Strangest of all, the train was so quiet, so utterly inactive, that an
absurd feeling of loneliness grew upon her, gradually developing into
the alarming certainty that she was the only living person in the
world. Then she heard men's voices outside of the window; her relief
was almost hysterical. Scrambling out of the berth, she began a hasty,
nervous toilet. Three sharp pushes on the button brought the company's
ladies' maid--advertised as a part of the luxury and refinement which
made the flyer "the finest train in the world."

"What has happened? Where are we?" she demanded, upon the entrance of
the sleepy young coloured woman.

"The Pride River bridge is washed away, ma'am," said the maid. "We
can't go on no furder."

"Dear me," sighed Eleanor, turning to be buttoned at the back. "And
where is Pride River bridge--or where was it, I mean?"

"'Bout twenty mile south of Omegon, ma'am--miss. The river's a sight--
highest 'at it's ever been known. It's all over the bottoms. This here
train came mighty nigh running into it, too. A boy flagged it just in
time, 'bout five o'clock."

"Have we been standing here a whole hour?"

"Yes, miss; right here. They say we can't go back till the section
boss has examined the track in Baxter's Cut. Seems as though there's
some danger of a washout back yander."

"Do you mean to say we are likely to stay here indefinitely?" gasped