Chapter: During the night of the 5th of December, the train ran south-easterly
for about fifty miles; then rose an equal distance in a north-easterly
direction, towards the Great Salt Lake.

Passepartout, about nine o'clock, went out upon the platform to take
the air.  The weather was cold, the heavens grey, but it was not
snowing.  The sun's disc, enlarged by the mist, seemed an enormous ring
of gold, and Passepartout was amusing himself by calculating its value
in pounds sterling, when he was diverted from this interesting study by
a strange-looking personage who made his appearance on the platform.

This personage, who had taken the train at Elko, was tall and dark,
with black moustache, black stockings, a black silk hat, a black
waistcoat, black trousers, a white cravat, and dogskin gloves.  He
might have been taken for a clergyman.  He went from one end of the
train to the other, and affixed to the door of each car a notice
written in manuscript.

Passepartout approached and read one of these notices, which stated
that Elder William Hitch, Mormon missionary, taking advantage of his
presence on train No. 48, would deliver a lecture on Mormonism in car
No. 117, from eleven to twelve o'clock; and that he invited all who
were desirous of being instructed concerning the mysteries of the
religion of the "Latter Day Saints" to attend.

"I'll go," said Passepartout to himself.  He knew nothing of Mormonism
except the custom of polygamy, which is its foundation.

The news quickly spread through the train, which contained about one
hundred passengers, thirty of whom, at most, attracted by the notice,
ensconced themselves in car No. 117.  Passepartout took one of the
front seats.  Neither Mr. Fogg nor Fix cared to attend.

At the appointed hour Elder William Hitch rose, and, in an irritated
voice, as if he had already been contradicted, said, "I tell you that
Joe Smith is a martyr, that his brother Hiram is a martyr, and that the
persecutions of the United States Government against the prophets will
also make a martyr of Brigham Young.  Who dares to say the contrary?"

No one ventured to gainsay the missionary, whose excited tone
contrasted curiously with his naturally calm visage.  No doubt his
anger arose from the hardships to which the Mormons were actually
subjected.  The government had just succeeded, with some difficulty, in
reducing these independent fanatics to its rule.  It had made itself
master of Utah, and subjected that territory to the laws of the Union,
after imprisoning Brigham Young on a charge of rebellion and polygamy.
The disciples of the prophet had since redoubled their efforts, and
resisted, by words at least, the authority of Congress.  Elder Hitch,
as is seen, was trying to make proselytes on the very railway trains.

Then, emphasising his words with his loud voice and frequent gestures,
he related the history of the Mormons from Biblical times: how that, in
Israel, a Mormon prophet of the tribe of Joseph published the annals of
the new religion, and bequeathed them to his son Mormon; how, many
centuries later, a translation of this precious book, which was written
in Egyptian, was made by Joseph Smith, junior, a Vermont farmer, who
revealed himself as a mystical prophet in 1825; and how, in short, the
celestial messenger appeared to him in an illuminated forest, and gave
him the annals of the Lord.

Several of the audience, not being much interested in the missionary's
narrative, here left the car; but Elder Hitch, continuing his lecture,
related how Smith, junior, with his father, two brothers, and a few
disciples, founded the church of the "Latter Day Saints," which,
adopted not only in America, but in England, Norway and Sweden, and
Germany, counts many artisans, as well as men engaged in the liberal
professions, among its members; how a colony was established in Ohio, a
temple erected there at a cost of two hundred thousand dollars, and a
town built at Kirkland; how Smith became an enterprising banker, and
received from a simple mummy showman a papyrus scroll written by
Abraham and several famous Egyptians.

The Elder's story became somewhat wearisome, and his audience grew
gradually less, until it was reduced to twenty passengers.  But this
did not disconcert the enthusiast, who proceeded with the story of
Joseph Smith's bankruptcy in 1837, and how his ruined creditors gave
him a coat of tar and feathers; his reappearance some years afterwards,
more honourable and honoured than ever, at Independence, Missouri, the
chief of a flourishing colony of three thousand disciples, and his
pursuit thence by outraged Gentiles, and retirement into the Far West.

Ten hearers only were now left, among them honest Passepartout, who was
listening with all his ears.  Thus he learned that, after long
persecutions, Smith reappeared in Illinois, and in 1839 founded a
community at Nauvoo, on the Mississippi, numbering twenty-five thousand
souls, of which he became mayor, chief justice, and general-in-chief;
that he announced himself, in 1843, as a candidate for the Presidency
of the United States; and that finally, being drawn into ambuscade at
Carthage, he was thrown into prison, and assassinated by a band of men
disguised in masks.

Passepartout was now the only person left in the car, and the Elder,
looking him full in the face, reminded him that, two years after the
assassination of Joseph Smith, the inspired prophet, Brigham Young, his
successor, left Nauvoo for the banks of the Great Salt Lake, where, in
the midst of that fertile region, directly on the route of the
emigrants who crossed Utah on their way to California, the new colony,
thanks to the polygamy practised by the Mormons, had flourished beyond
expectations.

"And this," added Elder William Hitch, "this is why the jealousy of
Congress has been aroused against us!  Why have the soldiers of the
Union invaded the soil of Utah?  Why has Brigham Young, our chief, been
imprisoned, in contempt of all justice?  Shall we yield to force?
Never!  Driven from Vermont, driven from Illinois, driven from Ohio,
driven from Missouri, driven from Utah, we shall yet find some
independent territory on which to plant our tents.  And you, my
brother," continued the Elder, fixing his angry eyes upon his single
auditor, "will you not plant yours there, too, under the shadow of our
flag?"

"No!" replied Passepartout courageously, in his turn retiring from the
car, and leaving the Elder to preach to vacancy.

