But the sergeant's own eyes closed after a while, and he, too, slept the
sleep of utter mental and physical exhaustion. The train rumbled on,
the faithful Canby in the first engine aware of his great responsibility
and equal to it. Not a wink of sleep for him that night. The darkness
had lightened somewhat more. The black of the skies had turned to a
dusky blue, and the bolder stars were out. He could always see the
shining rails three or four hundred yards ahead, and he sent his train
steadily forward at full speed, winding among the gorges and rattling
over the trestles. The silent mountains gave back every sound in dying
echoes, but Canby paid no heed to them. His eyes were always on the
track ahead, and he, too, was exultant. He had brought the regiment
through, and while it was on the train his responsibility was not
inferior to that of Colonel Newcomb.
When Dick awoke, bright light was pouring in at the car windows, but the
car was cold and his body was stiff and sore. His military overcoat had
been thrown over him in the night and Warner had been covered in the
same way. They did not know that Sergeant Whitley had done that
thoughtful act.
Dick stretched himself and drew deep breaths. Warm youth soon sent the
blood flowing in a full tide through his veins, and the stiffness and
soreness departed. He saw through the window that they were still
running among the mountains, but they did not seem to be so high here as
they were at the river by which they had fought in the night.
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