To the sides of the train, dead trees and stumps flew past at forty or fifty miles an hour. At this rate, they would get to Cloquet within three hours. People would die before they got to the crisis. How much faster could he safely push the train before they crashed? Many more people would die.

Stepping up on the coal pile, Karl looked at the rear of the train. He could see the lights of the caboose sway in the distance as the smoke from the stack sank low over the train. The snow lent a haze to the night, making the lights of the caboose dim, almost impossibly distant. Karl frowned as he stared at the rear of the train; this night was going to be long and trying.

Past the boxcars and open top carriers filled with split wood, John Carlson saw the shadow of a man standing on the coal car outlined by a nimbus of pale light. It was an old habit of Karl’s that made John smile and wave, though he doubted Karl could see the gesture. Yet he felt a touch of cold make its way inside his coat and a fleeting sense of fear that he did not understand. Just as quickly, the worry slipped his mind.

Old train men did not retire; they became brakemen and rode in style at the rear of a train. His caboose was one of the new designs, with a small half house standing above the roof of the caboose by a few feet; just enough height to have windows that overlooked the entire consist. From his perch, John had a better view on most days than the engineer.

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Old train men also knew the rails by heart; they could feel the sway of a turn and know where the train was on the route without looking out a window. Despite the snow outside, John knew where the train was to within a few hundred yards. He was the guardian angel of the locomotive, John thought with a smile.

As he contentedly puffed on his pipe, John could feel Karl holding the locomotive back; keeping the beast on a leash until they had passed the corner north of Branch. It was a tight turn and too dangerous to run at over forty miles an hour; Karl was mean, but not a fool.

Over the years, John had tried to understand why Karl was so mad at the world, but the Swede never revealed the seed that burned in his chest. John had seen Karl reduce grown men to tears; hardened train men crying like children while Karl watched with pleasure. There were words for men like that, but John was a good Christian and refused to use them. Perhaps it was because he had seen Karl do wonderful things as well. It was hard for an old train man to understand, but John knew Karl was his friend and he was one of the few men Karl respected in this world.

They were getting close to the curve; any second, the shadow of Karl would slip from sight as he returned to the locomotive cab and slowed the train.

Climbing from his seat, John climbed down the short ladder from the cupola and walked to the rear door of the caboose.