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THE CASSOWARY
"I HAVE BEEN NARROW," SAID THE MINISTER]
THE CASSOWARY
What Chanced in the Cleft Mountains
BY STANLEY WATERLOO
Author of "The Story of Ab," "The Seekers," "The Wolf's Long Howl," "The Story of a Strange Career," Etc., Etc.
PUBLISHERS MONARCH BOOK COMPANY CHICAGO
COPYRIGHT 1906 BY MONARCH BOOK COMPANY CHICAGO
CONTENTS
Chapter
I. WHAT CHANCED IN THE CLEFT MOUNTAINS II. A MAN III. JOHN LIPSKY'S SIGN IV. A SPECIAL PROVIDENCE V. THE "FAR AWAY LADY" VI. THE LIFE LINE VII. A TOAD AND A SONG VIII. ALAN MACGREGOR'S BROWN LEG IX. THE HUGE HOUND'S MOOD X. THE SIREN XI. THE PORTER'S STORY XII. THE PURPLE STOCKING XIII. HESITANT XIV. A TEST OF ATTITUDE XV. A SAMOAN IDYL XVI. A WOMAN AND SHEEP XVII. THE ENCHANTED COW XVIII. LOVE AND A ZULU XIX. AT BAY SOFTLY XX. LOVE WILL FIND THE WAY XXI. A LITERARY LOVE AFFAIR XXII. ABERCROMBIE'S WOOING XXIII. EVAN CUMMINGS' COURTSHIP XXIV. THE SWISS FAMILY ROBERTSON XXV. THE LOWRY-TURCK LOVE ENTANGLEMENT XXVI. THE PALE PEACOCK AND THE PURPLE HERRING XXVII. THE RELEASE XXVIII. LOVE'S INSOLENCE XXIX. AT LAST
ILLUSTRATIONS
"THE STOREKEEPER!" HE EXCLAIMED "I HAVE BEEN NARROW," SAID THE MINISTER THEY PLUNGED INTO THE WHITENESS THE GREAT SNAKE BEGAN ITS WORK OF DEGLUTITION THE BIG BODY RELAXED AND STRAIGHTENED OUT THE MAYOR HAD BEEN GETTING INTERESTED THE AWARD COULD BUT GO TO UNA LOA THE CHILDREN CARRIED AWAY ARMFULS OF FLOWERS SIR GLADYS ESCORTED THE LADY FLORETTA HOME HE WAS UNCONSCIOUS AS A CHILD A DOZEN OR MORE NESTS WERE FOUND "WE SHALL MEET AT BREAKFAST"
THE CASSOWARY
CHAPTER I
WHAT CHANCED IN THE CLEFT MOUNTAINS
The blizzard snorted and raged at midnight up the narrow pass west ofPike's Peak, at the bottom of which lay the railroad track, and withthis tumult of the elements the snow was falling in masses which werecaught up and tossed about in the gale until the air was but a white,swirling, yeasty mass through which nothing could be seen a yard away.The canyon was filling rapidly and the awful storm showed no sign ofabatement. The passage was not of the narrowest at the place to whichthis description refers. The railroad builders had done good work inwhat had been little more than a gorge. They had blasted and carriedaway after the manner of man who, if resolute enough, must find the way.He may sweat for it; he may freeze for it, but he attains his end, as hedid in forcing a passage through the vainglorious labyrinths of theRockies. So, he had made a road between the towering heights of theCleft Mountains. He had done well, but he had left a way so indefensiblethat indecent Nature, seeking reprisals, might do almost anything therein winter. Just now, with the accompanying war-whoop of the roaringblast, she was building up an enormous buttress across the King'sHighway. The canyon was filled to the depth of many feet, and thebuttress was growing higher every moment.
And, plunging forward from the West toward this buttress of snow, nowcame tearing ahead boisterously the trans-continental train from SanFrancisco. Its crew had hoped to get through the pass while yet thething was possible. On it came at full speed, the big train, with allits great weight and tremendous force of impact, and plunged, like abull with lowered horns, into the uplifting mountain of snow. It toreits way forward, resistlessly at first, then more slowly, and slowerstill, until, at last, it stopped quiveringly. But it was not beatenyet. Back it went hundreds of yards and hurled itself a second time intothe growing drift. It made a slight advance, and that was all. Again andagain it charged, but it was useless. Nature had won! Paralyzed andinefficient, the train lay still.
Then to the wild clamor of the storm was added another note. The whistlescreamed like a woman. Why it should be sounded at all none but theengineer could tell--perhaps it was the instinct of a railroad man tosound the whistle anywhere in an emergency. Speaking the voice of thetrain, its cry seemed to be, at first, one of alarm and protest, then,as the hand on the throttle wavered, one of pleading, until, finally,beaten and discouraged, it sank sobbingly into silence, awaiting thatfirst aid for the wounded in the case of railroad trains--the telegraph.
Upon the trains which must adventure the passes of the Rocky Mountainsin winter are carried all the means for wire-tapping, that communicationmay be had with the outside world on any occasion of disaster at adistance from a station, the climbing spikes, the cutters, tweezers andleather gloves, and all the kit of a professional line repairer.Ordinarily, too, some one of the train crew, or a professionaltelegrapher, in times of special apprehension is prepared to do the workof the emergency. This particular train had all the necessary kit, but,to the alarm of the conductor and engineer and all the train crew, itwas discovered, after they had met in hurried consultation, that whilethey had the means, they lacked the man. What was to be done? They mustreach the outside world somehow; they must reach Belden, whence mustcome the relief train headed by the huge snow-plow which wouldeventually release them. The conductor was a man of action: "It may be,"he said, "it may be that there is some one on the train who can do thejob. It's a mighty doubtful thing, but I'll find out."