During the lecture the train had been making good progress, and towards
half-past twelve it reached the northwest border of the Great Salt
Lake.  Thence the passengers could observe the vast extent of this
interior sea, which is also called the Dead Sea, and into which flows
an American Jordan.  It is a picturesque expanse, framed in lofty crags
in large strata, encrusted with white salt--a superb sheet of water,
which was formerly of larger extent than now, its shores having
encroached with the lapse of time, and thus at once reduced its breadth
and increased its depth.

The Salt Lake, seventy miles long and thirty-five wide, is situated
three miles eight hundred feet above the sea.  Quite different from
Lake Asphaltite, whose depression is twelve hundred feet below the sea,
it contains considerable salt, and one quarter of the weight of its
water is solid matter, its specific weight being 1,170, and, after
being distilled, 1,000.  Fishes are, of course, unable to live in it,
and those which descend through the Jordan, the Weber, and other
streams soon perish.

The country around the lake was well cultivated, for the Mormons are
mostly farmers; while ranches and pens for domesticated animals, fields
of wheat, corn, and other cereals, luxuriant prairies, hedges of wild
rose, clumps of acacias and milk-wort, would have been seen six months
later.  Now the ground was covered with a thin powdering of snow.

The train reached Ogden at two o'clock, where it rested for six hours,
Mr. Fogg and his party had time to pay a visit to Salt Lake City,
connected with Ogden by a branch road; and they spent two hours in this
strikingly American town, built on the pattern of other cities of the
Union, like a checker-board, "with the sombre sadness of right-angles,"
as Victor Hugo expresses it.  The founder of the City of the Saints
could not escape from the taste for symmetry which distinguishes the
Anglo-Saxons.  In this strange country, where the people are certainly
not up to the level of their institutions, everything is done
"squarely"--cities, houses, and follies.

The travellers, then, were promenading, at three o'clock, about the
streets of the town built between the banks of the Jordan and the spurs
of the Wahsatch Range.  They saw few or no churches, but the prophet's
mansion, the court-house, and the arsenal, blue-brick houses with
verandas and porches, surrounded by gardens bordered with acacias,
palms, and locusts.  A clay and pebble wall, built in 1853, surrounded
the town; and in the principal street were the market and several
hotels adorned with pavilions.  The place did not seem thickly
populated.  The streets were almost deserted, except in the vicinity of
the temple, which they only reached after having traversed several
quarters surrounded by palisades.  There were many women, which was
easily accounted for by the "peculiar institution" of the Mormons; but
it must not be supposed that all the Mormons are polygamists.  They are
free to marry or not, as they please; but it is worth noting that it is
mainly the female citizens of Utah who are anxious to marry, as,
according to the Mormon religion, maiden ladies are not admitted to the
possession of its highest joys.  These poor creatures seemed to be
neither well off nor happy.  Some--the more well-to-do, no doubt--wore
short, open, black silk dresses, under a hood or modest shawl; others
were habited in Indian fashion.

Passepartout could not behold without a certain fright these women,
charged, in groups, with conferring happiness on a single Mormon.  His
common sense pitied, above all, the husband.  It seemed to him a
terrible thing to have to guide so many wives at once across the
vicissitudes of life, and to conduct them, as it were, in a body to the
Mormon paradise with the prospect of seeing them in the company of the
glorious Smith, who doubtless was the chief ornament of that delightful
place, to all eternity.  He felt decidedly repelled from such a
vocation, and he imagined--perhaps he was mistaken--that the fair ones
of Salt Lake City cast rather alarming glances on his person.  Happily,
his stay there was but brief.  At four the party found themselves again
at the station, took their places in the train, and the whistle sounded
for starting.  Just at the moment, however, that the locomotive wheels
began to move, cries of "Stop! stop!" were heard.

Trains, like time and tide, stop for no one.  The gentleman who uttered
the cries was evidently a belated Mormon.  He was breathless with
running.  Happily for him, the station had neither gates nor barriers.
He rushed along the track, jumped on the rear platform of the train,
and fell, exhausted, into one of the seats.

Passepartout, who had been anxiously watching this amateur gymnast,
approached him with lively interest, and learned that he had taken
flight after an unpleasant domestic scene.

When the Mormon had recovered his breath, Passepartout ventured to ask
him politely how many wives he had; for, from the manner in which he
had decamped, it might be thought that he had twenty at least.

"One, sir," replied the Mormon, raising his arms heavenward--"one, and
that was enough!"




The train, on leaving Great Salt Lake at Ogden, passed northward for an
hour as far as Weber River, having completed nearly nine hundred miles
from San Francisco.  From this point it took an easterly direction
towards the jagged Wahsatch Mountains.  It was in the section included
between this range and the Rocky Mountains that the American engineers
found the most formidable difficulties in laying the road, and that the
government granted a subsidy of forty-eight thousand dollars per mile,
instead of sixteen thousand allowed for the work done on the plains.
But the engineers, instead of violating nature, avoided its
difficulties by winding around, instead of penetrating the rocks.  One
tunnel only, fourteen thousand feet in length, was pierced in order to
arrive at the great basin.

The track up to this time had reached its highest elevation at the
Great Salt Lake.  From this point it described a long curve, descending
towards Bitter Creek Valley, to rise again to the dividing ridge of the
waters between the Atlantic and the Pacific.  There were many creeks in
this mountainous region, and it was necessary to cross Muddy Creek,
Green Creek, and others, upon culverts.

Passepartout grew more and more impatient as they went on, while Fix
longed to get out of this difficult region, and was more anxious than
Phileas Fogg himself to be beyond the danger of delays and accidents,
and set foot on English soil.

At ten o'clock at night the train stopped at Fort Bridger station, and
twenty minutes later entered Wyoming Territory, following the valley of
Bitter Creek throughout.  The next day, 7th December, they stopped for
a quarter of an hour at Green River station.  Snow had fallen
abundantly during the night, but, being mixed with rain, it had half
melted, and did not interrupt their progress.  The bad weather,
however, annoyed Passepartout; for the accumulation of snow, by
blocking the wheels of the cars, would certainly have been fatal to Mr.
Fogg's tour.

