Suspense

What shapes the legends of the Wickiup? Is it because in the winter
night the wind never sleeps in the gorge above the headquarters shack
that despatchers talk yet of a wind that froze the wolf and the sheep
and the herder to marble together? Is it because McGraw runs no more
that switchmen tell of the run he made over Sweetgrass the night he
sent a plough through eight hundred head of sheep in less than a tenth
as many seconds? Could the night that laid the horse and the hunter
side by side in the Spider Park drift have been wildest of all wild
mountain nights? Or is it because Gertrude Brock and her railroad
lover rode out its storm together that mountain men say there was never
a storm like that? What shapes the Wickiup legends?

For three days Medicine Bend did not see the sun. Veering uneasily,
springing from every quarter at once, the wind wedged the gray clouds
up the mountain sides only to roll them like avalanches down the ragged
passes. At the end of the week snow was falling.

Not until the morning of the third day when reports came in of the
unheard-of temperatures in the North and West did the weather cause
real apprehension. The division never had been in such a position to
protect its winter traffic--for a year Callahan, Blood, and Glover had
been overhauling and assembling the old and the new bucking equipment.
But the wind settled at last in the northeast, and when it stilled the
mercury sunk, and when it rose the snow fell, roofing the sheds on the
passes, levelling the lower gulches, and piling up reserves along the
cuts.