"Yes, all get in," muttered Passe-partout; "but you cannot prevent my thinking that it would be much more natural for us to cross the bridge on foot and let the train follow."
But no one heard this wise reflection, and if so, probably no one would have acknowledged its justice.
The passengers took their places, as did Passe-partout, without saying what had happened. The whist-players were still deep in their game.
The engine-driver whistled and then backed his train for nearly a mile, then whistling again he started forward. The speed increased to a fearful extent, and rushing along at a pace of nearly a hundred miles an hour, seemed hardly to touch the rails at all.
They passed over like a flash of lightning. No one saw anything of the bridge; the train leaped, as it were, from bank to bank, and could not be stopped till it had passed the station for some miles.
Scarcely had the train crossed the bridge when the whole structure fell with a tremendous crash into the rapids beneath!
CHAPTER XXIX.
In which certain Incidents are told which are never met with except on
Railroads in the United States.
That evening the train proceeded without interruption; passed Fort Saunders, crossed Cheyenne Pass, and arrived at Evans' Pass. Here the railroad reached its greatest elevation, eight thousand and ninety-one feet above the sea. The track was now downhill all the way to the Atlantic, across naturally level plains. From here the Grand Trunk Line led to Denver, the capital of Colorado State, rich in gold and silver mines, and boasting more than fifty thousand inhabitants.
Three days and three nights had now been passed in accomplishing one thousand three hundred and eighty-two miles; four days and four nights more would suffice to reach New York, and Phileas Fogg had not lost time.