"What an idea!" he said to himself.  "Why did my master make this
journey in winter?  Couldn't he have waited for the good season to
increase his chances?"

While the worthy Frenchman was absorbed in the state of the sky and the
depression of the temperature, Aouda was experiencing fears from a
totally different cause.

Several passengers had got off at Green River, and were walking up and
down the platforms; and among these Aouda recognised Colonel Stamp
Proctor, the same who had so grossly insulted Phileas Fogg at the San
Francisco meeting.  Not wishing to be recognised, the young woman drew
back from the window, feeling much alarm at her discovery.  She was
attached to the man who, however coldly, gave her daily evidences of
the most absolute devotion.  She did not comprehend, perhaps, the depth
of the sentiment with which her protector inspired her, which she
called gratitude, but which, though she was unconscious of it, was
really more than that.  Her heart sank within her when she recognised
the man whom Mr. Fogg desired, sooner or later, to call to account for
his conduct.  Chance alone, it was clear, had brought Colonel Proctor
on this train; but there he was, and it was necessary, at all hazards,
that Phileas Fogg should not perceive his adversary.

Aouda seized a moment when Mr. Fogg was asleep to tell Fix and
Passepartout whom she had seen.

"That Proctor on this train!" cried Fix.  "Well, reassure yourself,
madam; before he settles with Mr. Fogg; he has got to deal with me!  It
seems to me that I was the more insulted of the two."

"And, besides," added Passepartout, "I'll take charge of him, colonel
as he is."

"Mr. Fix," resumed Aouda, "Mr. Fogg will allow no one to avenge him.
He said that he would come back to America to find this man.  Should he
perceive Colonel Proctor, we could not prevent a collision which might
have terrible results.  He must not see him."

"You are right, madam," replied Fix; "a meeting between them might ruin
all.  Whether he were victorious or beaten, Mr. Fogg would be delayed,
and--"

"And," added Passepartout, "that would play the game of the gentlemen
of the Reform Club.  In four days we shall be in New York.  Well, if my
master does not leave this car during those four days, we may hope that
chance will not bring him face to face with this confounded American.
We must, if possible, prevent his stirring out of it."

The conversation dropped.  Mr. Fogg had just woke up, and was looking
out of the window.  Soon after Passepartout, without being heard by his
master or Aouda, whispered to the detective, "Would you really fight
for him?"

"I would do anything," replied Fix, in a tone which betrayed determined
will, "to get him back living to Europe!"

Passepartout felt something like a shudder shoot through his frame, but
his confidence in his master remained unbroken.

Was there any means of detaining Mr. Fogg in the car, to avoid a
meeting between him and the colonel?  It ought not to be a difficult
task, since that gentleman was naturally sedentary and little curious.
The detective, at least, seemed to have found a way; for, after a few
moments, he said to Mr. Fogg, "These are long and slow hours, sir, that
we are passing on the railway."

"Yes," replied Mr. Fogg; "but they pass."

"You were in the habit of playing whist," resumed Fix, "on the
steamers."

"Yes; but it would be difficult to do so here.  I have neither cards
nor partners."

"Oh, but we can easily buy some cards, for they are sold on all the
American trains.  And as for partners, if madam plays--"

"Certainly, sir," Aouda quickly replied; "I understand whist.  It is
part of an English education."

"I myself have some pretensions to playing a good game.  Well, here are
three of us, and a dummy--"

"As you please, sir," replied Phileas Fogg, heartily glad to resume his
favourite pastime even on the railway.

Passepartout was dispatched in search of the steward, and soon returned
with two packs of cards, some pins, counters, and a shelf covered with
cloth.

The game commenced.  Aouda understood whist sufficiently well, and even
received some compliments on her playing from Mr. Fogg.  As for the
detective, he was simply an adept, and worthy of being matched against
his present opponent.

"Now," thought Passepartout, "we've got him.  He won't budge."

At eleven in the morning the train had reached the dividing ridge of
the waters at Bridger Pass, seven thousand five hundred and twenty-four
feet above the level of the sea, one of the highest points attained by
the track in crossing the Rocky Mountains.  After going about two
hundred miles, the travellers at last found themselves on one of those
vast plains which extend to the Atlantic, and which nature has made so
propitious for laying the iron road.

On the declivity of the Atlantic basin the first streams, branches of
the North Platte River, already appeared.  The whole northern and
eastern horizon was bounded by the immense semi-circular curtain which
is formed by the southern portion of the Rocky Mountains, the highest
being Laramie Peak.  Between this and the railway extended vast plains,
plentifully irrigated.  On the right rose the lower spurs of the
mountainous mass which extends southward to the sources of the Arkansas
River, one of the great tributaries of the Missouri.

At half-past twelve the travellers caught sight for an instant of Fort
Halleck, which commands that section; and in a few more hours the Rocky
Mountains were crossed.  There was reason to hope, then, that no
accident would mark the journey through this difficult country.  The
snow had ceased falling, and the air became crisp and cold.  Large
birds, frightened by the locomotive, rose and flew off in the distance.
No wild beast appeared on the plain.  It was a desert in its vast
nakedness.

After a comfortable breakfast, served in the car, Mr. Fogg and his
partners had just resumed whist, when a violent whistling was heard,
and the train stopped.  Passepartout put his head out of the door, but
saw nothing to cause the delay; no station was in view.

Aouda and Fix feared that Mr. Fogg might take it into his head to get
out; but that gentleman contented himself with saying to his servant,
"See what is the matter."

Passepartout rushed out of the car.  Thirty or forty passengers had
already descended, amongst them Colonel Stamp Proctor.

