After a time Kit heard a locomotive whistle and he went to the door. The wind was very cold and the sky was dark. Thick smoke blew about the wood; the gravel train was stopping for some damaged material Kit wanted to send back.
“If Miss Grey and you don’t mind, Bob, I’ll go to the bridge,” he said. “Mrs. Austin may find waiting dull and I want to see Alison, but I’d like you to stay. For one thing, the cook has planned a supper he declares they couldn’t beat at a Winnipeg hotel.”
“We mean to stay,” Austin agreed. “Florence and Ted have got a holiday, and when I do get off the bridge I’m not keen about rushing back.”
“It’s going to storm, Bob. We ought to start,” Miss Grey remarked.
“You can’t start,” Austin rejoined. “The loading gang have got the caboose and the engineer won’t carry the lot in his cab. Besides, she’s a greasy old service loco, and you must think about your clothes.”
Miss Grey gave him a keen glance. “You’re bluffing, Bob! Kit has framed it up for you to keep me.”
“I want to stay; Ted wants to stay, and if you go we’ll be lonesome,” said Austin humorously. “Be a sport and see us out!”
“Florence is a sport, but she’s blamed obstinate,” Harries remarked.
Miss Grey turned and faced her lover, and Kit stole away. Running behind the cars, he jumped on board the locomotive.
“My stuff is on the car. Start her up.”
The big engine snorted, the wheels began to roll, and Kit looking from the window saw Miss Grey push back Harries and run for the line. The noisy cars, however, were going fast, and Kit was satisfied to know she could not get on board. He was resolved to see Alison, and he imagined that when he did so Florence had meant to be about.
When the train stopped at the bridge, thin snow had begun to fall and the light was going. Kit went to the office and Mrs. Austin got up languidly from a camp chair. By contrast with the biting frost, the small room was hot, and Mrs. Austin’s look was dully surprised.
“Why Kit! Has Bob come back?”
“Where is Alison?” Kit inquired.
Mrs. Austin looked about, as if she expected to see Alison. Then she turned to the door, and remarking the gloom outside, braced up.
“She was here after the train went, but, now I think about it, perhaps she got another.”
Kit said Alison had not arrived and saw Mrs. Austin was disturbed.
“Then, I don’t know where she is. Somehow we were left behind, and when a man said he thought another train was going Alison went to inquire. I waited, but we started from Fairmead early and the office was hot. It looks as if I went to sleep.... But you must find out where Alison is.”
“I’m going to try,” said Kit, rather sternly. “You must wait. Bob and the others will arrive before very long, and the cold is fierce.”
A few minutes afterwards a workman informed him that a lady had gone along the track. Another stated that the dame had asked about the train and crossed the bridge. Kit went across and at the other end two men admitted they had told Alison a train was loading gravel at a pit along the line.
Kit knew the spot was three miles off and he inquired: “Did the train leave the bridge long before the lady talked to you?”
“About five minutes. As soon as he knew the rail cars were past the pit the engineer pulled out. We reckoned the dame ought to make it before the boys loaded up.”
Kit nodded and set off as fast as possible along the track. The plain in front was dark, the savage wind buffeted him, and the snow got thick. Sometimes he struck his foot against a tie; sometimes he plunged into the rough, frozen ballast, and he wondered whether he ought not to have gone back for two or three men and a trolley. To get the men and put the trolley on the rails would, however, occupy some time, and he did not think Alison was far off. When she found the gravel train was gone she would return to the bridge.
For all that, Kit was anxious. As a rule, one did not get a blizzard in spring, but the wind got colder and his hands were numb. The snow was dry and its dryness implied that the thermometer went far below freezing-point. Then had Alison kept the track, he ought to have seen her from the window of the locomotive cab.
His breath got short and his side began to hurt. Stopping for a moment, he tried to shout, but he doubted if his hoarse voice carried fifty yards. The snow beat his face and all he saw was the tossing flakes. Lowering his head, he pushed on stubbornly although he began to wonder whether he and Alison could reach the bridge. She would be exhausted, and he himself had had enough.
