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Passepartout, not daring to apprise his master of what he heard, listened with set teeth, immovable as a statue. ¡¡¡¡"Hum!" cried Colonel Proctor; "but we are not going to stay here, I imagine, and take root in the snow?" ¡¡¡¡"Colonel," replied the conductor, "we have telegraphed to Omaha for a train, but it is not likely that it will reach Medicine Bow is less than six hours." ¡¡¡¡"Six hours!" cried Passepartout. ¡¡¡¡"Certainly," returned the conductor, "besides, it will take us as long as that to reach Medicine Bow on foot." ¡¡¡¡"But it is only a mile from here," said one of the passengers. ¡¡¡¡"Yes, but it's on the other side of the river." ¡¡¡¡"And can't we cross that in a boat?" asked the colonel. ¡¡¡¡"That's impossible. The creek is swelled by the rains. It is a rapid,
oil painting and we shall have to make a circuit of ten miles to the north to find a ford." ¡¡¡¡The colonel launched a volley of oaths, denouncing the railway company and the conductor; and Passepartout, who was furious, was not disinclined to make common cause with him. Here was an obstacle, indeed, which all his master's banknotes could not remove. ¡¡¡¡There was a general disappointment among the passengers, who, without reckoning the delay, saw themselves compelled to trudge fifteen miles over a plain covered with snow. They grumbled and protested, and would certainly have thus attracted Phileas Fogg's attention if he had not been completely absorbed in his game.