train reached the watershed at
Bridger Pass, at an elevation of seven thousand five hundred and
twenty-four feet above the level of the sea. After traversing about
two hundred miles more, the travellers found themselves in one of
those extensive plains which proved so convenient to the laying of the
railway.

At half-past twelve the travellers got a glimpse of Fort Halleck, and
in a few hours afterwards they had crossed the Rocky Mountains. They
were now in hopes that no accident would imperil the journey; the snow
had ceased, and the air was frosty. Some large birds, startled by the
locomotive, rose up, but no wild beasts appeared; the whole plain was
a desert.

After a comfortable breakfast in his own car, Mr. Fogg and his
companions resumed their whist. Just then a loud whistling was heard,
and the train came to a stop. Passe-partout put his head out, but
could see no cause for the stoppage. Mrs. Aouda and Fix were afraid
that Mr. Fogg would get up and see what was the matter, but he merely
told his servant to ascertain the reason of the delay.

Passe-partout jumped down. He found a number of passengers already on
the ground, and amongst them Colonel Proctor.

The train had been stopped by signal. The engine-driver and guard were
talking excitedly with the signalman, whom the station-master at
Medicine Bow had sent down. The passengers joined in the discussion,
and prominent amongst them was Colonel Proctor.

Passe-partout, as he joined the group, heard the signalman say: "You
cannot pass. The bridge is unsafe, and will not bear the weight of the
train."

The viaduct in question was a suspension-bridge over a rapid about a
mile farther on. The signalman said that many of the supports were
broken, and that it was impossible to cross; he did not exaggerate the
danger, and it may be taken for granted that when an American is
prudent there is good reason for not being rash.

Passe-partout did not dare to tell his master, but remained, listening
with clenched teeth, motionless as a statue.

"That is all very fine," said Colonel Proctor, "but I guess we ain't
going to stop here to take root in the snow."

"We have telegraphed to Omaha for a train, Colonel," said the guard;
"but it can't reach Medicine Bow in less than six hours."

"Six hours!" exclaimed Passe-partout.

"Yes," replied the guard; "but it will take us that time to reach
Medicine Bow on foot."

"Why, it is only a mile from here," said one of th