He was a big, red-faced, heavy-moustached man, with a big voice, and hestarted promptly on his way, bellowing through each car:
"Is there anybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph? Is thereanybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph?"
The strident call aroused everybody as he passed along, but response waslacking. He became discouraged. As he reached the drawing-room car hewas tempted to abandon the idea. He hesitated, unwilling to disturb thesleepers in--or rather the occupants of the berths, for the generaltumult outside had awakened them--but pulled himself together and kepton. He entered the car roaringly as he had the others:
"Is there anybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph? Isthere anybody here who can cut in on a wire, and telegraph?"
The curtains of one of the berths were drawn apart, and a head appeared,the head of a man of about forty years of age with clean-cut features,distinctly those of a gentleman. There was force in the aquiline noseand the strong jaw, but the voice was gentle enough when he spoke:
"I might do it, possibly. What's the matter? Stalled?"
The conductor was astounded. The drawing-room car was the last placefrom which he had expected or hoped assistance, but he answeredpromptly:
"Yes, sir," he said, "we are in a bad way, half buried in a snowmountain. We've got to reach Belden by wire, but we've no one to makethe connection and send the message. If you can help us it will be agreat thing. I hate to ask you. It's going to be an awful job."
"Have you got the tools?"
"Yes, sir."
"Well, I'll try it."
John Stafford dressed hurriedly. He emerged, a straight,broad-shouldered man, possessed apparently of exceptional strength andvigor, qualities soon to be tested to the utmost. He went forward withthe conductor to the car at the front, in which the trainmen wereassembled. He equipped himself for the work, then, lamp in hand, hestepped out upon the platform and looked about him. He could seenothing.
He was enclosed between walls of white, the substance of which wasrevolving, curling and twisting uncannily. What seemed almost theimpene
trable was beside him. All vision was cut off. There was but themystery of the filled canyon. And he must venture out into thatsinister, invisible space, find a telegraph pole and climb it and cutthe wire and talk with Belden! The thing was appalling.
But a resolute and courageous man was John Stafford, civil engineer, andhe had been building railroads in Siberia. He gave swift directions tothe trainmen:
"Get together and light all the lamps you have and bring them here," heordered; "set some of them in this window and hang some of them againstit. I want the brightest beacon I can have. Keep the glass of the windowclean and clear, inside and outside." Then, with a coil of wire abouthim, and lamp in hand, he stepped out into that wicked vastness.
He plunged into snow up to his neck. He realized now more than everwhat was the task he had undertaken. He stamped to clear as well as hecould a little space about him and took his bearings. Practical railroadman, he had reasoned out his course. He had with him a pocket compassand upon this alone he relied. He knew the distance from the track tothe telegraph line and knew that by going just so many yards north andthen going directly east or west he would reach a pole. But the distancehe could only estimate, and who could accomplish that feat with anydegree of accuracy under such conditions?
Then began a fight which must remain a desperate memory with the manforever.
Straight north he began his way, plowing, digging, almost burrowing. Itwas fearful work, body-distressing, soul-trying. To acquire an addedyard in his progress was a task. Cold as it was, he was perspiringviolently in no time. The snow had begun to pack, and in the slightdepressions, where it was deepest, he had even to heave his chestagainst it to force his way. His feet became clogged and heavy. But hefloundered on. He became angry over it all. He would not be beaten! Atlast, as he estimated, he reached a point which must lie somewhere inthe line between poles, but he was not sure. He could not judge ofdistance, in such a struggle. He lay down in the snow and drew longbreaths and rested until the cold, checking the welling perspiration,warned him that, if he would live, he must work again.
Straight east by the compass he started, and there was renewed the samefierce, exhausting struggle, but this time maintained much longer. Hekept it up until he knew he must have compassed more than half thedistance--all that was required--between two poles, but he could notfind one. The situation was becoming desperate. The lamp gave light foronly a yard ahead, no more, because of the wall of falling snow. Backand forth he went, almost exhausted now, his heart thumping, his breathexhausted. And then, just as he was about to lie down again to a restwhich would have been more than dangerous, he stumbled upon a telegraphpole. It was but fortune.
Stafford's strength returned with the finding of the pole. He would atleast accomplish what he sought to do! He rested long against the poleand then began the ascent. Everything was easy now. The work in hand wasnothing compared with the battle in the drift. He cut in on the wire,made the connection, talked with Belden and got assurance of instantgathering of every force at command there for the rescue. The relieftrain would start at once. There is sympathy and understanding and swiftaid where they have learned to know the perils of the passes.
Stafford came down the pole at ease. Everything was all right now. Allhe had to do was to go back to the train and rest. He would follow hisback track. He looked for it, but there was no back track! The denselyfalling snow had obliterated it completely. He fell back upon thecompass again, and all the desperate work was but repeated. He wasbecoming faint and thoroughly exhausted now. He looked for the beaconlight in the window but he might as well have tried to look through astone wall. He feared his case was hopeless, but he did not flinch norlose his courage. He sat down in the snow, unable for the moment to gofurther, and shouted with all the force of which his strained lungs werecapable, but, at first, with no result. At last he thought he heard ananswering call, and later he was assured of it. That revived him. He gotupon his feet again and stumbled forward, following the direction of thesound. Two forms appeared beside him suddenly. They were those of theconductor and engineer. He was taken by each arm, and, staggeringbetween the two, was lifted into the car. He was approaching a state ofentire collapse, but brandy stimulated him into ability to tell of whathe had accomplished. The trainmen were more than grateful. They removedhis outer clothing, and, half-carrying him to his berth, left him thereenveloped in a warm blanket. He was oblivious to all things in a moment,sleeping the sleep of utter exhaustion.
The Cassowary; What Chanced in the Cleft Mountains Page 1
