Then Lawrence cries, "Give her steam!"
The locomotive dashes through little drifts, and drowns sound, but he knows that in a very few moments Lot Kruger will have discovered that what he values more than the stock of the Utah Central Railway is passing away from him.
The engine is already flying through the snow-shed—one of the two long ones that line the steep decline leading towards Piedmont and the East.
In it they find little snow to impede them, but at the end of the shed their trouble begins, for on this track, which has not been passed by trains for twenty-four hours, they encounter deep drifts, and once or twice the locomotive nearly stops, and the engineer tells Lawrence that if it were not for the steep down grade, they would never be able to make it.
Several times they have to back, and push on again, though the sheet-iron covered cow-catcher, which acts as a snow-plow, helps them tremendously. Still it is a long time before they reach the second big snow-shed, and looking at his watch, Lawrence finds that they have been half an hour doing what ought only to have taken them ten minutes.
But just as they are entering the second snow-shed, where the track makes an enormous bend, almost running back upon itself, in the form of a U, something comes out of the snow-shed—not much over a mile away—that they have left behind them. Something that makes Lawrence's heart jump, and then grow cold, as with hoarse voice he cries, pointing back: "My God! what is that?"
And the engineer sets his teeth, and says: "They're after us! It's the headlight of the other locomotive! They have got up steam, and they have the advantage of us, because we have to bore the way through drifts and clear the track for them. They're bound to catch us!"
"Not if steam'll beat them," mutters Harry, and assisted by Buck, he piles the engine fire with coal, and helped by the rapid descent, they forge through drift after drift, none of these being very deep in the second long snow-shed.
Then they come out of it, into the open country once more, and meet deeper drifts, into which the engine plunges with a slow thud, throwing the snow higher than its smoke-stack, as it struggles through. Here the other engine must have the best of it, for they clear its track for it, and they haven't left the second snow-shed half a mile behind when, like the eye of a demon, the glow of the yellow headlight of their pursuer comes gliding after them.
The engineer mutters: "They're goin' to catch us!"