Into this Elysium, Buck Powers, who has been one of its architects, breaks with news-boy rapidity. The girl passenger is in the other car gossiping with the lady tourist, and Harry and Erma have forgotten there are other people in this world. Entering rapidly, the banging car door, and an excited and astounded "Gee whiz!" calls the lady and gentleman from heaven to earth.

"What do you want here?" cries Lawrence, and he pounces upon the flying Buck and leads him to the forward compartment, while Erma suddenly discovers that the outside landscape is a thing of most immediate interest.

"I—I didn't mean to run in on you, Cap," gasps the fleeing Buck. Then he smiles on Harry suddenly and grins: "Have you made a through connection at last? Are you switched on the main track now?"

"Stop your infernal conundrums!" laughs Harry. "Take a five-dollar greenback and go away, and don't you tell a living soul that Miss Travenion is going to be Mrs. Lawrence!"

"I'll take a five-dollar greenback," answers the boy, "because you're the luckiest man I ever seed, and it's business. But I've got somethin' to tell your young lady!"

"Very well," answers Harry, and leads Buck back to Erma's side. Here the youth remarks with a snicker that brings blushes upon Miss Travenion, "I hear as how the Cap has just been elected president of the road!" A moment after he continues: "I come to tell you the grub's all out. Somehow, since they got an idea that they might run short, our passengers has eaten so as to make 'em run short. I haven't had a pie to sell for four hours, and there's a little gal, the daughter of the engineer of the helper, has got hungry and is screaming for food——"

"Screaming for food?" cries Erma. "Thank you, Buck, for telling me," and the next minute she is in her stateroom.

"Gracious! you'll be short yourself," expostulates Buck as she returns. "You ain't carrying grub to a giantess!" for she has a beef pie, three fruit tarts, and a couple of apples.

"Perhaps the child's father is hungry also," replies Miss Travenion, who seems very benevolent this afternoon.

"Very well!" says Mr. Powers, "I'll bring the engineer, only don't stint yourself!" and goes on his errand.

A minute after, Erma and Harry are on the platform and the man of the throttle-valve comes to them, carrying his little daughter, who looks pale, and has hungry eyes. Seeing her bounty, the engineer cries, "God bless you, miss." Then he mutters, "You'll rob yourself."

"Oh, I've more left," answers Miss Travenion; "besides, she needs it," for the child has already gone to work ravenously on the fruit tarts.

"God bless you, just the same," cries the engineer. "Thank the lady, Susie."

But Susie, looking at her benefactress, forgets gratitude in admiration, and babbles, "Beau'ful, beau'ful," extending a fruity hand and putting up two lips embellished with jam.

"Don't, she'll spoil your dress," says the father. But Erma has her already in her arms, giving the little one a kiss, and playing with her and doing some small things to make her happy.

And doing small things for the baby does great things for herself, though she does not know it, for it gains the engineer's heart.

The man wipes a grimy eye with a more grimy sleeve, and mutters, "I was afraid my little one would get sick from starving, and she's all that's left me of her mother, who's buried in Green River—God bless your kind heart and beautiful face, miss!" and so going away, spreads the news of the beautiful girl's bounty through the train.

But this brings requests from other hungry ones to Miss Travenion, who has a little that they will eat—if she will give it them.

Consequently, about five in the afternoon Lawrence, who does not know of this raid on his beloved's commissariat, and is in the smoking-car pondering over the problem whether the knowledge of the awful death to which Kruger had doomed and from which he had rescued her father, will not make Erma too anxious and too nervous about Ralph Travenion's further fate, finds himself disturbed by Mr. Powers.

The boy comes hurriedly to him and says: "She ain't got nothin' to eat, and she's hungry."

"What do you mean?" cries Harry. "Didn't you say that you had provisioned her for two days?"

"Yes! but she's given it all away to the women in the way-cars."

"No relief train yet?"

"No, an' I don't see any chance of one."

"Very well," remarks Lawrence, putting on his overcoat, "I'll see what I can do."

He steps out of the car, and the best he can think of is to tramp to the telegraph station, and see if there is anything left there. It is over a mile and a half, but a beaten track has been pretty well made in the snow by the brakemen and conductor on some of their visits to that point, so he gets there in a little over half an hour.

Here, the conductor is talking to the telegraph operator, and they seem to be excited over something.

"What's the matter?" asks Harry.

"Nothing, only the line's down between here and Evanston!" says the operator. "It was working twenty minutes ago, but I can't get the Evanston or any other Western office now."

"What was the last news from there?"

"Bad!" replies the man. "They can't get a locomotive or relief train to us till to-morrow. They'll have to pick and shovel their way through a lot of drifts."

"Meantime we have nothing to eat!" grumbles the captain.

"Oh," remarks the conductor, "they telegraphed me this morning that they would send up provisions in sleighs. Some teamsters will bring them up. They ought to be due here to-night. They can make the eighteen miles, I reckon, in nine hours."

