“Yes!” Sally said. “That is the poem.”
“There’s a song about the battle called ‘The Flowers of the Forest’,” Duff said. “If you’d like, I’ll play a wee bit of it on m’ pipes.”
“I would love for you to,” Sally said.
Duff went into his room then returned a moment later with his bagpipes. After filling the bag with air, he began playing the piece, the melody, with its poignant strains, re-creating the tragedy of the terrible event. When he finished, the last note lingered as a haunting echo.
“That was beautiful, Duff. Sad, but beautiful,” Sally commented.
“Thank you,” Duff acknowledged with a nod of his head.
“Uh-oh,” Smoke remarked.
“What?” Sally asked.
“Look out the window.”
Outside the snow was falling thick and fast. Huge, heavy snowflakes were quickly covering the ground.
“This can’t be good,” Sally said.
“Maybe, maybe not,” Smoke said. “Just because it is snowing here, doesn’t mean it is snowing in the pass.”
“But it probably is, right?” Sally asked.
Smoke was silent for a moment, before he answered. He nodded. “Yeah, it probably is.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
Cephas Prouty had on woolen long johns under his clothes, and a wool-lined sheepskin over his clothes. He had a scarf around his neck, a stocking cap over his head, and heavy gloves on his hands. Thus attired, he set out in a handcar for the purpose of inspecting Trout Creek Pass. For the first eight miles the track was relatively flat and pushing the hand pump up and down was easy. But it got harder when he started up the long grade that would take him to the top of the pass.
Prouty was used to it, though, as he made the trip several times a week. And tonight, he didn’t even mind the pumping. The extra exertion helped keep him warm in the subzero temperatures.
It took him an hour and a half to reach the summit. He set the brake on the car, then stepped down to have a look around. He checked the track, then examined the cut on either side. If he found any reason why the train couldn’t make it through, he’d wire the station at Buena Vista, warn them the pass wasn’t safe, and have them hold the train there.
Prouty walked along the track from its most elevated point to where it started back down on the west side. He turned around and walked up to the summit, continuing on to where it started back down on the east approach. Occasionally he would stick a ruler into the snow to measure its depth. Nowhere did he find the snow over two inches deep, and even then it wasn’t accumulating on the rails. He didn’t see any reason why the trains couldn’t continue to come through the pass.
It wasn’t only during the snow season that he would come up to check. He made frequent trips during other seasons as well, to ensure the rails were whole and unobstructed. On a clear night in the summer. he could look one way and see the lights of Buena Vista or look the other way and see the lights of Big Rock.
Tonight, though, the night was so overcast that when he looked out to either side of the pass he saw nothing but darkness.
His inspection done, Prouty got on his handcar and started back toward Big Rock. His trip up the grade to the top of the pass had been difficult, requiring hard pumping. Going back down was easy. No pumping was required until he reached the flat. In fact, he had to apply the brake to keep from going too fast. He was certain that he was doing at least forty miles per hour on the way down. He began pumping when he hit the flats, making his total trip down the mountain in less than an hour. He coasted into the station at about nine-thirty, moving the cart onto a side track before going inside.
“Well, Cephas, I see you made it back,” the stationmaster said. “I figured you would be turned into an icicle by now.”
“I damn near am one,” Prouty replied as he stood shivering by the stove. “You got ’ny coffee, Phil?”
“Yes, stay there by the stove and warm yourself. I’ll get it.”
“Thanks.”
“What about the pass?” Phil asked as he handed Prouty the cup.
Prouty took a welcome sip before answering. “I think it’s all right.”
“You
“It’s open now, but the next train isn’t due through there until midnight. I believe that the pass will still be open, but I can’t guarantee it.”
“Should I stop the train at Buena Vista?”
“The next train through is a freight train, isn’t it, Phil?”
“Yes.”
“No, don’t stop it. I think we should let the freight come on through. The Red Cliff Special isn’t due through the pass until about five in the morning. When the freight pulls in here just after midnight, the engineer will have a more up-to-the-minute look at it, and a better idea as to the condition of the pass. We can get a report from him and make our decision about the passenger train then.”
“Good idea,” Phil agreed.
Prouty smiled. “You’re a good station manager, Phil, offering a track inspector a hot cup of coffee after he’s been out in the cold.”
“Oh, I can do better than that. How about a cruller to go with your coffee?”
“Phil, you are indeed a gentleman,” Prouty said gratefully.
On the other side of the Mosquito Range from where Phil and Prouty were having their discussion the Red