The train had stopped before a red signal which blocked the way.  The
engineer and conductor were talking excitedly with a signal-man, whom
the station-master at Medicine Bow, the next stopping place, had sent
on before.  The passengers drew around and took part in the discussion,
in which Colonel Proctor, with his insolent manner, was conspicuous.

Passepartout, joining the group, heard the signal-man say, "No! you
can't pass.  The bridge at Medicine Bow is shaky, and would not bear
the weight of the train."

This was a suspension-bridge thrown over some rapids, about a mile from
the place where they now were.  According to the signal-man, it was in
a ruinous condition, several of the iron wires being broken; and it was
impossible to risk the passage.  He did not in any way exaggerate the
condition of the bridge.  It may be taken for granted that, rash as the
Americans usually are, when they are prudent there is good reason for
it.

Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard,
listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue.

"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor; "but we are not going to stay here, I
imagine, and take root in the snow?"

"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha for a
train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow in less
than six hours."

"Six hours!" cried Passepartout.

"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as long
as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot."

"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers.

"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river."

"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel.

"That's impossible.  The creek is swelled by the rains.  It is a rapid,
and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a
ford."

The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company
and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not
disinclined to make common cause with him.  Here was an obstacle,
indeed, which all his master's banknotes could not remove.

There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without
reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles
over a plain covered with snow.  They grumbled and protested, and would
certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's attention if he had not
been completely absorbed in his game.

Passepartout found that he could not avoid telling his master what had
occurred, and, with hanging head, he was turning towards the car, when
the engineer, a true Yankee, named Forster called out, "Gentlemen,
perhaps there is a way, after all, to get over."

"On the bridge?" asked a passenger.

"On the bridge."

"With our train?"

"With our train."

Passepartout stopped short, and eagerly listened to the engineer.

"But the bridge is unsafe," urged the conductor.

"No matter," replied Forster; "I think that by putting on the very
highest speed we might have a chance of getting over."

"The devil!" muttered Passepartout.

But a number of the passengers were at once attracted by the engineer's
proposal, and Colonel Proctor was especially delighted, and found the
plan a very feasible one.  He told stories about engineers leaping
their trains over rivers without bridges, by putting on full steam; and
many of those present avowed themselves of the engineer's mind.

"We have fifty chances out of a hundred of getting over," said one.

"Eighty! ninety!"

Passepartout was astounded, and, though ready to attempt anything to
get over Medicine Creek, thought the experiment proposed a little too
American.  "Besides," thought he, "there's a still more simple way, and
it does not even occur to any of these people!  Sir," said he aloud to
one of the passengers, "the engineer's plan seems to me a little
dangerous, but--"

"Eighty chances!" replied the passenger, turning his back on him.

"I know it," said Passepartout, turning to another passenger, "but a
simple idea--"

"Ideas are no use," returned the American, shrugging his shoulders, "as
the engineer assures us that we can pass."

"Doubtless," urged Passepartout, "we can pass, but perhaps it would be
more prudent--"

"What!  Prudent!" cried Colonel Proctor, whom this word seemed to
excite prodigiously.  "At full speed, don't you see, at full speed!"

"I know--I see," repeated Passepartout; "but it would be, if not more
prudent, since that word displeases you, at least more natural--"

"Who!  What!  What's the matter with this fellow?" cried several.

The poor fellow did not know to whom to address himself.

"Are you afraid?" asked Colonel Proctor.

"I afraid?  Very well; I will show these people that a Frenchman can be
as American as they!"

"All aboard!" cried the conductor.

"Yes, all aboard!" repeated Passepartout, and immediately.  "But they
can't prevent me from thinking that it would be more natural for us to
cross the bridge on foot, and let the train come after!"

But no one heard this sage reflection, nor would anyone have
acknowledged its justice.  The passengers resumed their places in the
cars.  Passepartout took his seat without telling what had passed.  The
whist-players were quite absorbed in their game.

The locomotive whistled vigorously; the engineer, reversing the steam,
backed the train for nearly a mile--retiring, like a jumper, in order
to take a longer leap.  Then, with another whistle, he began to move
forward; the train increased its speed, and soon its rapidity became
frightful; a prolonged screech issued from the locomotive; the piston
worked up and down twenty strokes to the second.  They perceived that
the whole train, rushing on at the rate of a hundred miles an hour,
hardly bore upon the rails at all.

And they passed over!  It was like a flash.  No one saw the bridge.
The train leaped, so to speak, from one bank to the other, and the
engineer could not stop it until it had gone five miles beyond the
station.  But scarcely had the train passed the river, when the bridge,
completely ruined, fell with a crash into the rapids of Medicine Bow.




The train pursued its course, that evening, without interruption,
passing Fort Saunders, crossing Cheyne Pass, and reaching Evans Pass.
The road here attained the highest elevation of the journey, eight
thousand and ninety-two feet above the level of the sea.  The
travellers had now only to descend to the Atlantic by limitless plains,
levelled by nature.  A branch of the "grand trunk" led off southward to
Denver, the capital of Colorado.  The country round about is rich in
gold and silver, and more than fifty thousand inhabitants are already
settled there.

Thirteen hundred and eighty-two miles had been passed over from San
Francisco, in three days and three nights; four days and nights more
would probably bring them to New York.  Phileas Fogg was not as yet
behind-hand.

During the night Camp Walbach was passed on the left; Lodge Pole Creek
ran parallel with the road, marking the boundary between the
territories of Wyoming and Colorado.  They entered Nebraska at eleven,
passed near Sedgwick, and touched at Julesburg, on the southern branch
of the Platte River.