Not far ahead the track curved round broken ground and a short trestle carried the rails across a ravine. The carpenters who built the bridge had put up a small turf shack, and Kit resolved when he met Alison he would try to reach the spot. If they got there, he might stop the rail train.
After a time he fancied something moved in the snow, and he shouted. He heard a faint cry, and plunging forward, collided with an indistinct white object.
“Alison!” he gasped, and she clung to him.
Kit put his arm round her. “Brace up! How far’s the ravine?”
“I crossed the bridge not long since, but the camp’s the other way,” said Alison faintly.
“We’re going to the carpenters’ shack. Come on!” said Kit.
To advance was awkward. Alison was exhausted, Kit was tired, and one could hardly face the gale. For all that, unless they got to the shack, Kit knew they would freeze. Feeling for the rails with his boots, he kept the track, and by and by saw a white mound three or four yards in front. The door was not gone, and forcing it open Kit pushed Alison into the hut. Then he pulled off his skin coat, and after breaking two or three matches, got a light.
The roof and turf walls were good, and he saw a cracked stove and a broken box. A few creosoted billets, hacked from a railroad tie, and two or three lumps of coal were in a corner. Somebody had left a sheet torn from a newspaper in which the man perhaps had carried lunch. Then the match went out.
“Pull off and shake your coat,” said Kit. “Keep going; I’ll light a fire.”
He felt for the box, tore off a broken board and opened his knife. His hands were numb, and in the dark to whittle the wood was awkward, but he must husband his matches. By and by he picked up the newspaper.
“Beat your hands,” he said to Alison, and when she did so he gave her the matches. “I want a light.”
Alison used three or four matches and he carefully put the chips and paper and a fire-stick whittled to a ragged end in the stove. Then the light went out and Alison said: “Are you ready, Kit? The matches are nearly gone.”
“Give me another—I think it’s all we’ll need,” Kit replied and Alison, kneeling down, put a match to the fuel.
A pale flame touched the chips and flickered along the ragged stick. A puff of smoke blew from the stove door, and then all was dark.
“How many matches have you now?” Kit inquired.
“Three or four,” said Alison quietly.
Kit frowned. His hands were stiff and he could not properly cut the end of the fire-stick, but he pulled out his tobacco pouch. In Western Canada smokers often roll the cigarettes they use, and Kit had some papers. When he found the packet, however, it felt very thin. All the same, he must get a fire. The cold was arctic, and the railroad gangs talked of men frozen by blizzards when all thought winter gone. Kit felt for his wallet.
“We’ll try another match,” he said.
Alison gave him the light and saw the flame curl about two or three small strips of printed paper. The cigarette papers began to burn, the newspaper smoked and the bottom edge got red. She was very quiet; and Kit’s heart beat, for if the fire went out he knew they might freeze. For a few moments the newspaper smouldered and then a blaze leaped up. The fire-stick snapped and a bright beam shone from a crack in the iron. Kit threw in a billet and a lump of coal.
“The fire’s going!” he shouted triumphantly.
“This time it lighted soon,” Alison remarked. “What were the papers you burned?”
Kit laughed. “I hope they were dollar bills, because I had some larger notes. One talks about burning money, but in the circumstances perhaps I was not extravagant.”
He put the broken box in the corner by the stove for Alison, and sitting down, rested his back against the turf. After the turmoil outside, to sit behind thick walls was some relief, but the shack was very cold and they had not much fuel. Kit doubted if the fire would burn for long. Alison, however, must not know he was anxious, and he began to talk.
“The rail train will soon come along, and now we have got a light I can signal the engineer,” he said, and tried to cut a fresh fire-stick from a creosoted billet. “When I saw you were not with Austin I was terribly disappointed. How did you get left behind?”
“Bob ordered the engineer to move some empty cars. It was very cold and Carrie and I went back to the office. Florence said she would call us, but she did not.”
“Then Miss Grey knew you were at the office?”
“Of course,” said Alison. “She was two or three yards off.”
“Harries declares she sent him to the smithy,” Kit remarked.
Alison looked surprised, but she resumed: “A man said another train was going, but when I found out where it loaded I had crossed the bridge. The men thought the train would not wait long and I did not go back for Carrie. I wanted to see you, Kit.”
