"What do you think about the ploughs now?" he asked of McGraw, who had
climbed up to his seat.
"How many is there?" returned the engineer as Glover shivered before
the fire.
"There may be a thousand."
"What do you want me to do?"
"There's only one thing, Paddy. Go through them," answered Glover,
slamming shut the furnace door.
McGraw laid his bar over, and, like one putting his house in order,
looked at his gauges and tried his valves.
"What is it?" whispered Gertrude, at Glover's side.
He turned. "We've struck a bunch of sheep."
"Sheep?"
"In a storm they drift to keep from freezing out in the open. These
sheep have bunched in a little cut out of the wind," he explained, as
the fireman sprinkled the roaring furnace. "You had better get up on
your seat, Miss Brock."
"But what are you going to do?"
"Run through them."
"Run through them? Do you mean to kill them?"
"We shall have to kill a few; there isn't much danger."
"But oh, must you mangle those poor creatures huddling in the cut out
of the storm? Oh, don't do that."
"We can't help it."
"Oh, yes, yes, you can if you will, I am sure." She looked at him
imploringly.
"Indeed I cannot. Listen a moment." He spoke steadily. The wheels
were turning under her, the engine was backing for the dash. "We know
now the ploughs are not ahead of us, for the cut is full of sheep and
snow. If they are behind us we are in grave danger. They may strike
us at any moment--that means, do you understand? death. We can't go
back now; there's too much snow even if the track were clear. To stay
here means to freeze to death." She turned restively from him. "Could
you 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.