"Oh, it's all right, Jud, it's all right," he said. "I ain't finding no fault. Only I think you'd 'a' done better to join us and get your share."

Though I still felt pretty dizzy and weak I started out to look about town. I found that the inside door of the bank safe was still tight shut, though the outer one was blown off. The building was wrecked and the drug store was not in much better shape. I could see that the bank had been afire, but that Joe had put it out with water from the well.

Outside the barn I found d.i.c.k and Ned and the pony the Indian had taken, with three of the gang's horses which had been left behind, huddled together trying to keep out of the snow, which was still coming down at a great rate and was being swirled about by the wind. I let them in, and they were all very glad to get some feed, as were likewise the cow and chickens. I found that the Indian had pried open the back door with a crowbar from among the blacksmith's tools.

Night was already coming on and I was so tired and sleepy that I could scarce keep up. So I made Pike as comfortable as I could, and went to bed and slept like a log.

The first thing I knew in the morning was that the storm had turned into a raging blizzard. It was not yet very cold, but the snow was drifting as fast as it had any time during the winter. I found Pike more comfortable. I had hoped for the train, but the storm discouraged me. I began to wonder what I was going to do with him. That his leg was broken was certain, and I almost wished that I had let him go with the others.

It was Sunday, and the first thing I did after breakfast was to write my regular letter to my mother, telling her all that had happened the past week; and it was a good deal. Then I started out to take another look around town. My sleep had done me a world of good, though I still felt stiff and lame.

It was impossible to do much in the storm, but I covered up the bank safe with some blankets, and nailed boards over some windows in other buildings which had been broken by the explosion. I finally turned up at the depot and went in to see about the fire.

As I opened the door I was astonished to hear the telegraph instrument clicking. I knew the line was down and could not make out what it meant. I understood no more about telegraphing than Kaiser, but in visiting Tom Carr during the fall I had learned to know the call for Track's End, which always sounded to me like clicket-ty-click-click, clicket-ty, over and over again till Tom opened the switch and answered. Well, as I stood listening I heard this call for Track's End, clicket-ty-click-click, clicket-ty. Then I saw that the line must have been repaired; but if this were so a train must have come nearly through; otherwise the repairmen could not have reached the break, which, I remembered, Tom said was just beyond Siding No. 15, fourteen miles east of Track's End.

I went to the table and sat down and listened to the steady clicking, the same thing, nothing but the call. It gave me a good feeling even if I didn't know where it came from. I could not understand why any other office should be calling Track's End, as they must all know the station was closed for the winter. Then it came to me that a train must be on the way, and somebody thought it had got here.

Just to see if I could, I reached over, opened the switch and tried giving the Track's End call myself. Of course I did it very slowly, with a long pause between each click; but I thought I would show the fellow at the other end that Track's End wasn't quite dead after all.

Then I closed the switch, and instantly was surprised to hear the call repeated, but just as slowly and in the same way that I had given it.

It came this way two or three times, then I gave it as best I could, then it came the same way once more.

After this there was a long pause, and then it began to click something else, very slowly, dot, dash, dash, dot, and so forth, with a long stop between each. I picked up a pencil and marked it down, slowly, just as it came. Every two or three clicks there was a very long pause, and I would put down a monstrous big mark, thinking it might be the end of a letter; and when it stopped this is what I had, just as I wrote it down (I have the paper to this day), though it might as well have been Greek for all I knew of its meaning:

[Transcriber's Note: an image of a series of handwritten dots, dashes, vertical marks, and other marks appears here in the text.]

After a minute or two it began again, but I soon saw that I was getting the same thing. I leaned back in the chair and wished that I could read it. Then I sat up with sudden new interest, wondering if I could not find a copy of the Morse code somewhere and translate the message. It didn't seem likely that Tom would have one, as he was an old operator; but I began rummaging among his books and papers just the same. I had not gone far when I turned up an envelope directed to him on which was some printing saying that it contained a pamphlet about books for telegraphers. I opened it, and on the first page, as a sort of trade-mark, was what I wanted. In ten minutes I had my message translated. It read: "Starving. Siding fifteen. Carr."

CHAPTER XXII

The last Chapter, but a good Deal in it: a free Lodging for the Night, with a little Speech by Mr. Clerkinwell: then, how Kaiser and I take a long Journey, and how we never go that Way again.

When I knew what the message said I saw that a train must have got to No. 15, and I jumped up and started for the door; then I ran back again and slowly spelled out O. K. on the instrument, and without waiting to see what came in reply hurried over to the hotel as fast as I could go.

