The train sped on, past snow-covered fields and rolling hills, over trestles, allowing momentary glimpses of ice-bound creeks, or ravines, purple and gray in the morning shadows.
At various towns, the train came to a halt. Several were manufacturing centres, where smoke rose lazily from chimneys, and jets of steam rivaled in their whiteness the dazzling snow. But the distances between these stopping places grew longer and longer, and when, at length, the conductor called out, "Stony Creek," the last town had been left miles behind.
"Wake up, Chubby!" cried Bob, giving the stout boy a vigorous shove. "Here's where we get off."
Dave stretched, yawned and rose to his feet just as the cars came to a stop.
"It doesn't look as if we were anywhere," he said.
"We'll have to get up a searching party and try to find the town," said Nat.
When the boys stood on the platform and gazed after the fast receding train, they felt that they were already on the edge of the wilderness.
Beyond the small ticket office was a freight house, while a lone residence, with a veranda at the side, stood opposite the station. A road skirted the railway tracks, and from this two others branched off, winding their way between broad fields, patched here and there with dark, gaunt trees.
"Looks like the arctic regions," said Nat.
"And feels like it, too," observed Tommy Clifton, pulling his coat collar closer around his neck. "Guess only birds live here."