shut. Got me?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then go to it. Hey, Andy!"

"Yeh." A voice had come from the engine cab.

"Here's a guy that'll swing a shovel. I've told him about the gas."

Barry climbed to his place on the engine. A whistle sounded, to be
echoed and reechoed by the answering blasts of the snowplow train--four
engines and the big auger itself--ready now for a fresh sally into the
shed. Headlights, extinguished momentarily, were thrown on again,
lighting up the dirty, ragged edges of the snow walls, with their black
marks of engine soot; throwing into sharp relief the smudge-faced
figures of the pick-and-axe crews just emerging from the black maw of
the tunnel; playing upon the smooth, white outlines of the forbidding
mountains yet beyond, mountains which still must be conquered ere the
top of the world was reached. Ahead came the "high-ball" signal from
the plow; two sharp blasts, to be repeated by the first, the second,
the third and fourth of the engines. Then, throttles open, fire boxes
throwing their red, spluttering glare against the black sky as firemen
leaped to their task, the great mass of machinery moved forward.

Faster--faster--then the impact, like crashing into a stone wall. They
were within the snowshed now, the auger boring and tearing and snarling
like some savage, vengeful thing against the solid mass of frigidity
which faced it. Inch by inch for eight feet it progressed; the offal
of the big blades flying past in the glare of the headlights like
swirling rainbows; then progress ceased, while the plow ahead, answered
by the engines which backed it, shrilled the triple signal to back up,
out into the air again, that the ice crews might hurry to their tasks.
The engineer opened the cab window and gratefully sucked in the fresh,
clean air.

"Eight feet--that's all," he mused. "Eight feet at a time." Then,
noticing Houston's attention, he went on:

"It's all the big screw can make. Got a hood on the front, you know,
protecting the blades. It's eight feet from the front of that hood to
the first trucks. When it's scooped that out, it's the finish. The
wheels hit ice, and it's either back out or get derailed. So we back.
Huh! There she goes again. Keep your nose in your elbow, youngster,
this time. We're goin' back pretty sudden. We'll get gas."

The screaming of the whistles faded, giving way to the lurching of
steel monsters as they once more crawled within the blackness of