"There is no danger of a train coming from the other way to bring more hungry people?" asks Lawrence earnestly.

"Oh, no!" answers the operator. "That's all fixed. I heard Evanston telegraph Green River this morning, for all passenger trains bound west to be held at that point—they can feed them there—and all freight to be stopped at Bridger."

"You are sure?"

"Certain!—the order was from Hilliard, the train dispatcher of this division. There's only one passenger train side-tracked at Granger, and a freight switched off at Carter and another at Bridger, between us and Green River."

"Very well!" says Lawrence. "Have you got anything to eat?"

"You're welcome to the best I can do, Cap," replies the man of the wire, who knows Harry by sight, as most of the employees of the road do. But the best that Lawrence can obtain for his sweetheart is some pork and beans, and some bread made of middlings. These he wraps up in an old newspaper—nothing else being handy—and turns to go, but pauses a moment, and says: "Haven't you got any tea, or coffee, or something of that kind?"

"Tea," cries the operator. "I can accommodate you!"

So, laden with a small package of this ladies' delight, the Captain leaves the log cabin, which is the only house at Aspen, and does duty as a telegraph office, and trudging back through the snow, brings comfort and happiness to Erma, who has grown so hungry in the chill night air that she has almost repented of her generosity.

Buck Powers accommodates her with boiling water, and the Captain would leave her to her meal, but she suddenly stops him and cries: "What have you had to eat?"

"Oh, don't mind me," says Harry.

"But I do—you have tramped through the snow for my comfort; Besides, I must take care of you—because——"

"Why?"

"Oh, well, you know "—a big blush—"what I told you to-day! If you remember—take tea with me!"

"With pleasure, if you put it on that ground!" laughs Harry, who is desperately hungry, and when he has fallen to, forgets himself, and eats a good deal more than his share, though they both enjoy the meal.

But just at this moment there is a cry outside, and a faint hurrah from the negro porter inside.

It is the arrival of the teamsters, who have come, bringing with them comfort and provisions, and everybody is now in the land of plenty, though it is a very rough plenty.

Looking at them, Lawrence wonders why so many men have come with the relief sleighs; but is told they brought them along to help the teams through the drifts.

So they pass a very happy evening—the young lady singing a song or two for her swain, more beautifully, he thinks, than any prima donna, and saying good-night to him afterwards so tenderly that Lawrence, coming to his own car, astonishes the negro porter by giving him five dollars for making up his bed in the stateroom which is unoccupied, and more roomy than a section.

A moment after he murmurs to himself: "Can it be? Is it possible?"—and then cries, "Good gracious! the engagement ring—and no jeweller in sight!"

And so he goes to bed, to be awakened by a voice in the night that changes confidence into doubt, and makes joy into sorrow.

Harry has hardly been in bed an hour when there is a rap on the door of his stateroom.

"Hang you!" he cries, thinking it is the negro porter. "I've left my boots outside. What are you waking me up for at this time of night?"

"'Ssh! don't talk so loud, Cap! Let me in!"

And opening the door, Mr. Powers makes his appearance, his eyes, in the moonlight that is streaming in, large, luminous, and excited.

He gasps: "Cap—come—an' save your girl!"

As Buck speaks, Lawrence is out of bed. "Quick!" he says.

"You know in my baggage car I hear most of what's goin' on. Them teamsters that came here with the grub are camping in there to-night. I heard them talking. They're Mormons!"

"Ah!"

"Buck Mormons from Echo and Heber, and that way. One of them said to the other, 'The bishop will be along soon. The orders is, we're none of us to make a move, but to have the sleighs ready to start out quick, and one fixed with furs in it and blankets, to keep the girl warm.'"

"What makes you think they meant Miss Travenion?"

"They described her."

"Did you hear the name of the bishop?"

"Yes," answers Buck. "It was the cuss who came West with you and her!"

"Kruger!—Hush! Speak lower! Whisper to me!"

"I am a-whisperin'!" says the boy. "It's the lowest I've got. I've spoilt my voice hollerin' as news-agent, an' I can't bring it down!"

"Are the Mormon teamsters armed?"

"They ain't Mormon teamers. Some of them is disguised. I heard one of them call another 'Constable,' and the other chinned him as 'Sheriff.' Hadn't we better tell the conductor?"

"No," says Lawrence, shortly, for he remembers the conductor is a routine man—and, of course, of no use in such an emergency.

A moment after, he says quietly to the boy: "Miss Travenion was very good to you, Buck. Will you help me save her?"

"That's what I come for.".

"It may be a life and death matter."

"That's what I come for."

"Very well," replies Harry. "You go quietly about the train—they won't notice you—and find out what you can, and come and report to me, in Miss Travenion's car. I am going there."

"All right."

As Buck turns to obey his orders, Lawrence suddenly whispers: "No matter what happens, don't let any one of that gang learn I am on the train."

