THE STORM
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.