have thought it a joke," he asked, slowly, "to run a hundred and
seventy miles through a blizzard?" She looked away and her sob cut him
to the heart. "I did not mean to wound you," he murmured. "It's only
that you don't realize what self-preservation means. I wouldn't kill a
fly unnecessarily, but do you think I could stand it to see anyone in
this cab mangled by a plough behind us--or to see you freeze to death
if the engine should die and we're caught here twelve hours? It is our
lives or theirs, that's all, and they will freeze anyway. We are only
putting them out of their misery. Come; we are starting." He helped
her to her seat.

"Don't leave me," she faltered. The cylinder cocks were drumming
wildly. "Which ever way we turn there's danger," he admitted,
reluctantly, "a steam pipe might burst. You must cover your face."
She drew the high collar of her coat around her neck and buried her
face in her muff, but he caught up a blanket and dropped it completely
over her head; then locking her arm in his own he put one heavy boot
against the furnace door, and, braced between the woman he loved and
the fire-box, nodded to the engineer--McGraw gave head.

Furred with snow, and bearded fearfully with ice; creeping like a
mountain-cat on her prey; quivering under the last pound of steam she
could carry, and hissing wildly as McGraw stung her heels again and
again from the throttle, the great engine moved down on the blocked cut.

Unable to reckon distance or resistance but by instinct, and forced to
risk everything for headway, McGraw pricked the cylinders till the
smarting engine roared. Then, crouching like a jockey for a final
cruel spur he goaded the monster for the last time and rose in his
stirrups for the crash.

With never a slip or a stumble, hardly reeling in her ponderous frame,
the straining engine plunged headlong into the curve. Only once, she
staggered and rolled; once only, three reckless men rose to answer
death as it knocked at their hearts; but their hour was not come, and
the engine struggled, righted, and parted the living drift from end to
end.

CHAPTER XVIII

DAYBREAK

Crouching under the mountains in the grip of the storm Medicine Bend
slept battened in blankets and beds. All night at the Wickiup, O'Neill
and Giddings, gray with anxiety, were trying to keep track of Glover's
Special. It was the only train out that night on the mountain
division. For the first hour or tw