“The train men say that the trouble is owing to snow-laden branches of some spruce trees, that grow near the track, resting on the wires. It is only when there is fresh snow that we find irregularity,” Nell said quietly, though inwardly she quaked from fear lest this much-dreaded official should lay the blame on her, which would re-act upon Gertrude, whose deputy she was.
“How far is this place?” asked the inspector.
“About two miles up the valley,” replied Nell, promptly.
The big man opened his notebook, consulted it carefully, then spoke in a pleasanter tone.
“Yes; according to the reading of the galvanometer at Lytton, that would be about the distance. Now, how am I to get there?”
“Some freight cars go up in about two hours,” suggested Nell.
He shook his head. “Too long to wait; anything else to suggest?”
“Snow-shoes, if you can use them; the snow is fairly firm to-day,” she answered, with a look at the pair in the corner which the baggage-clerk had hunted out for her recreation.
“The very thing. Do you know anything about snow-shoes?” asked the inspector, turning to his assistant, a sickly-looking youth, who, like Nell, was a deputy.
“I have seen them,” replied the lad, with a nervous look at the pair in the corner.