The viaduct in question was a suspension-bridge over a rapid about a mile farther on. The signalman said that many of the supports were broken, and that it was impossible to cross; he did not exaggerate the danger, and it may be taken for granted that when an American is prudent there is good reason for not being rash.
Passe-partout did not dare to tell his master, but remained, listening with clenched teeth, motionless as a statue.
"That is all very fine," said Colonel Proctor, "but I guess we ain't going to stop here to take root in the snow."
"We have telegraphed to Omaha for a train, Colonel," said the guard; "but it can't reach Medicine Bow in less than six hours."
"Six hours!" exclaimed Passe-partout.
"Yes," replied the guard; "but it will take us that time to reach
Medicine Bow on foot."
"Why, it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.
"Only a mile, but on the other side of the river."
"And can't we cross in a boat?" asked the Colonel.
"Quite impossible; the creek has swollen with the rains; we shall have to go round ten miles to a ford."