the blizzard snorted and raged at midnight up the narrow pass west of pike's peak, at the bottom of which lay the railroad track, and with this tumult of the elements the snow was falling in masses which were caught up and tossed about in the gale until the air was but a white, swirling, yeasty mass through which nothing could be seen a yard away. the canyon was filling rapidly and the awful storm showed no sign of abatement. the passage was not of the narrowest at the place to which this description refers. the railroad builders had done good work in what had been little more than a gorge. they had blasted and carried away after the manner of man who, if resolute enough, must find the way. he may sweat for it; he may freeze for it, but he attains his end, as he did in forcing a passage through the vainglorious[2] labyrinths of the rockies. so, he had made a road between the towering heights of the cleft mountains. he had done well, but he had left a way so indefensible that indecent nature, seeking reprisals, might do almost anything there in winter. just now, with the accompanying war-whoop of the roaring blast, she was building up an enormous buttress across the king's highway. the canyon was filled to the depth of many feet, and the buttress was growing higher every moment.
and, plunging forward from the west toward this buttress of snow, now came tearing ahead boisterously the trans-continental train from san francisco. its crew had hoped to get through the pass while yet the thing was possible. on it came at full speed, the big train, with all its great weight and tremendous force of impact, and plunged, like a bull with lowered horns, into the uplifting mountain of snow. it tore its way forward, resistlessly at first, then more slowly, and slower still, until, at last, it stopped quiveringly. but it was not beaten yet. back it went hundreds of yards and hurled itself a second time into the growing drift. it made a slight advance, and that was all. again and again it charged, but it was useless. nature[3] had won! paralyzed and inefficient, the train lay still.
then to the wild clamor of the storm was added another note. the whistle screamed like a woman. why it should be sounded at all none but the engineer could tell—perhaps it was the instinct of a railroad man to sound the whistle anywhere in an emergency. speaking the voice of the train, its cry seemed to be, at first, one of alarm and protest, then, as the hand on the throttle wavered, one of pleading, until, finally, beaten and discouraged, it sank sobbingly into silence, awaiting that first aid for the wounded in the case of railroad trains—the telegraph.
upon the trains which must adventure the passes of the rocky mountains in winter are carried all the means for wire-tapping, that communication may be had with the outside world on any occasion of disaster at a distance from a station, the climbing spikes, the cutters, tweezers and leather gloves, and all the kit of a professional line repairer. ordinarily, too, some one of the train crew, or a professional telegrapher, in times of special apprehension is prepared to do the work of the emergency. this particular train had all the necessary kit, but, to the alarm of the conductor and engineer and all[4] the train crew, it was discovered, after they had met in hurried consultation, that while they had the means, they lacked the man. what was to be done? they must reach the outside world somehow; they must reach belden, whence must come the relief train headed by the huge snow-plow which would eventually release them. the conductor was a man of action: "it may be," he said, "it may be that there is some one on the train who can do the job. it's a mighty doubtful thing, but i'll find out."
he was a big, red-faced, heavy-moustached man, with a big voice, and he started promptly on his way, bellowing through each car:
"is there anybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph? is there anybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph?"
the strident call aroused everybody as he passed along, but response was lacking. he became discouraged. as he reached the drawing-room car he was tempted to abandon the idea. he hesitated, unwilling to disturb the sleepers in—or rather the occupants of the berths, for the general tumult outside had awakened them—but pulled himself together and kept on. he entered the car roaringly as he had the others:
"is there anybody here who can cut in on a[5] wire, and telegraph? is there anybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph?"
the curtains of one of the berths were drawn apart, and a head appeared, the head of a man of about forty years of age with clean-cut features, distinctly those of a gentleman. there was force in the aquiline nose and the strong jaw, but the voice was gentle enough when he spoke:
"i might do it, possibly. what's the matter? stalled?"
the conductor was astounded. the drawing-room car was the last place from which he had expected or hoped assistance, but he answered promptly:
"yes, sir," he said, "we are in a bad way, half buried in a snow mountain. we've got to reach belden by wire, but we've no one to make the connection and send the message. if you can help us it will be a great thing. i hate to ask you. it's going to be an awful job."
"have you got the tools?"
"yes, sir."