It was here that the Union Pacific Railroad was inaugurated on the 23rd
of October, 1867, by the chief engineer, General Dodge.  Two powerful
locomotives, carrying nine cars of invited guests, amongst whom was
Thomas C. Durant, vice-president of the road, stopped at this point;
cheers were given, the Sioux and Pawnees performed an imitation Indian
battle, fireworks were let off, and the first number of the Railway
Pioneer was printed by a press brought on the train.  Thus was
celebrated the inauguration of this great railroad, a mighty instrument
of progress and civilisation, thrown across the desert, and destined to
link together cities and towns which do not yet exist.  The whistle of
the locomotive, more powerful than Amphion's lyre, was about to bid
them rise from American soil.

Fort McPherson was left behind at eight in the morning, and three
hundred and fifty-seven miles had yet to be traversed before reaching
Omaha.  The road followed the capricious windings of the southern
branch of the Platte River, on its left bank.  At nine the train
stopped at the important town of North Platte, built between the two
arms of the river, which rejoin each other around it and form a single
artery, a large tributary, whose waters empty into the Missouri a
little above Omaha.

The one hundred and first meridian was passed.

Mr. Fogg and his partners had resumed their game; no one--not even the
dummy--complained of the length of the trip.  Fix had begun by winning
several guineas, which he seemed likely to lose; but he showed himself
a not less eager whist-player than Mr. Fogg.  During the morning,
chance distinctly favoured that gentleman.  Trumps and honours were
showered upon his hands.

Once, having resolved on a bold stroke, he was on the point of playing
a spade, when a voice behind him said, "I should play a diamond."

Mr. Fogg, Aouda, and Fix raised their heads, and beheld Colonel Proctor.

Stamp Proctor and Phileas Fogg recognised each other at once.

"Ah! it's you, is it, Englishman?" cried the colonel; "it's you who are
going to play a spade!"

"And who plays it," replied Phileas Fogg coolly, throwing down the ten
of spades.

"Well, it pleases me to have it diamonds," replied Colonel Proctor, in
an insolent tone.

He made a movement as if to seize the card which had just been played,
adding, "You don't understand anything about whist."

"Perhaps I do, as well as another," said Phileas Fogg, rising.

"You have only to try, son of John Bull," replied the colonel.

Aouda turned pale, and her blood ran cold.  She seized Mr. Fogg's arm
and gently pulled him back.  Passepartout was ready to pounce upon the
American, who was staring insolently at his opponent.  But Fix got up,
and, going to Colonel Proctor said, "You forget that it is I with whom
you have to deal, sir; for it was I whom you not only insulted, but
struck!"

"Mr. Fix," said Mr. Fogg, "pardon me, but this affair is mine, and mine
only.  The colonel has again insulted me, by insisting that I should
not play a spade, and he shall give me satisfaction for it."

"When and where you will," replied the American, "and with whatever
weapon you choose."

Aouda in vain attempted to retain Mr. Fogg; as vainly did the detective
endeavour to make the quarrel his.  Passepartout wished to throw the
colonel out of the window, but a sign from his master checked him.
Phileas Fogg left the car, and the American followed him upon the
platform.  "Sir," said Mr. Fogg to his adversary, "I am in a great
hurry to get back to Europe, and any delay whatever will be greatly to
my disadvantage."

"Well, what's that to me?" replied Colonel Proctor.

"Sir," said Mr. Fogg, very politely, "after our meeting at San
Francisco, I determined to return to America and find you as soon as I
had completed the business which called me to England."

"Really!"

"Will you appoint a meeting for six months hence?"

"Why not ten years hence?"

"I say six months," returned Phileas Fogg; "and I shall be at the place
of meeting promptly."

"All this is an evasion," cried Stamp Proctor.  "Now or never!"

"Very good.  You are going to New York?"

"No."

"To Chicago?"

"No."

"To Omaha?"

"What difference is it to you?  Do you know Plum Creek?"

"No," replied Mr. Fogg.

"It's the next station.  The train will be there in an hour, and will
stop there ten minutes.  In ten minutes several revolver-shots could be
exchanged."

"Very well," said Mr. Fogg.  "I will stop at Plum Creek."

"And I guess you'll stay there too," added the American insolently.

"Who knows?" replied Mr. Fogg, returning to the car as coolly as usual.
He began to reassure Aouda, telling her that blusterers were never to
be feared, and begged Fix to be his second at the approaching duel, a
request which the detective could not refuse.  Mr. Fogg resumed the
interrupted game with perfect calmness.

At eleven o'clock the locomotive's whistle announced that they were
approaching Plum Creek station.  Mr. Fogg rose, and, followed by Fix,
went out upon the platform.  Passepartout accompanied him, carrying a
pair of revolvers.  Aouda remained in the car, as pale as death.

The door of the next car opened, and Colonel Proctor appeared on the
platform, attended by a Yankee of his own stamp as his second.  But
just as the combatants were about to step from the train, the conductor
hurried up, and shouted, "You can't get off, gentlemen!"

"Why not?" asked the colonel.

"We are twenty minutes late, and we shall not stop."

"But I am going to fight a duel with this gentleman."

"I am sorry," said the conductor; "but we shall be off at once.
There's the bell ringing now."

The train started.

"I'm really very sorry, gentlemen," said the conductor.  "Under any
other circumstances I should have been happy to oblige you.  But, after
all, as you have not had time to fight here, why not fight as we go
along?"

"That wouldn't be convenient, perhaps, for this gentleman," said the
colonel, in a jeering tone.

"It would be perfectly so," replied Phileas Fogg.

"Well, we are really in America," thought Passepartout, "and the
conductor is a gentleman of the first order!"

So muttering, he followed his master.

The two combatants, their seconds, and the conductor passed through the
cars to the rear of the train.  The last car was only occupied by a
dozen passengers, whom the conductor politely asked if they would not
be so kind as to leave it vacant for a few moments, as two gentlemen
had an affair of honour to settle.  The passengers granted the request
with alacrity, and straightway disappeared on the platform.

