Train after train comes in from the West, and none from the East, they being held there by snow, at Cooper's Lake, and tremendous drifts in the deep cuts from Laramie towards Sherman.

Fortunately they have plenty to eat. There is a grocery store, and they are the first of this snow blockade, and so they live on "the fat of the land," which means canned goods of every style, and ham and bacon _ad libitum_.

Though Ferdie rages at the delay, Lawrence, being near his sweetheart, would be content but for one thing: Erma's position, without a chaperon, and accompanied by two men, neither of them relatives, is "embarra.s.sing."

Lawrence probably appreciates this even more than she does, as now and then remarks come to his ears, from some of the pa.s.sengers on the other trains, that he would resent, if common sense did not tell him that he must in no way bring his sweetheart's name to any scandal.

It is partly this, and partly the natural impatience to call his own this being he loves so much, that he is desperately afraid some accident or chance will even now take her from him, that causes him to come to Erma one day, and explain the matter to her.

He urges: "Why should we wait for a grand wedding in New York, dear one?

As your husband, I can show you much greater attentions, and can do things for you that I could not as your betrothed, in the privations and hardships of this blockade. Why not make me happy--why not marry me here?"

But the young lady, affecting a little laugh, murmurs: "What? Before you have given me the engagement ring you wish to use the wedding one?"

And he replies: "I wish to marry you!"

"Not by a justice of the peace!" cries the girl in horror.

"No, by a minister."

"Where will you find one?"

"On the next train behind us--the Reverend Mr. Millroy, of St. Paul.

He's anxious to do some work; he has had no pastoral duties to perform for a month or two. Let us give him a chance--you know your father wished it!"

This mention of her father's views perhaps actuates Erma more than she imagines--but it also reminds her of him! She falters, "You are sure you will never repent? Remember, I am a Mormon's daughter!"

"So you are, and the belle of Newport and the sweetest--the dearest--the----"

But she cries, placing her patrician fingers on his moustache, "Stop!--no more compliments!"

"You consent?"

"P-e-r-haps! When do you wish it?"

"This evening!"

"Oh!" And blushes fly over her face and neck as Lawrence goes away to consult with Mr. Ferdie.

This young gentleman makes arrangements with the minister, and consents to act as best man on the occasion, crying: "Thank G.o.d, Harry, you've given me some excitement at last! I had finished my last novel and my last cigar, and thought I should die of _ennui_ in this everlasting, unending, eternal snow."

But even as Mr. Ferdinand makes his preparations for the nuptial _fete_, another train from the West comes in upon the crowded railroad tracks at Medicine Bow. On it, Oliver, Mrs. Livingston, and Louise. They do not see Lawrence and Miss Travenion, as their cars are some little distance apart. But Mr. Chauncey, who has a habit of visiting from one train to another, finds them out, and after a little chuckles to himself: "This will be the ceremony of the season! I'll--I'll have some Grace Church effects for Mr. Ollie's benefit and discomfiture."

So after exchanging greeting with his aunt and her family, he gets Miss Louise to one side, and explaining something to her that makes the child's eyes grow large, bright, and excited, she suddenly gives a scream of laughter and whispers: "I'll do it--if mother puts me on bread and water for a week. It will make Ollie crazy."

"That's right! You always were a lovely child!" returns Mr. Chauncey.

After this, throughout the day, Louise acts as if under intense but concealed excitement, for she says nothing to her mother and Oliver, but every now and then gives little giggles of laughter, which so astonishes Ollie that he remarks to Mrs. Livingston: "The privations of this snow blockade have made the child deranged." Then he says severely: "If I hear another insane giggle, Louise, I'll shut you up in the stateroom;" for this young gentleman is always happy to play the domestic tyrant.

These remarks so frighten Louise that she disappears.

About seven o'clock in the evening, Mr. Livingston remarks to Ferdie, who has dropped into his car: "It's dreadfully tiresome! Don't you think you could join us in a game of whist?"

