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CHAPTER 30
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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