The car, which was some fifty feet long, was very convenient for their
purpose.  The adversaries might march on each other in the aisle, and
fire at their ease.  Never was duel more easily arranged.  Mr. Fogg and
Colonel Proctor, each provided with two six-barrelled revolvers,
entered the car.  The seconds, remaining outside, shut them in.  They
were to begin firing at the first whistle of the locomotive.  After an
interval of two minutes, what remained of the two gentlemen would be
taken from the car.

Nothing could be more simple.  Indeed, it was all so simple that Fix
and Passepartout felt their hearts beating as if they would crack.
They were listening for the whistle agreed upon, when suddenly savage
cries resounded in the air, accompanied by reports which certainly did
not issue from the car where the duellists were.  The reports continued
in front and the whole length of the train.  Cries of terror proceeded
from the interior of the cars.

Colonel Proctor and Mr. Fogg, revolvers in hand, hastily quitted their
prison, and rushed forward where the noise was most clamorous.  They
then perceived that the train was attacked by a band of Sioux.

This was not the first attempt of these daring Indians, for more than
once they had waylaid trains on the road.  A hundred of them had,
according to their habit, jumped upon the steps without stopping the
train, with the ease of a clown mounting a horse at full gallop.

The Sioux were armed with guns, from which came the reports, to which
the passengers, who were almost all armed, responded by revolver-shots.

The Indians had first mounted the engine, and half stunned the engineer
and stoker with blows from their muskets.  A Sioux chief, wishing to
stop the train, but not knowing how to work the regulator, had opened
wide instead of closing the steam-valve, and the locomotive was
plunging forward with terrific velocity.

The Sioux had at the same time invaded the cars, skipping like enraged
monkeys over the roofs, thrusting open the doors, and fighting hand to
hand with the passengers.  Penetrating the baggage-car, they pillaged
it, throwing the trunks out of the train.  The cries and shots were
constant.  The travellers defended themselves bravely; some of the cars
were barricaded, and sustained a siege, like moving forts, carried
along at a speed of a hundred miles an hour.

Aouda behaved courageously from the first.  She defended herself like a
true heroine with a revolver, which she shot through the broken windows
whenever a savage made his appearance.  Twenty Sioux had fallen
mortally wounded to the ground, and the wheels crushed those who fell
upon the rails as if they had been worms.  Several passengers, shot or
stunned, lay on the seats.

It was necessary to put an end to the struggle, which had lasted for
ten minutes, and which would result in the triumph of the Sioux if the
train was not stopped.  Fort Kearney station, where there was a
garrison, was only two miles distant; but, that once passed, the Sioux
would be masters of the train between Fort Kearney and the station
beyond.

The conductor was fighting beside Mr. Fogg, when he was shot and fell.
At the same moment he cried, "Unless the train is stopped in five
minutes, we are lost!"

"It shall be stopped," said Phileas Fogg, preparing to rush from the
car.

"Stay, monsieur," cried Passepartout; "I will go."

Mr. Fogg had not time to stop the brave fellow, who, opening a door
unperceived by the Indians, succeeded in slipping under the car; and
while the struggle continued and the balls whizzed across each other
over his head, he made use of his old acrobatic experience, and with
amazing agility worked his way under the cars, holding on to the
chains, aiding himself by the brakes and edges of the sashes, creeping
from one car to another with marvellous skill, and thus gaining the
forward end of the train.

There, suspended by one hand between the baggage-car and the tender,
with the other he loosened the safety chains; but, owing to the
traction, he would never have succeeded in unscrewing the yoking-bar,
had not a violent concussion jolted this bar out.  The train, now
detached from the engine, remained a little behind, whilst the
locomotive rushed forward with increased speed.

Carried on by the force already acquired, the train still moved for
several minutes; but the brakes were worked and at last they stopped,
less than a hundred feet from Kearney station.

The soldiers of the fort, attracted by the shots, hurried up; the Sioux
had not expected them, and decamped in a body before the train entirely
stopped.

But when the passengers counted each other on the station platform
several were found missing; among others the courageous Frenchman,
whose devotion had just saved them.




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.




Phileas Fogg found himself twenty hours behind time.  Passepartout, the
involuntary cause of this delay, was desperate.  He had ruined his
master!

At this moment the detective approached Mr. Fogg, and, looking him
intently in the face, said:

"Seriously, sir, are you in great haste?"

"Quite seriously."

"I have a purpose in asking," resumed Fix.  "Is it absolutely necessary
that you should be in New York on the 11th, before nine o'clock in the
evening, the time that the steamer leaves for Liverpool?"

"It is absolutely necessary."

"And, if your journey had not been interrupted by these Indians, you
would have reached New York on the morning of the 11th?"

"Yes; with eleven hours to spare before the steamer left."

"Good! you are therefore twenty hours behind.  Twelve from twenty
leaves eight.  You must regain eight hours.  Do you wish to try to do
so?"

"On foot?" asked Mr. Fogg.

"No; on a sledge," replied Fix.  "On a sledge with sails.  A man has
proposed such a method to me."

It was the man who had spoken to Fix during the night, and whose offer
he had refused.

Phileas Fogg did not reply at once; but Fix, having pointed out the
man, who was walking up and down in front of the station, Mr. Fogg went
up to him.  An instant after, Mr. Fogg and the American, whose name was
Mudge, entered a hut built just below the fort.

There Mr. Fogg examined a curious vehicle, a kind of frame on two long
beams, a little raised in front like the runners of a sledge, and upon
which there was room for five or six persons.  A high mast was fixed on
the frame, held firmly by metallic lashings, to which was attached a
large brigantine sail.  This mast held an iron stay upon which to hoist
a jib-sail.  Behind, a sort of rudder served to guide the vehicle.  It
was, in short, a sledge rigged like a sloop.  During the winter, when
the trains are blocked up by the snow, these sledges make extremely
rapid journeys across the frozen plains from one station to another.
Provided with more sails than a cutter, and with the wind behind them,
they slip over the surface of the prairies with a speed equal if not
superior to that of the express trains.

