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 bump 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 passed
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 passengers, as
many shovelers, and three days' food. We got to No. 15 Saturday. 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.
[Illustration: 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.