Towards the east and north he can see a long distance, as the descent is quite rapid to the big plateaus that run to Green River, but there is nothing given to his eye save snow—snow everywhere.
A moment after, the conductor comes tramping through the drifts, and knowing Captain Lawrence by reputation, stops to speak to him.
"I presume," says Harry, "you wired our situation to Evanston last night."
"Of course, and a nice tramp I had of it to the telegraph station. It's over a mile back, and the drifts made it seem five. Every one from here to Ogden, along the track, by this time knows our position."
"I suppose they'll be sending up a relief train soon."
"I hardly think so, before to-morrow," replies the conductor. "They have got all they can take care of, down below at Evanston, just at present. In fact, I imagine we've not seen the worst of it."
And this is a shrewd prediction, because, though he doesn't know it, this is just the beginning of the great snow blockade of '71 and '72, on the Union Pacific Railway, when some trains were delayed for thirty days between Ogden and Omaha—the usual time being less than three.
"Fortunately, we've not got a heavy train to move," remarks Lawrence, who is anxious to look on the best side of everything.
"And, thank God! no great amount of passengers," replies the conductor. "Otherwise there would have been a howl for grub before now. We've only got two outside those on the sleepers, and one is a woman, and the other a little girl, the daughter of the engineer of the helping locomotive. He's got her in his arms now, as he stands by his engine. Come over and see what he thinks," adds the autocrat of the train, as he trudges off through the snow towards one of the locomotives on the Y.
Harry has taken a step to follow him, when he suddenly pauses.