Around the World in 80 Days - Jules Verne (best finance books of all time TXT) 📗

were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg

would be delayed, and—”

 

“And,” added Passepartout, “that would play the game of the gentlemen

of the Reform Club. In four days we shall be in New York. Well,

if my master does not leave this car during those four days,

we may hope that chance will not bring him face to face with this

confounded American. We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it.”

 

The conversation dropped. Mr. Fogg had just woke up,

and was looking out of the window. Soon after Passepartout,

without being heard by his master or Aouda, whispered to the detective,

“Would you really fight for him?”

 

“I would do anything,” replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined will,

“to get him back living to Europe!”

 

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame,

but his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

 

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a meeting

between him and the colonel? It ought not to be a difficult task,

since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious.

The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few moments,

he said to Mr. Fogg, “These are long and slow hours, sir, that we are passing

on the railway.”

 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Fogg; “but they pass.”

 

“You were in the habit of playing whist,” resumed Fix, “on the steamers.”

 

“Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here. I have neither cards

nor partners.”

 

“Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold

on all the American trains. And as for partners, if madam plays—”

 

“Certainly, sir,” Aouda quickly replied; “I understand whist.

It is part of an English education.”

 

“I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game.

Well, here are three of us, and a dummy—”

 

“As you please, sir,” replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad

to resume his favourite pastime even on the railway.

 

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward,

and soon returned with two packs of cards, some pins,

counters, and a shelf covered with cloth.

 

The game commenced. Aouda understood whist sufficiently well,

and even received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg.

As for the detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being

matched against his present opponent.

 

“Now,” thought Passepartout, “we’ve got him. He won’t budge.”

 

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of the waters

at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four feet above

the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by the track

in crossing the Rocky Mountains. After going about two hundred miles,

the travellers at last found themselves on one of those vast plains

which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so propitious

for laying the iron road.

 

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams,

branches of the North Platte River, already appeared.

The whole northern and eastern horizon was bounded by the immense

semi-circular curtain which is formed by the southern portion

of the Rocky Mountains, the highest being Laramie Peak.

Between this and the railway extended vast plains,

plentifully irrigated. On the right rose the lower spurs

of the mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources

of the Arkansas River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

 

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort Halleck,

which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky Mountains

were crossed. There was reason to hope, then, that no accident would mark

the journey through this difficult country. The snow had ceased falling,

and the air became crisp and cold. Large birds, frightened by the locomotive,

rose and flew off in the distance. No wild beast appeared on the plain.

It was a desert in its vast nakedness.

 

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his partners had

just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard, and the train stopped.

Passepartout put his head out of the door, but saw nothing to cause the delay;

no station was in view.

 

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get out;

but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant,

“See what is the matter.”

 

Passepartout rushed out of the car. Thirty or forty passengers

had already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

 

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way.

The engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man,

whom the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place,

had sent on before. The passengers drew around and took part

in the discussion, in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner,

was conspicuous.

 

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say,

“No! you can’t pass. The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky,

and would not bear the weight of the train.”

 

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a

mile from the place where they now were. According to the

signal-man, it was in a ruinous condition, several of the iron

wires being broken; and it was impossible to risk the passage.

He did not in any way exaggerate the condition of the bridge.

It may be taken for granted that, rash as the Americans usually are,

when they are prudent there is good reason for it.

 

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard,

listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

 

“Hum!” cried Colonel Proctor; “but we are not going to stay here,

I imagine, and take root in the snow?”

 

“Colonel,” replied the conductor, “we have telegraphed to Omaha for a train,

but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow is less than six hours.”

 

“Six hours!” cried Passepartout.

 

“Certainly,” returned the conductor, “besides, it will take us as long

as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot.”

 

“But it is only a mile from here,” said one of the passengers.

 

“Yes, but it’s on the other side of the river.”

 

“And can’t we cross that in a boat?” asked the colonel.

 

“That’s impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a rapid,

and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a ford.”

 

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway

company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious,

was not disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was

an obstacle, indeed, which all his master’s banknotes could not remove.

 

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who,

without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge

fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and

protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg’s

attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game.

 

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what

had occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car,

when the engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out,

“Gentlemen, perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over.”

 

“On the bridge?” asked a passenger.

 

“On the bridge.”

 

“With our train?”

 

“With our train.”

 

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

 

“But the bridge is unsafe,” urged the conductor.

 

“No matter,” replied Forster; “I think that by putting on the

very highest speed we might have a chance of getting over.”

 

“The devil!” muttered Passepartout.

 

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the

engineer’s proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted,

and found the plan a very feasible one. He told stories about

engineers leaping their trains over rivers without bridges,

by putting on full steam; and many of those present avowed

themselves of the engineer’s mind.

 

“We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over,” said one.

 

“Eighty! ninety!”

 

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to get

over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too American.

“Besides,” thought he, “there’s a still more simple way, and it does not even

occur to any of these people! Sir,” said he aloud to one of the passengers,

“the engineer’s plan seems to me a little dangerous, but—”

 

“Eighty chances!” replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

 

“I know it,” said Passepartout, turning to another passenger,

“but a simple idea—”

 

“Ideas are no use,” returned the American, shrugging his shoulders,

“as the engineer assures us that we can pass.”

 

“Doubtless,” urged Passepartout, “we can pass, but perhaps it would

be more prudent—”

 

“What! Prudent!” cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed

to excite prodigiously. “At full speed, don’t you see, at full speed!”

 

“I know—I see,” repeated Passepartout; “but it would be, if not more prudent,

since that word displeases you, at least more natural—”

 

“Who! What! What’s the matter with this fellow?” cried several.

 

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

 

“Are you afraid?” asked Colonel Proctor.

 

“I afraid? Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman

can be as American as they!”

 

“All aboard!” cried the conductor.

 

“Yes, all aboard!” repeated Passepartout, and immediately.

“But they can’t prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural

for us to cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!”

 

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have acknowledged

its justice. The passengers resumed their places in the cars.

Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed.

The whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

 

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam,

backed the train for nearly a mile—retiring, like a jumper, in order

to take a longer leap. Then, with another whistle, he began to move forward;

the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became frightful;

a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston worked up and down

twenty strokes to the second. They perceived that the whole train, rushing

on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour, hardly bore upon the rails at all.

 

And they passed over! It was like a flash. No one saw the bridge.

The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other,

and the engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles

beyond the station. But scarcely had the train passed the river,

when the bridge, completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids

of Medicine Bow.