the wheels, telling him
just where they were. Next was the powerful, steady push against
opposition--the rotary was cutting its way through a drift.

Again they stopped--once more went on. Connery, having put his papers
into his pocket, dozed, awoke, dozed again. The snow was certainly
heavy, and the storm had piled it up across the cuts in great drifts
which kept the rotary struggling almost constantly now. The progress
of the train halted again and again; several times it backed, charged
forward again--only to stop, back and charge again and then go on. But
this did not disturb Connery. Then something went wrong. All at once
he found himself, by a trainman's instinctive and automatic action,
upon his feet; for the shock had been so slight as barely to be felt,
far too slight certainly to have awakened any of the sleeping
passengers in their berths. He went to the door of the car, lifted the
platform stop, threw open the door of the vestibule and hanging by one
hand to the rail, swung himself out from the side of the car to look
ahead. He saw the forward one of the two locomotives wrapped in clouds
of steam, and men arm-deep in snow wallowing forward to the rotary
still further to the front, and the sight confirmed fully his
apprehension that this halt was more important and likely to last much
longer than those that had gone before.

CHAPTER V

ARE YOU HILLWARD?

It is the wonder of the moment of first awakening that one--however
tried or troubled he may be when complete recollection returns--may
find, at first, rehearsal of only what is pleasant in his mind. Eaton,
waking and stretching himself luxuriously in his berth in the reverie
halfway between sleep and full consciousness, found himself supremely
happy. His feelings, before recollection came to check them, reminded
him only that he had been made an acquaintance, almost a friend, the
day before, by a wonderful, inspiring, beautiful girl. Then suddenly,
into his clearing memory crushed and crowded the reason for his being
where he was. By an instinctive jerk of his shoulders, almost a
shudder, he drew the sheet and blanket closer about him; the smile was
gone from his lips; he lay still, staring upward at the berth above his
head and listening to the noises in the car.

The bell in the washroom at the end of the car was ringing violently,
and some one was reinforcing his ring with a stentorian call for
"Porter! Porter!"

Eaton realize