The morning was gray with a snow fog hanging low, and feathery flakes

were sinking upon the whitened street. "Listen!" cried the boy,

excitedly, as they neared the Wickiup. From somewhere in the sky came

the faint scream of a locomotive whistle. "That's them, all right.

Gee! I'd like to buck snow."

"Would you?"

"Would I? Wouldn't you?"

A hundred men were strung along the platform, and a sharper blast

echoed across the upper flat. "There they are!" cried Solomon,

pressing forward. Gertrude saw a huge snow-covered monster swing

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heavily around the yard hill. The ploughs were at hand. The head

engine whistled again, those in the battery took up the signal, and

heeled in snow they bore down on the Wickiup whistling a chorus.

Before the long battery had halted, the men about Gertrude were running

toward the cabs, cheering. Many men poured out of the battered

ice-bound cars at the end of the string. While Gertrude's eyes

strained with expectation a collie dog shot headlong to the platform

from the steps of the hind caboose, and wheeling about, barked madly

until, last of three men together, Glover, carrying his little bag,

swung down, and listening to his companions, walked leisurely forward.

Swayed by the excitement which she did not fully understand all about

her, Gertrude, with swimming eyes, saw Solomon dash toward Glover and

catch his bag. As the boy spoke to him she saw Glover's head lift in

the deliberate surprise she knew so well. She felt his wandering eyes

bend upon her, and his hand rose in suppressed joyfulness.

Doubt, care, anxiety, fled before that gesture. Stumah, wild with

delight, bounded at her, and before she could greet him, Glover, a

giant in his wrappings, was bending over her, his eyes burning through

the veil that hid her own. She heard without comprehending his words;

she asked questions without knowing she asked, because his hand so

tightly clasped hers.

They walked up the platform and he stopped but once; to speak to the

snugly clad man that got down from the head engine. Gertrude

recognized the good-natured profile under the long cap; Paddy McGraw

lifted his visor as she advanced and with a happy laugh greeted him.

Smiling at her welcome he drew off his glove and took from an inner

pocket her ring and held it out on his hand. "I am taking good care of

my souvenir."

"I hope you are taking good care of yourself," Gertrude responded,

"because every time I ride in the mountains, Mr. McGraw, I want you for

engineer."

Glover was saying something to her as they turned away together, but

she gave no heed to his meaning. She caught only the low, pretty

uncertainty in his utterance, the unfailing little break that she loved

in his tone.




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