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IN WHICH PHILEAS FOGG SIMPLY DOES HIS DUTY
Three passengers including Passepartout had disappeared. Had
they been killed in the struggle? Were they taken prisoners by
the Sioux? It was impossible to tell.
There were many wounded, but none mortally. Colonel Proctor
was one of the most seriously hurt; he had fought bravely, and
a ball had entered his groin. He was carried into the station
with the other wounded passengers, to receive such attention as
could be of avail.
Aouda was safe; and Phileas Fogg, who had been in the thickest
of the fight, had not received a scratch. Fix was slightly wounded
in the arm. But Passepartout was not to be found, and tears coursed
down Aouda's cheeks.
All the passengers had got out of the train, the wheels of
which were stained with blood. From the tyres and spokes hung
ragged pieces of flesh. As far as the eye could reach on the white
plain behind, red trails were visible. The last Sioux were disappearing
in the south, along the banks of Republican River.
Mr. Fogg, with folded arms, remained motionless. He had a serious
decision to make. Aouda, standing near him, looked at him without
speaking, and he understood her look. If his servant was a prisoner,
ought he not to risk everything to rescue him from the Indians?
"I will find him, living or dead," said he quietly to
Aouda.
"Ah, Mr.--Mr. Fogg!" cried she, clasping his hands
and covering them with tears.
"Living," added Mr. Fogg, "if we do not lose
a moment."
Phileas Fogg, by this resolution, inevitably sacrificed himself;
he pronounced his own doom. The delay of a single day would make
him lose the steamer at New York, and his bet would be certainly
lost. But as he thought, "It is my duty," he did not
hesitate.
The commanding officer of Fort Kearney was there. A hundred
of his soldiers had placed themselves in a position to defend
the station, should the Sioux attack it.
"Sir," said Mr. Fogg to the captain, "three
passengers have disappeared."
"Dead?" asked the captain.
"Dead or prisoners; that is the uncertainty which must
be solved. Do you propose to pursue the Sioux?"
"That's a serious thing to do, sir," returned the
captain. "These Indians may retreat beyond the Arkansas,
and I cannot leave the fort unprotected."
"The lives of three men are in question, sir," said
Phileas Fogg.
"Doubtless; but can I risk the lives of fifty men to save
three?"
"I don't know whether you can, sir; but you ought to do
so."
"Nobody here," returned the other, "has a right
to teach me my duty."
"Very well," said Mr. Fogg, coldly. "I will
go alone."
"You, sir!" cried Fix, coming up; "you go alone
in pursuit of the Indians?"
"Would you have me leave this poor fellow to perish--
him to whom every one present owes his life? I shall go."
"No, sir, you shall not go alone," cried the captain,
touched in spite of himself. "No! you are a brave man. Thirty
volunteers!" he added, turning to the soldiers.
The whole company started forward at once. The captain had
only to pick his men. Thirty were chosen, and an old sergeant
placed at their head.
"Thanks, captain," said Mr. Fogg.
"Will you let me go with you?" asked Fix.
"Do as you please, sir. But if you wish to do me a favour,
you will remain with Aouda. In case anything should happen to
me--"
A sudden pallor overspread the detective's face. Separate himself
from the man whom he had so persistently followed step by step!
Leave him to wander about in this desert! Fix gazed attentively
at Mr. Fogg, and, despite his suspicions and of the struggle which
was going on within him, he lowered his eyes before that calm
and frank look.
"I will stay," said he.
A few moments after, Mr. Fogg pressed the young woman's hand,
and, having confided to her his precious carpet-bag, went off
with the sergeant and his little squad. But, before going, he
had said to the soldiers, "My friends, I will divide five
thousand dollars among you, if we save the prisoners."
It was then a little past noon.
Aouda retired to a waiting-room, and there she waited alone,
thinking of the simple and noble generosity, the tranquil courage
of Phileas Fogg. He had sacrificed his fortune, and was now risking
his life, all without hesitation, from duty, in silence.
Fix did not have the same thoughts, and could scarcely conceal
his agitation. He walked feverishly up and down the platform,
but soon resumed his outward composure. He now saw the folly of
which he had been guilty in letting Fogg go alone. What! This
man, whom he had just followed around the world, was permitted
now to separate himself from him! He began to accuse and abuse
himself, and, as if he were director of police, administered to
himself a sound lecture for his greenness.
"I have been an idiot!" he thought, "and this
man will see it. He has gone, and won't come back! But how is
it that I, Fix, who have in my pocket a warrant for his arrest,
have been so fascinated by him? Decidedly, I am nothing but an
ass!"
So reasoned the detective, while the hours crept by all too
slowly. He did not know what to do. Sometimes he was tempted to
tell Aouda all; but he could not doubt how the young woman would
receive his confidences. What course should he take? He thought
of pursuing Fogg across the vast white plains; it did not seem
impossible that he might overtake him. Footsteps were easily printed
on the snow! But soon, under a new sheet, every imprint would
be effaced.
Fix became discouraged. He felt a sort of insurmountable longing
to abandon the game altogether. He could now leave Fort Kearney
station, and pursue his journey homeward in peace.
Towards two o'clock in the afternoon, while it was snowing
hard, long whistles were heard approaching from the east. A great
shadow, preceded by a wild light, slowly advanced, appearing still
larger through the mist, which gave it a fantastic aspect. No
train was expected from the east, neither had there been time
for the succour asked for by telegraph to arrive; the train from
Omaha to San Francisco was not due till the next day. The mystery
was soon explained.
