He went to sleep at last, and getting up rather late, spent an hour or two trying to knit up broken clews and looking for a light.  It was a profitless but absorbing occupation and he vacantly glanced at the majestic panorama of snowy peaks and climbing forest that rolled past the windows of the car.  When his thoughts wandered from their groove, he saw Alice Featherstone moving with stately calm about the Garth, or standing in the orchard with the sunset shining on her face.  He recalled the grace of her tall figure and how her dress harmonized with the mossy trunks, but he loved to dwell upon the look of trust in her steady eyes.  Then the memories were suddenly banished, for a whistle rang up the track and there was a jar of brakes.

Foster hurried out to the platform when the long train stopped, and saw the conductor talking to the engineer and passengers jumping down into the snow.  Pete joined him as he followed them, but he stopped for some moments and looked about.  There was no station near.  The track, which was marked by cinders and stains on the snow, ran along a desolate mountainside.  Dark pines that looked as if they had been dusted with icing-sugar rolled in curiously rigid ranks up the slope, getting smaller until they dwindled to a fine saw-edge that bit into a vast sweep of white.  This ended in a row of jagged peaks whose summits gleamed with dazzling brightness against the blue sky.  Below the track, the ground fell away to a tremendous gorge, where dark-colored mist hung about a green river dotted with drifting ice.  The sun struck warm upon his face, though the snow was dry.

“We’ll find out why they’ve stopped,” he said to Pete and walked forward past the cars.

The engineer stood on the step of the huge locomotive and had not much information to give.

“Track’s gone down not far ahead; snow-slide, I guess.”

He shrugged when Foster asked if it would be a long job.  “You can see for yourself, if you like,” he remarked, indicating a plume of smoke that rose above the pines.  “There’s a construction gang at work round the bend.  It’s a sure thing we won’t pull out before you’re back.”

Foster set off with Pete and several passengers, and the Scot gazed about with wonder.

“I was born among the hills, but never have I seen ought like this!” he exclaimed.  “Man, it passes dreamin’ o’; it’s just stupenjious!  But I wouldna’ say they’ll mak’ much o’ farming here.”

“They have some bench tablelands and pretty rich alluvial valleys,” Foster answered with a smile.  “The province depends largely on its minerals.”

Pete glanced back up the track that wound down between rock and forest from a distant notch in the high, white rampart.

“I’m thinking the men who built yon line had stout hearts.”

“It wasn’t an easy job,” Foster agreed.  “They were up against savage Nature, and she’s still too strong for the engineer now and then, as I expect you’ll shortly see.”