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Updated: May 7, 2025
I remember several places where a perfect circle was formed by a sharp crestline that bounded an hemispherical, crater-like hollow.
"They open the road!" boomed Ba'tiste in chorus with the rest of the little town. "Ah, oui! They open the road. The Crestline Railroad, he have a heart after all, he have a " "Any old time!" It was a message bearer coming from the shack of a station. "They're not going to do it it's the M. P. & S. L." "Through the tunnel?" "No. Over the hill.
The Crestline road was tied up; it had quit completely; Barry Houston knew that the fury of the storm in this basin country below the hills was as nothing compared to the terror of those crag tops where altitude added to the frigidity, and where from mountain peak to mountain peak the blizzard leaped with ever-increasing ferocity.
For above was Crestline even as the little Croatian settlement had been smokeless, lifeless. They had gone from here also, hurrying humans fleeing with the last snowplow before the tempest, beings afraid to remain, once the lines of communication were broken. But there was nothing to do but go on.
Crestline had fled; there was no life, no sound, only the angry, wailing cry of the wind through half-frozen roof spouts, the slap of clattering boards, loosened by the storm. Gloomily Houston surveyed the desolate picture, at last to turn to the girl. "I must go on. I gave my promise." She nodded. "It means Tollifer now. The descent is more dangerous." "Do you know it?"
At Crestline I was all alone, and began to feel that the hours which I knew must pass before the missing train could come would never make away with themselves. There were many others stationed there as I was, but to them had been given a capability for loafing which niggardly Nature has denied to me.
Not much use as the high crests hid the intervening hinterland from view, even from the crow's nests. A couple of shrapnel were also fired at the crestline of the cliff about half a mile further North where there appeared to be some snipers. But the trickling down the cliffs continued. No one liked the look of things ashore.
Then finally, as from far away, a strained voice came, the operator's: "Ice had gotten packed on the rails already. One-eleven tried to keep on without a pick and shovel gang. Got derailed on a curve just below Crestline and went over. One-twelve's crew got the men up. The plow's smashed to nothing. Fifty-three thousand dollars' worth of junk now. Wait a minute here's Denver."
And it was in one of the moments of quiet that Medaine pointed above. Five splotches showed on the mountain side, the roofs of as many cabins; the rest of them were buried in snow. No smoke came from the slanting chimneys; no avenues were shoveled to the doorways; the drifts were unbroken. "Gone!" Houston voiced the monosyllable. "Yes. Probably on to Crestline. I was afraid of it."
"You were willing to help before you knew. You would have been glad to help in the case of a stranger. Are you still willing now?" She hesitated a moment, her eyes downcast, at last to force a smile. "Of course. But you are asking something almost impossible. The nearest priest is at Crestline." "Crestline?" Houston instinctively turned toward the hills, a bleak, forbidding wall against the sky.
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