And delirium coming on him, he laughs; for his old life is coming back to him! And the railroad, and the city that he loves so well and is so proud of, getting into his mind, he cries: "I'm braking on the Burlington again, an' we're bound for Chicago. Hoop! we're at the Rock Island crossin'--we've whistled first an' got the right o' way. C. B. & Q.'s always ahead!--Two long toots and two short toots! Town whistle! We're goin' into Aurorie an' out of it again. Now we whiz through Hinsdale an' Riverside!--I can see the lights of the city.--Engine has whistled for the Fort Wayne crossin'! Sixteenth Street! Slow down! The bell's beginning to ring--the lights are dancin'--Michigan Avenue! We're runnin' for the old Lake Street Station! I'm a-folding up the flags and takin' in the red lights--the bell's ringin' fainter--the whistle's blowin' for brakes--the wheels are goin' slower--slower--slower--the lights is dancin' about me--the wheels are stopped. The train is dead--the lights is goin' out! CHICAGO!!" And with this cry, Buck Powers goes to Heaven. Then Erma, bending over him, and wringing her hands, and tears dropping on his dead face, whispers: "Let us take him to Chicago, Harry, and bury him in the city he loved so well!" And so they do, some months afterward; and there he lies, entombed in that silent city of the dead, beside the waters of the blue lake, and that great city of the living. And no truer heart, nor nobler soul, will ever tread the streets of that grand metropolis of the West, than that of this boy, who loved it so well, and who gave his life for gratitude--now nor to come, even if it grows to have ten millions. CHAPTER XIX. ORANGE BLOSSOMS AMONG THE SNOW. So holding the dead boy in his arms, the engineer contriving to do the firing, they journey slowly along the road to Bridger. Here, finding telegraphic communication is still cut off with Evanston, they know it is safe to run on to Carter. From the freight train at this point they fortunately get a man to do the firing of the locomotive, Lawrence paying him for the same. The sun is rising as they pass the Carter tank, and the engineer tells them he thinks they have got coal enough, as they are on a down grade, to take them to Granger, for the snow is not so deep here as it was up the mountain. Finding no orders have been received at this point, they keep on, and finally, about seven o'clock in the morning, they can see the passenger train from the East, side-tracked half a mile ahead of them at Granger. "I can't take you any further--I have got no coal--and I don't know what the company will say to my doing what I have done!" mutters the engineer, who is now apparently anxious as to what the Union Pacific will think of his night's performance. "Here's one hundred dollars!" remarks Lawrence. "No, I did it because the young lady had been kind to my child!" and the man shakes his head.