In Which Phileas Fogg Simply Does His Duty
Three passengers--including Passepartout--had disappeared. Had
they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by
the Sioux? It was impossible to tell.
There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor was
one of the most seriously hurt. He had fought bravely, and a ball
had entered his groin. He was carried into the station with the
other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as could be
of help.
Aouda was safe. Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest of the
fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded in
the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed
down Aouda's cheeks.
All the passengers had gotten out of the train, the wheels of
which were stained with blood. From the tires and spokes hung
ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the
white plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were
disappearing in the south, along the banks of Republican River.
Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious
decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without
speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a
prisoner, ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the
Indians? "I will find him, living or dead," he said quietly to
Aouda.
"Ah, Mr.--Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands and covering
them with tears.
"Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose a moment."
Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself.
He pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make
him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly
lost. But as he thought, "It is my duty," he did not hesitate.
The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred of
his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend the
station, should the Sioux attack it.
"Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three passengers have
disappeared."
"Dead?" asked the captain.
"Dead or prisoners. That is the uncertainty which must be solved.
Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?"
"That's a serious thing to do, sir," returned the captain. "These
Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas, and I cannot leave the
fort unprotected."
"The lives of three men are in question, sir," said Phileas
Fogg.
"Doubtless, but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save
three?"
"I don't know whether you can, sir, but you ought to do so.
"Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right to teach me my
duty."
"Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly. "I will go alone."
"You, sir!" cried Fix, coming up. "You go alone in pursuit of the
Indians?"
"Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish--him to whom
everyone present owes his life? I shall go."
"No, sir, you shall not go alone," cried the captain, touched in
spite of himself. "No! You are a brave man. Thirty volunteers!"
he added, turning to the soldiers.
The whole company started forward at once. The captain had only
to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant placed
at their head.
"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.
"Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix.
"Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favor, you
will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to me--"
A sudden pallor overspread the detective's face. Separate himself
from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step!
Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively
at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle
which was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that
calm and frank look.
"I will stay," he said.
A few moments later, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand,
and, having confided to her his precious carpetbag, went off with
the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he had said
to the soldiers, "My friends, I will divide five thousand dollars
among you, if we save the prisoners."
It was then a little past noon.
Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone,
thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil
courage of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was
now risking his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in
silence.
Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal
his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform, but
soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of which
he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This man, whom
he had just followed around the world, was permitted now to
separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse himself,
and, as if he were director of police, administered to himself a
sound lecture for his greenness.
"I have been an idiot!" he thought, "and this man will see it. He
has gone, and won't come back! But how is it that I, who have in
my pocket a warrant for his arrest, have been so fascinated by
him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an ass!"
So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too
slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to
tell Aouda all, but he could not doubt how the young woman would
receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought
of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains. It did not seem
impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily
printed on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint
would be effaced.
Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing
to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney
station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.
Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing hard,
long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great
shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing
still larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect.
No train was expected from the east, neither had there been time
for the help asked for by telegraph to arrive. The train from
Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery
was soon explained.
The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening
whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train,
had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying off
the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles,
when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had
slackened. It had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty
miles beyond Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker
was dead. After remaining for some time in their swoon, they had
come to themselves. The train had then stopped. The engineer,
when he found himself in the desert, and the locomotive without
cars, understood what had happened. He could not imagine how the
locomotive had become separated from the train, but he did not
doubt that the train left behind was in distress.
He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue
on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train,
which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging.
Nevertheless, he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the
pressure again mounted, and the locomotive returned, running
backwards to Fort Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the
mist.
The travelers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place at
the head of the train. They could now continue the journey so
terribly interrupted.
Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the
station, and asked the conductor, "Are you going to start?"
"At once, madam."
"But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travelers--"
"I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the conductor. "We are
already three hours behind time."
"And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?"
"Tomorrow evening, madam."
"Tomorrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must wait--"
"It is impossible," responded the conductor. "If you wish to go,
please get in."
"I will not go," said Aouda.
Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when
there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made
up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was
there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the
car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station
platform burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in
his mind again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to
struggle on to the end.
Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them
Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their
places in the train. The buzzing of the overheated boiler was
heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer
whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its
white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.
The detective had remained behind.
Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very
cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station. He might
have been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming
out of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and
peering through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist
which narrowed the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible,
some welcome sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would
return, chilled through, to issue out again after the lapse of a
few moments, but always in vain.
Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could
they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a
conflict with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist?
The commander of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal
his apprehensions. As night approached, the snow fell less
plentifully, but it became intensely cold. Absolute silence
rested on the plains. Neither flight of bird nor passing of beast
troubled the perfect calm.
Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart
stifled with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains.
Her imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable
dangers. What she suffered through the long hours it would be
impossible to describe.
Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep.
Once a man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely
replied by shaking his head.
Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc of the
sun rose above a misty horizon; but it was now possible to
recognize objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad had
gone southward. In the south there was not a sign of them. It was
then seven o'clock.
The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course to
take.
Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first?
Should he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those
already sacrificed? His hesitation did not last long, however.
Calling one of his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering a
reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a signal? The
soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they
perceived a little band returning in good order.
Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travelers, rescued from the
Sioux.
They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort
Kearney. Shortly before the detachment arrived, Passepartout and
his companions had begun to struggle with their captors, three of
whom the Frenchman had felled with his fists, when his master and
the soldiers hastened up to their relief.
All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed the
reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout, not
without reason, muttered to himself, "It must certainly be
confessed that I cost my master dear!"
Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would have
been difficult to analyze the thoughts which struggled within
him. As for Aouda, she took her protector's hand and pressed it
in her own, too much moved to speak.
Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train. He
thought he should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and
he hoped that the time lost might be regained.
"The train! The train!" cried he.
"Gone," replied Fix.
"And when does the next train pass here?" said Phileas Fogg.
"Not till this evening."
"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.