It was now eleven o'clock, and though the storm was as furious as ever I was determined to set out and try to reach the siding. If it had been before the thaw, with all of the winter snow on the ground, I never should have thought of doing it, but most of the old drifts were either gone or frozen so hard that they could be walked over without the least fear of breaking down; and as for the new drifts they were soft and not yet deep. I first thought of taking the horses and large sleigh and of keeping on the railroad track, but I remembered that there were a good many culverts and little bridges which I could not cross that way, and I knew to leave the track would mean to be lost instantly. So I saw that the best I could do was to take Kaiser and the small sled.

I soon had this loaded with all the provisions that I thought we could get through with, though the selection was poor enough. But I got a lot of coffee from the store, with bacon and canned Boston baked beans and other such things. There was a little of the buffalo meat left, and as I had kept it buried in the snow during the thaw it was still as good as ever. This, with what eggs and other things in the hotel which I had, I put on, covered it all snugly with a blanket, tied the load firmly and was ready. I told Pike where I was going, though the next moment I saw from the look on his face that I should not have done so. Still, I could not see what harm he could do with his bruises and broken leg. I left food and water where he could reach them, and started out, walking beside Kaiser and helping him drag the load.

It was just noon when I got off. We went to the station and started down the track. It was impossible to see more than a few rods, but the wind, which all along had been in the northeast, had now shifted to the northwest, so it was partly in my back. It was both snowing and blowing, and we waded through the damp, heavy, new snow, and slipped and stumbled over the old drifts. I soon saw that there was a big job before us; and I had not expected any pleasure excursion.

The first accident was when I fell through between the ties over a culvert up to my chin. It was too high to get back that way, so I went on down and floundered out at the end and so fought my way back up. We soon got used to these, and generally I told where they were by the lay of the land, and either we went round them or walked carefully over on the ties. But before I had gone three miles I saw that my only hope of reaching the siding that night was in the wind going down; but it was all the time coming up.

But we plodded on, in some places making pretty good time; but on the other hand we often had to stop to rest. Kaiser seemed not the least discouraged, and when we stopped even tried to wag his tail, but it was too bushy a tail to wag well in such a wind. After a while the blizzard became so blinding and the track so deep with snow that we had to leave it and follow the telegraph poles on the edge of the right of way, stopping and clinging to one pole till a little swirl in the snow gave me a glimpse of the next one; then we would plunge ahead for it, and by not once stopping or thinking I would usually b.u.mp up against it all right; though when I had gone fifty steps if I did not find it I would stop and stand still till a little lull made it so I could see the pole, and then sometimes I would find that I had pa.s.sed it a few feet to one side.

At last (but too soon) I thought I noticed that the light was beginning to fail; and it was certainly all the time growing colder. A little farther on we came to a deep cut through a coteau. The cut was so filled with new snow that we could not wade through, and the side of the hill was covered with the old snow and so slippery that we could not scramble over. The only thing to do was to go around it.

This I thought we could do and not get lost by keeping close to its foot all the way around.

We started and plowed on till I thought it time to see the telegraph poles again. We went on, but I saw the hill was not leading us right, and turned a little the other way. Another coteau was in our path and I turned to avoid it. For another five minutes we went on. I turned where I was sure the railroad must be, when suddenly it seemed as if the wind had changed and was coming out of the south. I knew it undoubtedly had not, but by this sign I understood that I was lost. I felt dazed and bewildered and was not sure if I were north or south of the track. But for another fifteen minutes we struggled on. I had lost all sense of direction. I stopped and tried to think. Every minute it was growing colder; how long I stood there I don't know, but I remember that I heard Kaiser whine, and started at it, and realized that I was growing sleepy. I knew what the sleepiness which comes on at such times means, and I turned around square to the wind and started on.

A dozen steps away we came face to face with a big new snow-drift, its top blown over like a great white hood. I guessed that there was an old bank under this one. I took a stake from the sled, dropped on my hands and knees and began to poke about for it. I soon found it, broke through the frozen crust with the stake and began pawing out a burrow with my hands. I dug like a scared badger and in a few minutes had a place big enough. I wriggled out, pushed Kaiser in, took the blanket from the sled, backed into my snow cave again and rolled up as best I could in the blanket. In five minutes the mouth of the burrow was drifted over and we were in total darkness.

