every conspiracy that had been fashioned against him; the substitution
of the lease and contract in the pile of technical papers which he had
signed, the false story which she had told to Medaine,--suddenly Barry
wondered if she really had passed the scene of his struggle with Tom
Langdon, if she had seen anything at all; if her whole testimony had
not been a manufactured thing, built merely for the purpose of
obtaining his utmost confidence. If she only would tell! If she only
would stay by her promise to a man who had kept his promise to her!
If--

But a call had come from up the line. The whistles no longer were
tooting; instead, they were blowing with long foghorn blasts, an eerie
sound in the cold, crisp night,--a sound of foreboding, of danger. A
dim figure made its appearance, running along the box cars, at last to
sight Houston and come toward him.

"Which car does the engine crews sleep in?" came sharply.

Houston shook his head.

"I don't know. Has something gone wrong?"

"Plenty. Both the firemen on Number Six have went out from gas--in the
snowshed. We've picked up a guy out of an ice gang that's willin' to
stand th' gaff, but we need another one. Guess there ain't nothin' to
do but wake up one of th' day crew. Hate t' do it, though--they're all
in."

"Don't, then. I'll make a try at it."

"Know anything about firin' an engine?"

"I know enough to shovel coal--and I've got a strong pair of shoulders."

"Come on, then."

Houston followed the figure toward the snowshed on the hill. Ten
minutes later he stood beside a great Mallet engine, a sleek,
glistening grayhound of the mountains, taking from the superintendent
the instructions that would enable him to assist, at least, in the
propulsion of the motive power. At the narrow areaway between the
track and the high wall of the straightaway drifts through which the
plow had cut, four men were lifting a limp figure, to carry it to the
cars. The superintendent growled.

"You payin' attention to me--or that guy they're cartin' off? When you
get in them gas pockets, stick your nose in the hollow of your elbow
and keep it there 'till you've got your breath again. There ain't no
fresh air in that there shed; the minute these engines get inside and
start throwin' on the juice, it fills up with smoke. That's what gets
you. Hold your nose in your arm while you take your breath. Then, if
you've got to shovel, keep your mouth and your lungs