Warde was the first to speak: “I don’t believe this is Emigrant at all,” he said. “I think the train just stopped to leave the car here; maybe they’re going to make a station here. Anyway this is no village; it isn’t even a station.”
“Well, whatever it is, we’re here,” said Ed. “What are we going to do? That’s a nice way to do, not lock the door of the car or anything.”
“Maybe they’ll back up,” said Westy.
“They might,” said Warde, “if they knew we were here, but who’s going to tell the conductor?”
It seemed quite unlikely that the train would return. Even as they indulged this forlorn hope the distant flickers of smoke appeared farther and farther away against the background of the mountain. Then they could not be seen at all.
The three honor boys sat down on the lowest step of the old car platform and considered their predicament. One thing they knew, there was no other train that day. They had not a morsel of food, no camping equipment, no compass. For all that they could see they were in an uninhabited wilderness save for the savage life that lurked in the surrounding fastnesses.
“What are we going to do?” Warde asked, his voice ill concealing the concern he felt.
Ed Carlyle looked about scanning the vast panorama and shook his head.
“What would Shining Sun do?” Westy asked quietly. “All I know is we’re going to Yellowstone Park. We know the railroad goes there, so we can’t get lost. Thirty miles isn’t so much to hike; we can do it in two days. I wouldn’t get on a train now if one came along and stopped.”
“Mr. Wilde has got you started,” laughed Ed.