Deepening Waters

It seemed like light from heaven to Glover, and he was talking to
Gertrude when there came a rap at the door of the parlor and a
messenger entered with a long despatch from Callahan at Sleepy Cat.

The message was marked delayed in transmission. Glover walked with it
to the window and read: "Doubleday's outfit wrecked early this morning on Pilot Hill while
bucking. Head engine, the 927, McGraw, partly off track. Tender
crushed the cab. Doubleday instantly killed and McGraw badly hurt.
Morris Blood is reported to have been in the cab also, but cannot be
found. Have sent Doubleday and McGraw to Medicine Bend in my car and
am starting with wrecking crew for the Hill."

"What is it?" murmured Gertrude, watching her lover's face. He studied
the telegram a long time and she came to his side. He raised his eyes
from the paper in his hand and looked out of the window. "What is it?"
she whispered.

"Pilot Hill."

"I do not understand, dearest."

"A wreck."

"Oh, is it serious?"

His eyes fell again on the death message. "Morris Blood was in it and
they can't find him."

"Oh, oh."

"A bad place; a bad, bad place." He spoke, absently, then his eyes
turned upon her with inexpressible tenderness.

"But why can't they find him, dearest?"

"The track is blasted out of the mountain side for half a mile. Bucks
said it would be a graveyard, but I couldn't get to the mines in any
other way. Gertrude, I must go to the Wickiup at once to get further
news. This message has been delayed, the wires are not right yet."