Still, there was much to feel and hear--the shrill wail of the wind that buffeted their shelter, the bewildering throb and quiver of the locomotive which, with its suggestion of Titanic effort, seemed to find a response in human fibre, pounding and clashing with their burden of strain, and the roar of the great drivers that rose and fell like a diapason. Perhaps Breckenridge, who was also under a strain that night, was fanciful, but it seemed to him there was hidden in the medley of sound a theme or motive that voiced man's domination over the primeval forces of the universe, and urged him to the endurance of stress, and great endeavour. It was, for the most part, vague and elusive; but there were times when it rang exultingly through the subtly harmonious din, reminding him of Wagnerian music. Leaning forward, he touched Grant's knee. "Larry, it's bracing. The last few months were making me a little sick of everything--but this gets hold of one." Grant smiled, but Breckenridge saw how weary his bronzed face showed in the dim lantern light. "There was a time, two or three years ago, when I might have felt it as you seem to do," he said. "I don't seem to have any feeling but tiredness left me now." "You can't let go," said Breckenridge. "No," and Grant sighed, "not until the State takes hold instead of me, or the trouble's through." Breckenridge said nothing further, and Grant sat huddled in a corner with the thin blue cigar-smoke curling about him. He knew it was possible he was taking a very heavy risk just then, since the homesteaders might have changed their plans again; and his task was a double one, for he had not only to save the stock train, but prevent an encounter between his misguided followers and the cavalry. So there was silence between them while, lurching, rocking, roaring, the great locomotive sped on through the night, until the engineer, turning half-round, glanced at Grant. "Is she making good enough time to suit you? Perry's siding is just ahead, and we'll be on the Bitter Creek trestle five minutes after that," he said. Grant rose and leaned forward close to the glasses. He could see nothing but the radiance from the headlamp whirling like a meteor through the filmy haze; but the fierce vibration of everything, and the fashion in which the snow smote the glasses, as in a solid stream, showed the pace at which they were travelling. He looked round and saw that Breckenridge's eyes were fixed upon him. His comrade's voice reached him faint and strained through the hammering of the wheels. "You feel tolerably sure Harper was right about the bridge?" Grant nodded. "I do." "What if he was mistaken, and they meant to try there after all? There are eight of us." "We have got to take the risk," said Grant very quietly, "and it is a big responsibility; but if the boys got their work in and fell foul of Cheyne, we would have half the State ablaze."