“God, it’s a car!” said the operator, for he could see the end of the rear bumper where the rotary’s augers had chewed into it; everything else was drifted over with snow, or plastered. The two men looked at each other, and each saw that the other was scared.

The operator knocked the snow off the handle and opened the door. “One of those little telephone trucks,” he said.

The swamper rolled up the tarpaulin at the back. The headlights of the rotary glared into the truck. The swamper took a good look. “Skis gone,” he said. Then he looked at his watch—just after midnight.

“One man or two in these outfits?” asked the operator; he really knew, but he spoke to be saying something.

“One, along the highway,” said the swamper, “two, when the wires are farther away.”

They stood a moment staring at each other. Around their ankles the snow was moving; the force of the wind held it tight along the surface; it drifted heavily, like dry sand creeping on a dune.

Facing toward the forest on the side where the telephone-lines ran, the operator let out a mighty “Hal-loo!”

They waited, and in the hush of expectancy could hear the engine of the rotary throbbing steadily. A faint call came back from the forest. “Hear that?” cried the swamper, starting forward impulsively.

But the operator called again: “Hal-loo-oo, hal-loo-oo!”

“Loo-oo,” came back.

“Echo,” said the operator. “Hardly think there would be one in this wind.”

While the swamper replaced the shear-bolts, the operator got into touch with the Station by radio, and talked with the night-foreman.

“I guess that’s the fellow the telephone people were calling up about,” said the night-foreman. “He hadn’t reported in for quite a while. I’ll call them.”

“Do you want us to go look for him?”

“You can’t without skis, and anyway if he’s been in there that long—”

4

During the course of the storm more and more water leaked through the bullet-hole into the switch-box at Underpass 342-2. The wires and insulation became wet. At 1:12 A.M. the white flash of a short-circuit lighted the interior of the box; a fuse blew out; the pumps stopped.

Rain was falling heavily, and draining from the long slopes of the underpass into the sump. The two lanes of the underpass were separated by a concrete wall, and all the water drained into the northbound lane, whence it was pumped out. The northbound lane was therefore much more quickly affected.

Because of the storm and the lateness of the hour, only eight cars were approaching the underpass from the south within a distance which would involve them. They were, in order:

1) A pick-up truck.

2) A small sedan.

3) A coupé containing three college youths.