"well, i'll try it."
john stafford dressed hurriedly. he emerged, a straight, broad-shouldered man, possessed apparently of exceptional strength and vigor, qualities soon to be tested to the utmost. he[6] went forward with the conductor to the car at the front, in which the trainmen were assembled. he equipped himself for the work, then, lamp in hand, he stepped out upon the platform and looked about him. he could see nothing.
he was enclosed between walls of white, the substance of which was revolving, curling and twisting uncannily. what seemed almost the impenetrable was beside him. all vision was cut off. there was but the mystery of the filled canyon. and he must venture out into that sinister, invisible space, find a telegraph pole and climb it and cut the wire and talk with belden! the thing was appalling.
but a resolute and courageous man was john stafford, civil engineer, and he had been building railroads in siberia. he gave swift directions to the trainmen:
"get together and light all the lamps you have and bring them here," he ordered; "set some of them in this window and hang some of them against it. i want the brightest beacon i can have. keep the glass of the window clean and clear, inside and outside." then, with a coil of wire about him, and lamp in hand, he stepped out into that wicked vastness.
he plunged into snow up to his neck. he[7] realized now more than ever what was the task he had undertaken. he stamped to clear as well as he could a little space about him and took his bearings. practical railroad man, he had reasoned out his course. he had with him a pocket compass and upon this alone he relied. he knew the distance from the track to the telegraph line and knew that by going just so many yards north and then going directly east or west he would reach a pole. but the distance he could only estimate, and who could accomplish that feat with any degree of accuracy under such conditions?
then began a fight which must remain a desperate memory with the man forever.
straight north he began his way, plowing, digging, almost burrowing. it was fearful work, body-distressing, soul-trying. to acquire an added yard in his progress was a task. cold as it was, he was perspiring violently in no time. the snow had begun to pack, and in the slight depressions, where it was deepest, he had even to heave his chest against it to force his way. his feet became clogged and heavy. but he floundered on. he became angry over it all. he would not be beaten! at last, as he estimated, he reached a point which must lie somewhere[8] in the line between poles, but he was not sure. he could not judge of distance, in such a struggle. he lay down in the snow and drew long breaths and rested until the cold, checking the welling perspiration, warned him that, if he would live, he must work again.
straight east by the compass he started, and there was renewed the same fierce, exhausting struggle, but this time maintained much longer. he kept it up until he knew he must have compassed more than half the distance—all that was required—between two poles, but he could not find one. the situation was becoming desperate. the lamp gave light for only a yard ahead, no more, because of the wall of falling snow. back and forth he went, almost exhausted now, his heart thumping, his breath exhausted. and then, just as he was about to lie down again to a rest which would have been more than dangerous, he stumbled upon a telegraph pole. it was but fortune.
stafford's strength returned with the finding of the pole. he would at least accomplish what he sought to do! he rested long against the pole and then began the ascent. everything was easy now. the work in hand was nothing compared with the battle in the drift. he cut in on[9] the wire, made the connection, talked with belden and got assurance of instant gathering of every force at command there for the rescue. the relief train would start at once. there is sympathy and understanding and swift aid where they have learned to know the perils of the passes.
stafford came down the pole at ease. everything was all right now. all he had to do was to go back to the train and rest. he would follow his back track. he looked for it, but there was no back track! the densely falling snow had obliterated it completely. he fell back upon the compass again, and all the desperate work was but repeated. he was becoming faint and thoroughly exhausted now. he looked for the beacon light in the window but he might as well have tried to look through a stone wall. he feared his case was hopeless, but he did not flinch nor lose his courage. he sat down in the snow, unable for the moment to go further, and shouted with all the force of which his strained lungs were capable, but, at first, with no result. at last he thought he heard an answering call, and later he was assured of it. that revived him. he got upon his feet again and stumbled forward, following the direction of the sound. two[10] forms appeared beside him suddenly. they were those of the conductor and engineer. he was taken by each arm, and, staggering between the two, was lifted into the car. he was approaching a state of entire collapse, but brandy stimulated him into ability to tell of what he had accomplished. the trainmen were more than grateful. they removed his outer clothing, and, half-carrying him to his berth, left him there enveloped in a warm blanket. he was oblivious to all things in a moment, sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion.