Mr. Fogg readily made a bargain with the owner of this land-craft.  The
wind was favourable, being fresh, and blowing from the west.  The snow
had hardened, and Mudge was very confident of being able to transport
Mr. Fogg in a few hours to Omaha.  Thence the trains eastward run
frequently to Chicago and New York.  It was not impossible that the
lost time might yet be recovered; and such an opportunity was not to be
rejected.

Not wishing to expose Aouda to the discomforts of travelling in the
open air, Mr. Fogg proposed to leave her with Passepartout at Fort
Kearney, the servant taking upon himself to escort her to Europe by a
better route and under more favourable conditions.  But Aouda refused
to separate from Mr. Fogg, and Passepartout was delighted with her
decision; for nothing could induce him to leave his master while Fix
was with him.

It would be difficult to guess the detective's thoughts.  Was this
conviction shaken by Phileas Fogg's return, or did he still regard him
as an exceedingly shrewd rascal, who, his journey round the world
completed, would think himself absolutely safe in England?  Perhaps
Fix's opinion of Phileas Fogg was somewhat modified; but he was
nevertheless resolved to do his duty, and to hasten the return of the
whole party to England as much as possible.

At eight o'clock the sledge was ready to start.  The passengers took
their places on it, and wrapped themselves up closely in their
travelling-cloaks.  The two great sails were hoisted, and under the
pressure of the wind the sledge slid over the hardened snow with a
velocity of forty miles an hour.

The distance between Fort Kearney and Omaha, as the birds fly, is at
most two hundred miles.  If the wind held good, the distance might be
traversed in five hours; if no accident happened the sledge might reach
Omaha by one o'clock.

What a journey!  The travellers, huddled close together, could not
speak for the cold, intensified by the rapidity at which they were
going.  The sledge sped on as lightly as a boat over the waves.  When
the breeze came skimming the earth the sledge seemed to be lifted off
the ground by its sails.  Mudge, who was at the rudder, kept in a
straight line, and by a turn of his hand checked the lurches which the
vehicle had a tendency to make.  All the sails were up, and the jib was
so arranged as not to screen the brigantine.  A top-mast was hoisted,
and another jib, held out to the wind, added its force to the other
sails.  Although the speed could not be exactly estimated, the sledge
could not be going at less than forty miles an hour.

"If nothing breaks," said Mudge, "we shall get there!"

Mr. Fogg had made it for Mudge's interest to reach Omaha within the
time agreed on, by the offer of a handsome reward.

The prairie, across which the sledge was moving in a straight line, was
as flat as a sea.  It seemed like a vast frozen lake.  The railroad
which ran through this section ascended from the south-west to the
north-west by Great Island, Columbus, an important Nebraska town,
Schuyler, and Fremont, to Omaha.  It followed throughout the right bank
of the Platte River.  The sledge, shortening this route, took a chord
of the arc described by the railway.  Mudge was not afraid of being
stopped by the Platte River, because it was frozen.  The road, then,
was quite clear of obstacles, and Phileas Fogg had but two things to
fear--an accident to the sledge, and a change or calm in the wind.

But the breeze, far from lessening its force, blew as if to bend the
mast, which, however, the metallic lashings held firmly.  These
lashings, like the chords of a stringed instrument, resounded as if
vibrated by a violin bow.  The sledge slid along in the midst of a
plaintively intense melody.

"Those chords give the fifth and the octave," said Mr. Fogg.

These were the only words he uttered during the journey.  Aouda, cosily
packed in furs and cloaks, was sheltered as much as possible from the
attacks of the freezing wind.  As for Passepartout, his face was as red
as the sun's disc when it sets in the mist, and he laboriously inhaled
the biting air.  With his natural buoyancy of spirits, he began to hope
again.  They would reach New York on the evening, if not on the
morning, of the 11th, and there was still some chances that it would be
before the steamer sailed for Liverpool.

Passepartout even felt a strong desire to grasp his ally, Fix, by the
hand.  He remembered that it was the detective who procured the sledge,
the only means of reaching Omaha in time; but, checked by some
presentiment, he kept his usual reserve.  One thing, however,
Passepartout would never forget, and that was the sacrifice which Mr.
Fogg had made, without hesitation, to rescue him from the Sioux.  Mr.
Fogg had risked his fortune and his life. No!  His servant would never
forget that!

While each of the party was absorbed in reflections so different, the
sledge flew past over the vast carpet of snow.  The creeks it passed
over were not perceived.  Fields and streams disappeared under the
uniform whiteness.  The plain was absolutely deserted.  Between the
Union Pacific road and the branch which unites Kearney with Saint
Joseph it formed a great uninhabited island.  Neither village, station,
nor fort appeared.  From time to time they sped by some phantom-like
tree, whose white skeleton twisted and rattled in the wind.  Sometimes
flocks of wild birds rose, or bands of gaunt, famished, ferocious
prairie-wolves ran howling after the sledge.  Passepartout, revolver in
hand, held himself ready to fire on those which came too near.  Had an
accident then happened to the sledge, the travellers, attacked by these
beasts, would have been in the most terrible danger; but it held on its
even course, soon gained on the wolves, and ere long left the howling
band at a safe distance behind.

About noon Mudge perceived by certain landmarks that he was crossing
the Platte River.  He said nothing, but he felt certain that he was now
within twenty miles of Omaha.  In less than an hour he left the rudder
and furled his sails, whilst the sledge, carried forward by the great
impetus the wind had given it, went on half a mile further with its
sails unspread.

It stopped at last, and Mudge, pointing to a mass of roofs white with
snow, said: "We have got there!"

Arrived!  Arrived at the station which is in daily communication, by
numerous trains, with the Atlantic seaboard!

