One of 'em's dead.

The other's--wait a minute, I have to piece it together." A silence, except for the rattling of the key, broken, jagged, a clattering voice of the distance, faint in the roar and whine of the storm, yet penetrating as it carried the news of a far-away world,--a world where the three waiting men knew that all had turned to a white hell of wintry fury; where the grim, forbidding mountains were now the abiding place of the snow-ledge and the avalanche; where even steel and the highest product of invention counted for nothing against the blast of the wind and the swirl of the tempest.

Then finally, as from far away, a strained voice came, the operator's: "Ice had gotten packed on the rails already.

One-eleven tried to keep on without a pick and shovel gang.

Got derailed on a curve just below Crestline and went over.