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？
Tomorrow evening，madam.
Tomorrow 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 overheated 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 recognize 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 analyze 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.