I was not afraid to sleep now, as I knew, what with the snow, my big coat, and the blanket, not to mention Kaiser, I would be safe enough from freezing; so that is what I did till morning, scarce waking once.

When I did wake, though I knew no more than anything if it were morning, I could no longer hear the wind roaring, so I burrowed out; which was no small job, either, since I had to dig through a wall of snow, packed solid as a cheese.

But when Kaiser and I burst out, like whales, I guess, coming up to breathe, we found it clear and calm, with the sun just peeping up above a coteau and the frost dancing in the air. And we were not five rods from the railroad, though in that blizzard we could no more see it than we could Jericho. It took half an hour to dig out the sled and get started, with Kaiser barking, and his breath like a puff of a locomotive at every bark, it was so cold. I put on the skees now (which I had had tied on the sled) and off we went over the drifts, now packed hard, at a good rate.

It was no more than ten o'clock when I saw a white cloud of smoke far ahead and knew we were coming to the siding; and Kaiser saw it too, I think, and we both started to run and couldn't help it. And half a mile farther we saw a man coming slowly; and who was it but dear old Tom Carr!

I think I never was so glad to see anybody in my life. The poor fellow was so weak that he could hardly stand, but he was making a start for Track's End.

"Jud," he said, "we started out Wednesday, with a dozen pa.s.sengers, as many shovelers, and three days' food. We got to No. 15 Sat.u.r.day. Then the storm came and the food was about all gone. Yesterday the storm kept up and the men could have done nothing even if they had had food.

This morning they are at it, but they are so weak that they can't do much, but with what you've got on your sled we'll get through."

He went back with me, and there were Burrdock and Sours and Allenham and some others, all shoveling at the cut with the men; and in the car was Mr. Clerkinwell, now recovered from his sickness, but weak from the lack of food. I won't try to tell how glad they were to see me; but I was gladder to see them. I felt that I was out of the prison of Track's End at last; and so many times I had thought I never should get out alive!

"And why didn't you die a thousand times from loneliness," cried Mr.

Clerkinwell, after he had talked a few minutes, "if from no other cause?"

"Oh," I answered, "I had some company, you know; then there were callers, too, once in a while." Then I said to him that "I wrote every Sunday to my mother," at the which he patted me on the head, just as if I weren't taller than he!

The men all came in and we got up a sort of a meal; at least there was plenty of coffee, bacon, and beans. Then they went at the shoveling again, the engineer got up steam, and soon we left the short platform and little cube of a house at the siding behind. There was a snow-plow on the engine, and the men now worked with so much energy that we bucked along through the cuts, and before sundown were at Track's End.

So, on Monday, March 21st, the train which had gone away on Friday, December 17th, was back again, with a long whistle and a cheer from every man, and barks from Kaiser which lasted longer than all.

I had told part of my story, and we all went over to the Headquarters House, Allenham to arrest Pike. He was gone. The barn had been broken open that morning and one of his ponies taken out. How he ever did it with his broken leg was more than any of us could tell, but he had done it, and it seemed no use to try to follow him. I saw my mistake in telling him so much; but it was too late to remedy it.

The next day another train came, bringing a whole crowd of Track's-Enders; and that night they held a little meeting at the hotel and were for giving me a reward for what I had done (which was no more than I had been left to do); but I told them, No, that Mr. Sours had paid me my wages according to agreement and that I couldn't take any reward; but when Mr. Clerkinwell got up and took off his watch and chain (gold they were, you may be sure) and said I must take that whether or no, so that when I "looked for the time o' day I would always remember that a townful of people, and especially a certain old gentleman, thanked me and did not forget what I had done"--when Mr.

Clerkinwell did this, I say, and I guess there were tears in his eyes, what could I do but take it? and take it I did, and wear it to this day.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. CLERKINWELL GIVING ME HIS WATCH AND CHAIN]

Mr. Clerkinwell told me afterward that there was a full $20,000 in the safe.

So that is all there is to tell of my strange winter at Track's End, so many years ago. Three days later the regular trains began to run, and the first one took all of my letters to my mother; and no more than two days after she got them I was there myself, bringing only one important thing more than I had taken away (besides experience), and that was Kaiser. I had asked for him and got him; first I had thought to take away Pawsy, too, but concluded to leave her with Mrs.

Sours, where she could get on the door in case of trouble. And since, though I have done my share of wandering about the world (and perhaps a little more than my share), I have never again visited Track's End; nor do I think I want to go back where the wolves howled so many dismal nights, and where the other things were worse than the wolves.