"Fly, where?" asks Lawrence. "Through those snow-drifts, over those uninhabited plains? In half an hour we should be overtaken. If not, by morning we should be dead." "Then, how will you save me?" "All I know is that I will save you! But to do it, you must follow my instructions. Twelve men I shall not resist openly--except at the last. Give me your receipt from Wells, Fargo, for that stock." She steps into the stateroom, and a moment after hands it to him. "Now," he says, "listen to me! Each word I utter is important. When Kruger comes, you must be in your stateroom, asleep. Nothing must betray to him that you expect or fear his coming! Nothing must inform him that you know of his crime against your father; and, above all, nothing must suggest to him that I am on your train. Our one great hope is, that he does not know I'm here, and may be--just a little careless! Remember, you have nothing to fear as long as I live!" But Buck Powers breaks in on them at this moment, and mutters: "Cap, Kruger's here! He's talkin' with the men over there!" "On which side of the cars? Can he see me if I leave them this way?" "No!" "You're going?" says the girl. And putting her arms round his neck, nestles to him, and murmurs: "Remember, your life is my life!" And so he leaves her, and steps cautiously out, and crouching in shadow of the cars, and looking over the white plateaus of drifted snow, he thinks: "Fly, where? Fight--how? Impossible!" Then of a sudden the snow disappears, and he remembers a hot spring day in '64, in Arkansas, when he and his Iowa boys did what was deemed impossible in war--artillery holding woodland and brush copse against infantry. He sees his cannoneers--boys with fresh young faces and fair hair, just from Western prairies and green fields--fall and die, as the musketry flashes all about them, and singing bullets bring death to them, but still stand and scourge that undergrowth and timber shelter with grape and case shot, till the gray infantry slowly draws back; until the Yankee lumberman has built up a dam like those that float timber down Maine rivers, and so saved the Federal fleet, and thus saved the Federal army. He mutters: "I did the impossible then for my country; I can do the impossible now FOR MY LOVE." And from that moment Harry Lawrence has the one great quality that makes success possible in all desperate undertakings--confidence! CHAPTER XVIII. THE LAST OF THE DANITES. Even as he looks, hope comes, for he sees the glow of one of the locomotives on the Y, and knows that its fires are still banked--it has a little steam; and he remembers, the line is clear of trains to Green River. Then he whispers suddenly to Buck, who says: "I understand!" and goes cautiously away, while Lawrence struggles through the snow-drifts to the helping locomotive, the one nearest the switch that leads to the main track running to the East.