Charlevoix county herald., 1914-09-05

er. Inc Wan0erer slipped into the
station and sat down before the warm
stove. In two minutes he was
asleep.
He had, perhaps, a half-hour of
this glorious oblivion before the call
for that station awoke the operator.
He attended to his message and
came out to fix the waiting-room
fire. Before he did that, however, he
bundled his visitor out on the plat
form.
"Move on" he ordered. "You
can't stay here. This is no lodging
house."
Nerved by desperation, the nomad
tried to slip into barn. A passer-
by caught him at it and warned him
off.
Out again in the open country, in
a snow-covered field, he spied an un-
usual corn-stalk formation. 1t was
not a shock, but long stand, formed
by piling up the stalks against one
another with a rail saddle for a
form. 1t looked like an ideal shell
ter. Clear across the field the man
trudged, and squeezed himself in be-
tween the stalks. The space within
was covered with ice. The ground
was low and wet, and standing wa
ter had been frozen for weeks. The
corn-staks within were hanging
heavy with hoar frost, and the chill
of the place that had seemed to
promise such warmth was like the
chill Of tomb.
Notwithstanding this, the man,
having crawled in upon his hands
and knees, felt constrained to lie
down for a moment to rest his body,
in spite of the cold that forbade it
rest. He was astounded to find that
his eyes were closing. The sleep
that he had indulged in the station
was still upon him, and this new
sleep was numbness. He realized it,
and fairly tore his way from out of
the corn-stand. This sort of sleep
meant death.
Twice he tumbled and fell among
the stubble in getting back to the
railroad track, but the bruises he got
did not hurt-much. 1t was dark
now, and the wind had risen almost
to gale. The snow pelted him mer-
cilessly, but in spite of the wind it
did not drift, except as it fell. 1t
was a heavy snow, that packed
where it lay.
Suddenly some structure loomed
up before him on the track. 1t was
an open truss bridge, and a long
one, as he could Judge by the deep
perspective. He could not see to the
other end of it, except that there
seemed to be, low down and very
small, square of less da. kness than
the big dark square ahead of him.
There were creaking and strain
ing of timbers and a groaning of ice
as he approached it. There had been
thaw couple of days before, and
the ice had broken; not piing up, as
it does under spring freshets, but
breaking up in large cakes and NOV
ing slowly, groaning and grinding
and crunching down the channel,
crashing against the bridge piers and
tearing loose everything that was
moored upon its banks.
AS he stepped upon the first ties
Of the bridge, the darkness seemed
to intensity and to fall upon him like
a velvet shroud. He had to look
closely where he stepped. The ties
were white with the snow that lay
upon them, and he knew that the
black spaces between went deep
down to the devouring blackness of
the river underneath.
The wind swooped like an angry
demon upon the wooden bridge, and
as he reached the center of the first
span it seemed to his strained mag
ination to shake like the branches of
a storm-tossed tree; to threaten in
slant destruction. The ties were
equally spaced, however, and sawed
to exact measure, and after he had
passed the first span it became a
monotonous measuring of steps from
one to the other-but suddenly he
slipped and went down with shrek.
One tie had been missing-rotted
and broken, perhaps. His leg went
through; he caught the tie behind it
with his other foot; his body was
thrown forward upon the ties.
For several minutes he held this
position, too numb to struggle up;
but while he lay there, peering into
the darkness, dull yellow light
glowed in the very center of the
square ahead of him, at first dimly
through the swirling snow, but grad
ually increasing in brightness and in
size. mere was d TuI1Dle dlOUR
the rail, too.
The moment he realized it, he was
a new man. The numbness did not
leave his hands, or his body, but it
left his mind, and he drew himself
forward to the solid ties again. He
hastily studied the construction of
the bridge, as nearly as he could
make it out. The track was raised
above the under girders that con-
nected truss to truss, and it was too
far down for him to risk reaching
those cross girders, except perhaps
in broad daylight, and without this
treacherous white cushion upon
them. Nevertheless, he must risk it.
He hurried to one of the cross
girders a few PAGES ahead, and was
just about to make the dangerous
attempt when his eyes and his soul
appealed once more to the light that
had become a demon to him. He
Erl ctat