Kit noted that her color had come back; in fact, he thought it rather high.
“If I had missed you I’d have started for Fairmead in the morning,” he said. “You are going to England?”
“I must go; perhaps I ought not to have waited for the cablegram. My aunt at Whinnyates is very ill.”
“But you have recently got a better post, and Bob states if you stay at the creamery they’ll make you head clerk.”
“Oh, well, I mustn’t think about that. My aunt was very kind and my uncle’s old. When my mother died I stayed with them and I owe them something. You see, they’re old-fashioned, lonely people, Kit, and they don’t care for strangers. I am their relation and now they want me I cannot refuse.”
Kit agreed, but he was disturbed. In fact, he dared not speculate about his emotions. Perhaps the proper line was to joke.
“But what about the feast we fixed to celebrate our triumph? I’m not yet famous and your aunt may want you for some time.”
“That is so,” said Alison, soberly. “If she does not get better, I may be forced to stay for good. However, if I do come back, I’ll be your guest for dinner when you are famous.”
She smiled, but Kit saw she shivered, and he put all the wood and coal in the stove.
“To begin with, we’ll celebrate your return by a royal feast. But when you left the bridge did you know how far off the gravel pit was?”
“The men said it was a piece up the track, but I ought to make it before the train was loaded and I hurried off. You see, in four days I must be at Montreal....”
Kit saw she did not want to go without saying good-bye to him, and he was moved. Alison had run a worse risk than she knew, and he pictured his remarks to the railroad men.
“When I got to the pit the train was gone. I saw a storm was coming and I must reach the bridge as soon as possible,” Alison continued. “The track curves round some high ground and I thought I’d take a short line across the loop, and I got entangled in the bluffs and when I found the rails again the snow was thick. Until I met you, I was afraid.... But do you hear something?”
Kit jumped up. When he pulled back the door a fan-shaped beam pierced the snow, and running for the fire-stick, he pushed the end in the stove. A few moments afterwards he waved the burning stick by the track, but the wind cut the small flame and it presently went out.
Three or four yards off, a high headlamp glimmered like a foggy moon. In the snow the roll of wheels was muffled, and Kit shouted with all his force, but the explosive snorts from the locomotive drowned his voice. The frozen ground shook and he jumped back. He saw the cab windows shine, and then all was dark. Thick smoke blew about him, and when he tried to shout he choked. Indistinct cars rolled by and vanished, and Kit leaned against the shack and clenched his fist.
The bridge camp was two or three miles off; but one could not get there, and the engineer would only stop for Austin to get down. Bob thought Kit and Alison at the office, and when he found out they were not, the train would be gone. Then he might get a hand-car and try to search the line, but the snow clogged the rails and Kit doubted if flesh and blood could face the storm.
Well, Alison must not know and he went back to the hut. Snow had blown across the floor. The stuff was dry and some about the bottom of the stove did not melt. Kit thought the stove got empty, but the wood and coal were gone. Alison shivered and her face was pinched.
“The train did not stop,” she said.
“When she gets to the bridge Bob will send back the locomotive,” Kit replied. “In the meantime we mustn’t freeze. Suppose you get up and dance?”
Beating time with his numbed feet, he tried to whistle, but he could not command his cold lips, and after a few bars he stopped.
“We must imagine the music; it goes something like that,” he remarked and Alison gave him her hand.
To turn was awkward, and when Kit swung Alison round his head struck the slanted roof. Tramping the powdery snow, they went back and he struck the frozen turf. All the light was the reflection from the cracked stove, and one must keep the wall where the roof was high; but Kit thrilled to hold Alison in his arms and for a few moments forgot that they might freeze. Then he got a harder knock and he thought their dancing in the snow was grimly humorous. The joy of harmonious movement was not theirs; they danced in order to keep alive and their music was the screaming gale. One advanced three or four steps and struck the wall; after another few steps one risked a collision with the stove.
Kit knew Alison’s pluck, but he doubted if she could keep it up and he began to get dizzy. At length she leaned against him and her body went slack. Although she was breathless he felt she shivered.
“I’m sorry, but I must stop.... If one could go straight ... by and by, perhaps, we’ll try another step.”
