What could it mean? Allan asked himself. What villainy was Dan Nolan plotting? Was he trying to make poor, half-witted Reddy his instrument for the commission of some crime? Jack, too, worked away in unaccustomed silence and unusual heaviness of heart, for he was asking himself the same questions. Something must be done; Reddy must not be led into any mischief; and no influence which Nolan might gain over him could be anything but bad. It was like the coward to try to get another man to do what he himself shrank from doing. The morning passed and noon came, but neither Jack nor Allan had relish for their dinner—the incident of the morning had spoiled their appetites. “We’ll have t’ look out after Reddy some way,” said Jack, at last, and then fell silent again. They were soon back at work, and Allan, busy with his thoughts, did not notice that the air grew chill and the sky overcast. “The’ll be a storm t’-night,” observed Jack at last, looking around at the sky. “’Fore night,” said one of the workmen. “We’ll be havin’ to quit work purty soon.” Even to an unpractised eye, the signs were unmistakable. Down from the north great banks of black clouds were sweeping, and the wind felt strangely cold, even for the last days of October. At last came the swift patter of the rain, and then a swirl of great, soft, fleecy flakes. “Snow!” cried Jack. “Well, ’f I ever!” All stopped to watch the unaccustomed spectacle of snow in October. It fell thick and fast, the flakes meeting and joining in the air into big splotches of snow, which melted almost as soon as it touched the ground. Two of the men, who had been blotted from sight for a moment, came hurrying toward the others. “We might as well quit,” said Jack. “We can’t work this kind o’ weather;” and so they started homeward through the storm, an hour before the usual time. As the evening passed, the storm grew heavier and more violent. Looking out from the window after supper, Allan found that the whole world was shut from sight behind that swirling white curtain. From time to time he could hear the faint rumble of a train in the yards below, but no gleam of the engine’s headlight penetrated to him. “It’s a bad night fer railroadin’,” Jack remarked, looking out beside him. “A bad night. Th’ rails ’r so slippy th’ wheels can’t grip ’em, an’ th’ engineer might as well shut his eyes fer all th’ good his headlight does him. An’ th’ brakeman—fancy runnin’ along th’ two-foot path on the top of a train in a storm like this!”