"I would be delighted," replies Mr. Chauncey, "but there is going to be an entertainment in the train next to ours. Can't you come in and enjoy it? Eight o'clock is the hour."

"What are they going to do?"

"I don't know exactly, but I expect it's exciting."

"Well, anything is better than doing nothing," laughs Oliver, in which his mother agrees.

So it comes to pa.s.s that the two leave their Pullman and wade through the snow to another side track, where a palace car is brilliantly lighted, and apparently crowded with the _elite_ of the blockaded pa.s.sengers, all in their blockade best.

At the door Oliver asks the porter: "What's going on?"

"A weddin', sah!" replies the negro. "An' they're havin' a very hard time inside; thar wasn't no weddin' ring--but I'se just cut off one of de curtain rings to give to de groom."

"Ah, some cowboy affair," remarks Ollie, who leads his mother into the car, and then gives a gasp, and sinks down on an unoccupied seat, while Mrs. Livingston, too much overcome for words, drops beside him.

For beneath a centre cl.u.s.ter of red and green coal-oil railroad lamps hung up as a decoration they see Erma Travenion and Harry Lawrence being joined in holy matrimony, and Ferdie and Louise acting as best man and bridesmaid.

A moment after the ceremony is finished.

Then Mr. Chauncey announces that a wedding breakfast, or, rather, wedding supper, is served in the grocery at the side of the track.

"It is not exactly a wedding breakfast," he says, "because it's evening, but there'll be plenty of champagne, and every one is cordially invited to attend!"

Just here, social diplomat as she is, Mrs. Livingston, gathering herself together, gets on her feet, and coming to Erma, gives her a kiss of congratulation, saying, "My dear, I hear you have no proper wedding-ring--let this be your first bridal present;" and places a magnificent ruby of her own on Mrs. Lawrence's finger.

Then they all go through the snow to the grocery, which has a back room that is fitted up as a dining-room, where the champagne flows like water in Western style, and a Nevada congressman with a silver tongue makes a little address to the bride, remarking on orange blossoms in the snow.

"The snow we'll keep in the West--the orange blossoms go to the East with the bride, G.o.d bless her! But a _Western man goes with her_!"

This sentiment appealing to Western hearts, and the champagne appealing to Western palates, the gentlemen of the party make a great night of it.

Three days after, the snow blockade at Sherman being broken for a little time, the trains all get under headway, and, with cheering pa.s.sengers, leave Medicine Bow, run down to Laramie, and the next morning are out of the great snow blockade, and flying across Nebraska towards Omaha.

So, one evening just before Christmas, Harry Lawrence and his wife come into the Grand Central Depot, New York, Erma whispering, "Did ever girl have railroad trip like mine?--I went to find a father and found a husband!" and her eyes beam upon Harry, who is pressing her arm to his side.

From the station they drive to the Everett, where a telegram comes to them from California, announcing the safety of Ralph Travenion, and that he has shipped his Utah Central stock east by Wells, Fargo & Co., and is returning to New York via Panama, for he does not dare to trust himself in Utah.

Thirty days after this, Travenion strolls into their parlor at the Everett, and looking at him, no one would ever have thought that he was once a Mormon bishop, for he is now the same debonair exquisite of the Unity Club that he was years ago, and gives Lawrence his father's blessing, as one.

"My boy, we must make you an Eastern club man," he remarks. "I shall put you up at the Unity and Stuyvesant. We're rich enough to live in the East, and in order to make us richer, let's go over to Boston, and see the heads of the Union Pacific!"

Which they do, and sell the control of the Utah Central, out of which Brigham Young and his fellows go, with wailing and gnashing of teeth, for they know that the hand of the Union Pacific is upon them in railroad matters, and it is a grasping Gentile corporation; in proof of which the Mormon Church does not control one railroad in Utah--though it built nearly all of them.

Some time afterwards, over their dinner-table in New York, Travenion, whose instincts are those of a business man yet, says: "I should have stayed in California. There's a fortune there! Even while in San Francisco, I made some money in mining stocks. Belcher, for instance, had gone up very much."