"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.




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