Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 132: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

122 Past the frosted windows of the sleepers scurried jets of snow, but the simmering steam-pipes bade defiance to the outer blasts of bitter cold. Above the wind that ‘howled like a monster pack of wolves came the gruntings and coughings of the two lo- comotives, panting over a drifting right-of- way, disputing with unleashed elements flung in force against the headlights. Hissing, yelling, growling with maniacal frenzy beat the storm, a menace hurled from frozen Arctic waters beyond the shaggy wilderness of mines, of lumber camps, of straggling farms, of camps that had in a twinkling become twentieth-cen- tury towns in the restless march of the pioneers. A mad witch, flailing at progress, raved the storm, and the long train, sched- uled for the transcontinental line far to the north, lurched and trembled in its grip while doggedly pushing on. ‘Say, Herb, come on now. You got a lower berth; you ain’t got to climb for it. An’ you can snooze yer head off; we won’t be there before afternoon in this blizzard. Come on, Herb; I'll pull off yer clothes.” The gray man was shaking the dozing big fellow by the shoulder, keeping wary guard for a possible outflinging of a big hand. ‘ Lemme ’lone!”’ “Come on, Herb! There’s just one swaller left in the bottle; take it for a nightcap an’ come on!” ‘A’ right,” agreed the other, and reached. He took the final draft and tossed the bottle upon the floor, where it rolled with the swaying of the car. He started to rise, struggled with an arresting hazy thought, and reached down under the seat for the satchel. He grinned cunningly and upreared on unsteady feet. The train rounded a curve just then, and he staggered head first toward a window. Meigs clutched him and held him up, pant- ing with the effort. He was spare and fragile. “Curse it! | What’s the — matter?” growled Herb Mason. His hand tightened upon the handle of his bag. “Tt’s all right, Herb,” gasped Hank. ‘Steady, now! Here, get yer wing over my shoulder. I'll help ye to the berth.” Just as they gained the passageway out- THE ARGOSY. side the ‘curtains Meigs fronted the ivory grin of the porter. ‘“ \/ant any help, suh?” asked the African. ‘“ No; I can manage him.” Soon there came heavy snoring while Meigs pulled off Herb’s garments as best he could. He noted the lettering upon the curtain. “ No. 13!” he muttered. It was an hour later. Throughout the long line of dimly lighted cars was slumber, deep or uneasy, as it chanced. In the sleeper Golconda, where Herb Mason lay inert and snoring, few berths were occupied. The porter was curled up on the long seat in the smoking compartment, wrapped in a gray blanket. only the red eyes and stubborn clanking of the train, the blind fury of the storm, seemed alive. The train was now increasing its mo- mentum, rolling down the long, easy grade leading to the first scheduled stop at Mo- hican. When with appalling suddenness came a reeling, a staggering, sidewise plunge; the falling of tons of wood and steel, inrprison- ing human mites like rats, to agony and death and chaos. Above the horror laughed the storm, a mad thing, a menace that now laughed in joy at murder. Sparse messages were flashed from Mo- hican, spreading consternation. The raving blizzard hindered first the rescue and wrecking operations, following the fright- ful accident due to a spread rail at a drift- ed turn. Next it delayed the reception, at points up the line that lay deep in snow, of Toronto newspapers on the following day, wired by reporters sent upon a special “club ” train to Mohican, a hundred-odd miles north. At Furney, over two hundred miles above Mohican, and in the heart of the mining region, a cloud of furred, capped, macki- nawed figures waited at the station, watch- ing the first train to come through from - Toronto since the storm, slowly approach- ing. It was the afternoon of the second day following the wreck. Grunting, the engine came to a grinding halt. To the stack it was covered with snow. In the general somnolence, GomiGcboo @) SS co