Still closer; then, when it seemed that the train must plunge straight into them, they drew away again, as though through some optical illusion, and brooded in the background, as the long, transcontinental train began to bang over the frogs and switches as it made its entrance into Denver.

Fairchild went through the long chute and to a ticket window of the Union Station.
"When can I get a train for Ohadi ?" The ticket seller smiled.

"You can't get one." "But the map shows that a railroad runs there--" "Ran there, you mean," chaffed the clerk.
"The best you can do is get to Forks Creek and walk the rest of the way.

That's a narrow-gauge line, and Clear Creek 's been on a rampage.
It took out about two hundred feet of trestle, and there won't be a train into Ohadi for a week." The disappointment on Fairchild's face was more than apparent, almost boyish in its depression.

The ticket seller leaned closer to the wicket.
"Stranger out here ?" "Very much of one." "In a hurry to get to Ohadi ?" "Yes." "Then you can go uptown and hire a taxi--they 've got big cars for mountain work and there are good roads all the way.