“Thanks!” said Heysham, with more than a suspicion of dryness. “In this enlightened country one must earn one’s bread as one can, but I wasn’t brought up to the drummer’s calling. Used to ride with—but that has nothing to do with you, and I’m hoping you’ll strike the railroad on the shortest possible line. It wouldn’t be nice to spend to-night on the prairie.”
There could be no doubt on this point, for when we reached the levels darkness had closed down and the air was thick with uplifted snow which smarted our eyes and made breathing difficult, while, for the first time, I commenced to have misgivings. Heysham had understated the case, for unless we struck the railroad we might very well freeze to death on the prairie. I explained this to him, and gave 244 him directions how he could find a farm by following the creek; but he laughed.
“It’s an exciting run,” he said, “and even life in Winnipeg grows monotonous. Lead on, I’m anxious to be in at the finish.”
The snow came down in earnest before we had made two more leagues, and, steering partly by the wind and partly by instinct of direction, I held on half-choked and blinded, more and more slowly, until, when at last the case looked hopeless, Heysham shouted, for a telegraph post loomed up.
“You have reached the railroad, anyway,” he said. “The only question is—how far from the station are we?”
We drew rein for a few moments beside the graded track, and shook the snow from our wrappings as we debated the simple question whose issues were momentous. The horses were worn out, we were nearly frozen, and the white flakes whirled more and more thickly about us.
“We can only go and see, and the track at least will guide us,” I said at last. “I don’t think the station can be many miles away.”
The rest of the journey left but a blurred memory of an almost sightless struggle through a filmy haze, in which we occasionally lost each other and touch with the guiding poles, until at last, caked thick with wind-packed snow, we caught sight of a pale glimmer, and fell solidly, as it were, out of the saddle in the shelter of the station. Here, however, a crushing disappointment awaited us.
“Stopping train passed two hours ago,” said the station agent. “Won’t be another until the Montreal express comes through. Heard the stock cars passed Brandon by daylight—they’ll be in Winnipeg now.”
“You have one move left,” said Heysham. “Hire a special! Comes high, of course, but it’s cheaper than losing 245 your cattle. They can’t sell before to-morrow; and you won’t be hard on a plundered man, agent? That locomotive ought to take us through.”