He shook himself angrily.  Of course he could make that bank,—­if he could only rest a minute,—­he was not cold,—­just a minute’s rest to get his breath again—­a moment would be enough.  God, what was he thinking of?  It was not weariness, it was the chill of the night that demanded a moment’s rest.  He strained Connie closer in his arms and struggled up the bank.

At the top, he dropped her beside the track, and fell with her.  For a moment the fatal languor possessed him.

A freight train rounded the curve and came puffing toward them.  Prince, roused by springing hope, clambered to his feet, pulling the little pocket flash from his pocket.  He waved it imploringly at the train, but it thundered by them.

Resolutely bestirring himself, he carried Connie to a sheltered place where the wind could not strike her, and wrapped her as best he could in his coat and sweater.  Then, lowering his head against the driving wind, he plunged down the track in the face of the storm.

CHAPTER XXII

HARBORAGE

Less than a mile down the track, Prince came to the tiny signal house for which he had been looking.  The door was locked, and so numb and clumsy were his fingers that he found it hard to force it open.  Once on the inside, he felt that the struggle was nearly over.  This was the end.  Using the railway’s private phone, he astonished the telegraph operator in Fort Morgan by cutting in on him and asking him to run across to the nearest garage with a call for a service car.

For a long moment the operator was speechless.  Did you ever hear of insolence like that?  He told Prince to get off that wire and keep his hands away from railway property or he would land in the pen.  Then he went back to his work.  But Prince cut in on him again.  Finally the operator referred him to the station master and gave him the connection.  But the station master refused to meddle with any such irregular business.  This was against the law, and station masters are strong for law and order.  But Prince was persistent.  At last, in despair, they connected him with the district superintendent.

“Who in thunder are you, and what do you want?” asked the superintendent in no gentle voice.

“I want some of those sap-heads of yours in Fort Morgan to take a message to the garage, and they won’t do it,” yelled Prince.

“Say, what do you think this is?  A philanthropic messenger service?” ejaculated the superintendent.

“I haven’t got time to talk,” cried Prince.  “I’ve got to get at a garage, and quickly.”

“Well, we don’t run a garage.”

“Shut up a minute and listen, will you?  There is a woman out here on the track, half frozen.  We are twenty miles from a house.  Will you send that message or not?  The woman can’t live two hours.”

“Well, why didn’t you tell what was the matter?  I will connect you with the operator at Fort Morgan and tell him to do whatever you say.  You stay on the wire until he reports they have a car started.”