Carson of Red River by Harold Bindloss — Read

Thunder rolled across the woods, but the lake sparkled in the sun. A light wind ruffled the shining surface and dark-blue smears broke the silver reflections. For three or four hundred yards the dusty cars curved along the bank, and the locomotive pump's sharp throb pierced the languid splash of water.

Not far from the engine the track was cut. Gravel and ties and rails had gone down, and two broken freight cars blocked a swollen creek. Sweating, bare-armed men labored in the gap the flood had made. The shovels flashed and the gravel they threw about rattled noisily. Behind the train, rocks and woods rolled back to Hudson Bay.