The locomotive, which was slowly approaching with deafening
whistles, was that which, having been detached from the train,
had continued its route with such terrific rapidity, carrying
off the unconscious engineer and stoker. It had run several miles,
when, the fire becoming low for want of fuel, the steam had slackened;
and it had finally stopped an hour after, some twenty miles beyond
Fort Kearney. Neither the engineer nor the stoker was dead, and,
after remaining for some time in their swoon, had come to themselves.
The train had then stopped. The engineer, when he found himself
in the desert, and the locomotive without cars, understood what
had happened. He could not imagine how the locomotive had become
separated from the train; but he did not doubt that the train
left behind was in distress.
He did not hesitate what to do. It would be prudent to continue
on to Omaha, for it would be dangerous to return to the train,
which the Indians might still be engaged in pillaging. Nevertheless,
he began to rebuild the fire in the furnace; the pressure again
mounted, and the locomotive returned, running backwards to Fort
Kearney. This it was which was whistling in the mist.
The travellers were glad to see the locomotive resume its place
at the head of the train. They could now continue the journey
so terribly interrupted.
Aouda, on seeing the locomotive come up, hurried out of the
station, and asked the conductor, "Are you going to start?"
"At once, madam."
"But the prisoners, our unfortunate fellow-travellers--"
"I cannot interrupt the trip," replied the conductor.
"We are already three hours behind time."
"And when will another train pass here from San Francisco?"
"To-morrow evening, madam."
"To-morrow evening! But then it will be too late! We must
wait--"
"It is impossible," responded the conductor. "If
you wish to go, please get in."
"I will not go," said Aouda.
Fix had heard this conversation. A little while before, when
there was no prospect of proceeding on the journey, he had made
up his mind to leave Fort Kearney; but now that the train was
there, ready to start, and he had only to take his seat in the
car, an irresistible influence held him back. The station platform
burned his feet, and he could not stir. The conflict in his mind
again began; anger and failure stifled him. He wished to struggle
on to the end.
Meanwhile the passengers and some of the wounded, among them
Colonel Proctor, whose injuries were serious, had taken their
places in the train. The buzzing of the over-heated boiler was
heard, and the steam was escaping from the valves. The engineer
whistled, the train started, and soon disappeared, mingling its
white smoke with the eddies of the densely falling snow.
The detective had remained behind.
Several hours passed. The weather was dismal, and it was very
cold. Fix sat motionless on a bench in the station; he might have
been thought asleep. Aouda, despite the storm, kept coming out
of the waiting-room, going to the end of the platform, and peering
through the tempest of snow, as if to pierce the mist which narrowed
the horizon around her, and to hear, if possible, some welcome
sound. She heard and saw nothing. Then she would return, chilled
through, to issue out again after the lapse of a few moments,
but always in vain.
Evening came, and the little band had not returned. Where could
they be? Had they found the Indians, and were they having a conflict
with them, or were they still wandering amid the mist? The commander
of the fort was anxious, though he tried to conceal his apprehensions.
As night approached, the snow fell less plentifully, but it became
intensely cold. Absolute silence rested on the plains. Neither
flight of bird nor passing of beast troubled the perfect calm.
Throughout the night Aouda, full of sad forebodings, her heart
stifled with anguish, wandered about on the verge of the plains.
Her imagination carried her far off, and showed her innumerable
dangers. What she suffered through the long hours it would be
impossible to describe.
Fix remained stationary in the same place, but did not sleep.
Once a man approached and spoke to him, and the detective merely
replied by shaking his head.
Thus the night passed. At dawn, the half-extinguished disc
of the sun rose above a misty horizon ; but it was now possible
to recognise objects two miles off. Phileas Fogg and the squad
had gone southward; in the south all was still vacancy. It was
then seven o'clock.
The captain, who was really alarmed, did not know what course
to take.
Should he send another detachment to the rescue of the first?
Should he sacrifice more men, with so few chances of saving those
already sacrificed? His hesitation did not last long, however.
Calling one of his lieutenants, he was on the point of ordering
a reconnaissance, when gunshots were heard. Was it a signal? The
soldiers rushed out of the fort, and half a mile off they perceived
a little band returning in good order.
Mr. Fogg was marching at their head, and just behind him were
Passepartout and the other two travellers, rescued from the Sioux.
They had met and fought the Indians ten miles south of Fort
Kearney. Shortly before the detachment arrived. Passepartout and
his companions had begun to struggle with their captors, three
of whom the Frenchman had felled with his fists, when his master
and the soldiers hastened up to their relief.
All were welcomed with joyful cries. Phileas Fogg distributed
the reward he had promised to the soldiers, while Passepartout,
not without reason, muttered to himself, "It must certainly
be confessed that I cost my master dear!"
Fix, without saying a word, looked at Mr. Fogg, and it would
have been difficult to analyse the thoughts which struggled within
him. As for Aouda, she took her protector's hand and pressed it
in her own, too much moved to speak.
Meanwhile, Passepartout was looking about for the train; he
thought he should find it there, ready to start for Omaha, and
he hoped that the time lost might be regained.
"The train! the train!" cried he.
"Gone," replied Fix.
"And when does the next train pass here?" said Phileas
Fogg.
"Not till this evening."
"Ah!" returned the impassible gentleman quietly.
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