“Thank you,” said Kit with ceremonious politeness. “I can’t get you an ice and I doubt if you’d enjoy it. I can, however, find you a cool spot, and our band does not get tired. Since we have not a bench under flowering plants and rose-shaded lamps we must use the box.”
He pushed the box against the stove and sitting on the floor, gave Alison his skin coat.
“I’m not horribly selfish, Kit,” she said.
“Well, if you like, we’ll share the coat. At Winnipeg station I used your rug and the coat is big. I expect it was made for a fat profiteer, and I admit I bought the thing at a foreign broker’s shop. Still, when one thinks about it, profiteers don’t use coats from which the fur comes off, and perhaps mine belonged to a railroad man. We’re not fastidious. As a rule, the men who make things don’t get rich.”
Alison smiled, but her smile was brave rather than humorous.
“There’s no use in pretending, Kit. Suppose the train starts before Austin finds out we are not at the bridge?”
“Then Bob will put a trolley on the line and the boys will shove her along. We are not yet beaten, and we were up against it another time. Let’s imagine we are back again at the Winnipeg waiting-room—pilgrims and strangers, fronting all dangers.”
“Ah!” said Alison, “Carrie and Bob helped us at the waiting-room.”
Kit touched the stove. The fire was very low and the iron got cold. He awkwardly pulled out his watch.
“Bob is starting to help us at the bridge. Don’t you see him loading up blankets and sending for his best men? Old Bob is not the sort to let a pal freeze, and a Canadian doesn’t stop for snow!”
For a time they were silent. The blizzard beat the walls and the stove got cold. Then Alison said in a quiet voice:
“The train has gone down the line, but I’m not very much afraid. At Winnipeg I was afraid. You see, I knew I must go alone.... The snow is getting deep, and I daresay it blocks the track....”
Kit saw he had not persuaded her help would arrive. Well, for as long as possible, she must not freeze, and he took her in his arms. The coat would now go round both and Alison did not push him back.
“If you hadn’t bothered about seeing me, you would have been on board the train,” he said.
“But, until I had seen you I couldn’t go away,” Alison replied. “I did see you; you went to look for me in the storm! You don’t really think the trolley will reach us. Perhaps it’s strange, but I don’t bother.... I get dull, Kit, and I’m horribly cold.”
Kit held her fast and kissed her. His feet and hands were numb, but he thought the warmth of his body would keep her from freezing.
“Brace up, my dear,” he said. “Austin has started and help’s not far off. We are going to beat the storm. Now I know you belong to me, and all that’s mine I keep!”
Alison said nothing, but her arm was round his neck and for a time he indulged a strange lethargic satisfaction. Then he tried to conquer his languidness. If he slept, he could not fight the paralyzing cold. Only a faint glimmer from a crack marked the stove, and the hut was dark. The door shook and he knew the gale yet raged.
At length Alison said: “Perhaps I was asleep, but I heard bells chime!”
Kit heard the blizzard and thought she dreamed. He said nothing, but Alison turned and tried to get up.
“Something does chime—like cow-bells in a bluff.”
“A locomotive bell!” Kit gasped and pulled Alison to her feet. “A train is stopping. Bravo, Bob!”
He let her go, and crept along the wall to the door, for his joints were stiff and his legs would hardly carry him. A loud bell tolled and a light pierced the snow, and Kit shouted. The light touched his face and passed. Then he saw a huge dark mass and steam roared in the gale. Indistinct figures jumped down and a lantern flickered. Somebody ran against Kit and he knew Austin’s voice.
“Hello! We’ve got soup and blankets. Where is Alison?”
Kit turned and the lantern searched the shack. Alison leaned against the wall and smiled, but Kit knew her smile was not for Bob. He saw Austin and another wrap a blanket round Alison, and one said: “Help me carry her to the cab.”
“The job’s mine,” said Kit, and clumsily lifting Alison, he started for the door.
He struck the post, but he reached the locomotive and somebody pulled Alison up the steps. Then he was on a tool locker in the cab and drank some thick, hot liquid from a nickel cup. The locomotive was going and that was all he knew.