"I understand!"

Then the captain asks suddenly, "How many of them?"

"Twelve!"

"Good God!"

As Buck goes on his errand, Lawrence, looking carefully about to see he is not observed, slips from his car into that of Miss Travenion, which is quiet, save for a loud snoring from the gentlemen's smoking compartment, which indicates that the Ethiopian porter is making a very comfortable night of it.

A lamp, partially turned up, illuminates faintly the rear of the car. He taps lightly on Miss Travenion's door. No answer! His heart sinks; she may be already carried away from him.

Then he raps more loudly, and her voice tells him she is as yet safe.

"Who is it?" asks the girl.

"I—Harry Lawrence!"

"Is anything the matter?"

"Yes! I must see you in two minutes!"

"Impossible—I am not dressed."

"You must dress in two minutes. Throw on a wrapper or shawl."

"Oh, mercy! What is it?"

"Dress!"

"Very well!—Good gracious! where's my slippers?" This last a nervous aside.

Then the noise from inside Miss Travenion's stateroom indicates she is obeying him with a vigor that shows he has impressed her.

Within the time specified she has opened her door, and stepped out to him, draped in some warm woollen wrapper, which clings about her lithe, graceful figure; and the moonlight shining through the car window gets into her unbound hair, and makes it very soft and golden.

She says hastily, but pathetically, "Now, tell me!"

"Can you be very brave?"

"Yes! Try me!"

Looking in her eyes, he knows she can be.

"Very well," he whispers, "sit down. To-day, fearing to alarm you, I did not tell you all I knew in regard to your father; but it is necessary now that you understand everything about Kruger, the Mormon bishop."

"Why, he's two hundred miles away."

"In a few minutes he will be here."

"Oh, mercy!" The girl leans against her lover, and he can feel her heart throb and pulse with apprehension. His arm goes round her waist, and seems to give her confidence, as he tells her the whole story of her father's blood atonement, from which he saved him. And she gasps: "You are not deceiving me—my father is not dead?"

"He's as safe as you are!"

"Thank God!"

"Perhaps safer!" Then he tells her of the revelation Buck Powers has made him this night.

"Ah!" Erma cries; "Kruger is coming to force me to give up that Utah Central stock."

"For more!"

"What more?"

"To force you to be his seventh wife."

But she says very quietly: "There is no fear of that. I can always die at the last."

"I know you can die; but for my sake you must live!" cries Lawrence. Then he says grimly: "If there's any dying to-night, Kruger does it!"

"Ah! that may mean your life. For my sake you must live! I've—I've only been happy for a day." And her tender arms go around him, as she sobs over him, calling him her darling, her betrothed, her future husband, and many other wild terms of endearment she might not use, did she not feel this night might take him from her.

A moment after she cries: "He is not here yet—let us fly!"

"Fly, where?" asks Lawrence. "Through those snow-drifts, over those uninhabited plains? In half an hour we should be overtaken. If not, by morning we should be dead."

"Then, how will you save me?"

"All I know is that I will save you! But to do it, you must follow my instructions. Twelve men I shall not resist openly—except at the last. Give me your receipt from Wells, Fargo, for that stock."

She steps into the stateroom, and a moment after hands it to him.

"Now," he says, "listen to me! Each word I utter is important. When Kruger comes, you must be in your stateroom, asleep. Nothing must betray to him that you expect or fear his coming! Nothing must inform him that you know of his crime against your father; and, above all, nothing must suggest to him that I am on your train. Our one great hope is, that he does not know I'm here, and may be—just a little careless! Remember, you have nothing to fear as long as I live!"

But Buck Powers breaks in on them at this moment, and mutters: "Cap, Kruger's here! He's talkin' with the men over there!"

"On which side of the cars? Can he see me if I leave them this way?"

"No!"

"You're going?" says the girl. And putting her arms round his neck, nestles to him, and murmurs: "Remember, your life is my life!"

And so he leaves her, and steps cautiously out, and crouching in shadow of the cars, and looking over the white plateaus of drifted snow, he thinks:

"Fly, where? Fight—how? Impossible!" Then of a sudden the snow disappears, and he remembers a hot spring day in '64, in Arkansas, when he and his Iowa boys did what was deemed impossible in war—artillery holding woodland and brush copse against infantry. He sees his cannoneers—boys with fresh young faces and fair hair, just from Western prairies and green fields—fall and die, as the musketry flashes all about them, and singing bullets bring death to them, but still stand and scourge that undergrowth and timber shelter with grape and case shot, till the gray infantry slowly draws back; until the Yankee lumberman has built up a dam like those that float timber down Maine rivers, and so saved the Federal fleet, and thus saved the Federal army.

He mutters: "I did the impossible then for my country; I can do the impossible now for my love."

And from that moment Harry Lawrence has the one great quality that makes success possible in all desperate undertakings—confidence!