Ralph. "As to the heat, that's an essential we mustn't neglect. We had better shut off the steam pipes, keeping only a little fire in the furnace and starting the stoves in the coaches."
"Yes, we might last out on that plan," nodded the conductor, glancing over the tender.
Ralph pulled to a spot about two hundred feet ahead, where the advance and retreat of the train had cleared a space alongside the rails, and the conductor went back to the coaches.
Ralph adjusted the steam pipes so they would not freeze, and Fogg banked the fire. Then they got to the ground with rake and shovel, and skirmirshed around to see what investigation might develop.
Despite the terrible weather and the insecurity of their situation, the train crew were soon cheerily gathering wood up beyond the embankment. They had to dig deep for old logs, and they broke down tree branches. Then they cleared a space at the side of the track and started a great roaring fire that flared high and far.
"Nobody will run into that," observed Fogg with a satisfied chuckle.
"And it may lead a rescue party," suggested Ralph.
Some of the men passengers strolled up to the fire. Fear and anxiety had given way to a sense of the novelty of the situation. Ralph assured them that their comfort and safety would be looked after. He promised a foraging party at daylight in search of food supplies.
"They're talking about you back there in the coaches, Fairbanks," reported the conductor a little later. "They know about your arrangements for their comfort, and they're chatting and laughing, and taking it all in like a regular picnic."
"I suppose you've been giving me undue credit, you modest old hero!" laughed Ralph.
"Hello!" suddenly exclaimed Fogg; "now, what is that?"
All hands stared far to the west. A dim red flame lit the sky. Then it appeared in a new spot, still far away. This was duplicated until there were vague red pencils of light piercing the sky from various points of the compass.
"It's queer," commented the conductor. "Something's in action, but what, and how?"
"There!" exclaimed Fogg, as suddenly seemingly just beyond the heavy drift immediately in front of the train the same glare was seen.
"Yes, and here, too!" shouted out the conductor, jumping back.
Almost at his feet something dropped from midair like a rocket, a bomb. It instantly burst out in a vivid red flame. Ralph investigated, and while thus engaged two more of the colored messengers, projectiles, fireworks, whatever they were, rained down, one about half-way down the train, the other beyond it.
The young engineer was puzzled at first, but he soon made out all that theory and logic could suggest. There was no doubt but that some one at a distance had fired the queer little spheres, which were made of the same material as the regular train fuse, only these burned twice as long as those used as railroad signals, or fully twenty minutes.
"I make it out," explained Ralph to the conductor, "that somebody with a new-fangled device like a Roman candle is sending out these bombs as signals."
"Then we're not alone in our misery," remarked Fogg.
"First they went west, then they came this way," continued Ralph. "I should say that it iooks as if the signal is on a train stalled like us about a mile away. I'll soon know."
Ralph got into the cab. In a minute or two No. 999 began a series of challenge whistles that echoed far and wide.
"Hark!" ordered Fogg, as they waited for a reply.
"A mere peep," reported the conductor, as a faint whistle reached their strained hearing above the noise of the tempest.
"Yes," nodded Fogg, "I figure it out. There's a train somewhere near with the locomotive nigh dead."
"If it should be the east freight stalled," suggested Ralph to the conductor, "you needn't worry about those hungry children in the coaches, and that baby you told about wanting milk."
"No, the east freight is a regular provision train," put in the fireman. "If we could reach her, we'd have our pick of eatables."
It was two hours later, and things had quieted down about the snowed-in train, when a series of shouts greeted Ralph, Fogg and the conductor, seated on a broken log around the fire at the side of the tracks.
"What's this new windfall!" exclaimed Fogg
"More signals," echoed the conductor, staring vaguely.
"Human signals, then," supplemented Ralph. "Well, here's a queer arrival."
Five persons came toppling down the side of the embankment, in a string. They were tied together at intervals along a rope. All in a mix-up, they landed helter-skelter in the snow of the cut. They resembled Alpine tourists, arrived on a landslide.
"Why, it's Burton, fireman of the east freight!" shouted the conductor, recognizing the first of the five who picked himself up from the snow.
"That's who!" answered the man addressed, panting hard. 'We're stalled about a mile down the cut. Coal given out, no steam. Saw your fire, didn't want to freeze to death quite, so"
"We guessed that you were the Overland," piped in a fresh, boyish voice. "Packed up some eatables, and here we are. How do you like my new railroad rocket signals, Engineer Fairbanks?" and Archie Graham, the young inventor, picked himself up from the snow.