Passepartout and Fix jumped off, stretched their stiffened limbs, and
aided Mr. Fogg and the young woman to descend from the sledge.  Phileas
Fogg generously rewarded Mudge, whose hand Passepartout warmly grasped,
and the party directed their steps to the Omaha railway station.

The Pacific Railroad proper finds its terminus at this important
Nebraska town.  Omaha is connected with Chicago by the Chicago and Rock
Island Railroad, which runs directly east, and passes fifty stations.

A train was ready to start when Mr. Fogg and his party reached the
station, and they only had time to get into the cars.  They had seen
nothing of Omaha; but Passepartout confessed to himself that this was
not to be regretted, as they were not travelling to see the sights.

The train passed rapidly across the State of Iowa, by Council Bluffs,
Des Moines, and Iowa City.  During the night it crossed the Mississippi
at Davenport, and by Rock Island entered Illinois.  The next day, which
was the 10th, at four o'clock in the evening, it reached Chicago,
already risen from its ruins, and more proudly seated than ever on the
borders of its beautiful Lake Michigan.

Nine hundred miles separated Chicago from New York; but trains are not
wanting at Chicago.  Mr. Fogg passed at once from one to the other, and
the locomotive of the Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, and Chicago Railway left
at full speed, as if it fully comprehended that that gentleman had no
time to lose.  It traversed Indiana, Ohio, Pennsylvania, and New Jersey
like a flash, rushing through towns with antique names, some of which
had streets and car-tracks, but as yet no houses.  At last the Hudson
came into view; and, at a quarter-past eleven in the evening of the
11th, the train stopped in the station on the right bank of the river,
before the very pier of the Cunard line.

The China, for Liverpool, had started three-quarters of an hour before!

 As a train nears the Great Salt Lake in Utah, a Mormon man gets on board, dressed as if he were a member of the clergy. He is a Mormon missionary named Elder William Hitch, and will be giving a lecture in car no. 117 on Mormonism. Passepartout is intrigued, and decides to go listen. He talks about how the government has been trying to oppress Mormons under its rule, but how they have been resisting and redoubling their efforts. He tells the history of the Mormons from Biblical times to the present. Some of the listeners wander off, uninterested in what he is saying, but Passepartout stays. Eventually only Passepartout is left listening, and the Elder is speaking directly to him. When the elder asks him if he will "plant his tent" under the shadow of the Mormon flag, Passepartout refuses, and leaves the car at last. The train makes a stop at Salt Lake City and Mr. Fogg and his group have some time to visit it. It is a very American town, built as a checkerboard like most others. As they wander and pass by Mormon women, Passepartout wonders at the phenomenon of polygamy that is practiced by the Mormons. He decides he pities the husband, who is tasked with guiding so many wives through life. The train enters mountainous, dangerous terrain. As usual, Mr. Fogg is calm, cool, and collected, but Passepartout is worried by the possibility of delays. At one point, Aouda recognizes Colonel Stamp Proctor, the man who fought with Mr. Fogg back in San Francisco, on the train. She is alarmed because she has grown attached to Mr. Fogg in a way that she acknowledges is more than just gratitude. She tells Passepartout and Fix when Fogg is asleep, and they are all worried about Fogg realizing that Proctor is here and getting into a fight with him. To distract Fogg, they acquire a deck of cards and engage him in a game of whist. The train continues on through the American wilderness, but eventually makes an unscheduled stop: the bridge that they need to cross is in bad condition, and will not hold their weight. They have sent a telegraph to call another train, but it will likely be six hours before it arrives. Everyone is upset, but a man named Forster suggests that if they approach the bridge at extremely high speed they have a good chance of getting over. Passepartout is not sure about this, and thinks the proposal is a little too American. He has a simpler suggestion to allow the people in the train to cross on foot first and then let the train come after, but no one allows him to speak, even though he tries over and over again to get a word in. Finally, they give it a shot. At a hundred miles an hour, the train makes it over, just before the bridge comes crashing down into the river rapids. Halfway through the train trip, much to Aouda's dismay, Fogg and Proctor encounter each other. Each still angry about what happened in San Francisco, they agree to engage in a duel. They try to do it at the next train stop, but since the train is late it just continues on without stopping--instead, they do it on the train itself. They clear out a car in the rear of the train, and Proctor and Fogg each have a revolver. As they are about to begin firing, though, the train is suddenly attacked by a band of Sioux Indians. They swarm the train and the passengers bravely try to fight them off; even Aouda defends herself with a revolver. They need to figure out how to stop the train, because unless the train stops at the next station , the Sioux will win the conflict. Passepartout figures out how, but just after that, he and a number of other passengers go missing, presumably kidnapped by the Sioux. As they tend to their wounded at the fort, Fogg is determined to find Passepartout, living or dead. He understands that even a single day would make him miss his ship in New York, but he knows that it is his duty to find his loyal servant. He decides to go off in pursuit of the Sioux, and the captain of the fort sends thirty soldiers to go with him. He asks Fix to remain with Aouda and keep her safe. Fix agrees, and then wonders why he did--he cannot figure out why he is so fascinated by Fogg, when his goal is to arrest him. The train prepares to leave once more, with Fogg still gone. Aouda refuses to go, and even though Fix originally thought he would, he realizes that something is holding him back. They remain at the fort, and wait a long time for Fogg and the others to return. At last he does, having rescued Passepartout and the other captured travelers. They are now twenty hours behind schedule, and Passepartout once again berates himself for being the cause of the delay. Fix, however, proposes that they make up the time by riding on a sledge to catch up with the train in Omaha, Nebraska. Since it is winter, there is snow on the ground, and the sledge has sails to catch the wind, it can move even faster than an express train. Led by the sledge driver, Mudge, they make it to Omaha through the cold, just in time to catch a train. The rest of the train trip to New York progresses without incident--however, once they reach the harbor, they realize the steamer had left merely 45 minutes before.

