Once more, as though unwilling to admit that it was conquered, the train backed up and then made a forward dash. But the result was the same. The snorting monster seemed to give up the struggle, and stood puffing and wheezing, with the steam hissing and great volumes of smoke rising from the stack.
“We’re blocked,” cried Bobby.
“It must be that we’ve got to the gulch,” observed Fred.
“A pretty kettle of fish,” grumbled Pee Wee.
“We’re up against it for fair, I guess,” admitted Mouser. “But let’s get out and see how bad the trouble is.”
The boys joined the procession of passengers going down the aisle and jumped off the steps of the car into a pile of snow beside the track that came up to their knees. Pee Wee, who as usual was last, lost his balance as he sprang, and went head over heels into a drift. His laughing comrades helped him to his feet.
“Wallowing like a porpoise,” grinned Fred.
“You went into that snow as if you liked it,” chuckled Bobby.
“Lots of sympathy from you boobs,” grumbled Pee Wee, as he brushed the snow from his face and hair.
“Lots of that in the dictionary,” sang out Mouser. “But come ahead, fellows, and see what’s doing.”