XIX
THE ENEMY'S HAND AGAIN, AND A CAPTURE
"Good morning, Ward. Any word of the progress made by the K. & Z.?"inquired Construction Superintendent Finnan the following morning,Sunday, looking into the telegraph-car.
Alex threw down his towel and stepped to the instrument table. "Yes, sir;here's one that came late last night.
"It says they started from Red Deer yesterday morning, and made nearlythree and a half miles."
The superintendent looked somewhat glum as he read the message. "Thatbeats us by half a mile," he remarked. "If the news is reliable, that is.They may plan to give out inflated distances, in order to discourage us.That would be a small matter to them, after trying to burn us out."
"There has been no sign of Little Hawk yet, sir?" Alex inquired.
"No. I am beginning to think the rascal has gone over to the K. & Z.,"said the superintendent, turning away. At the door he paused. "By theway, Ward, remind me to give you a message to-morrow morning asking fortwo more operators. We will have made six or seven miles by Monday night,and will be running the train down the branch. And the temporary stationis almost completed," he added, glancing from the window toward a box-carwhich had been lifted from its trucks and placed on a foundation of tiesbeside the main-line tracks.
Alex promised gladly. It meant the coming of Jack Orr and WilsonJennings.
Following breakfast, the morning being a beautiful one, Alex determinedon a walk, and set off along the main-line to the west. Two miles distanthe struck a small bridge and a deep, dry creek-bed, and turning southalong its border, headed for the distant rail-head of the new branch.
At a bend in the creek some two hundred yards from the track-machine andits string of flat-cars, Alex sharply paused. Two saddled ponies werehobbled together in the creek-bottom. Casting a glance toward theconstruction-train, Alex leaped into the gully, out of sight.
He had not a doubt that the horses belonged to men in the service of theK. & Z., and that something was on foot similar to the attempted burningof the bridge-car.
What should he do? Return the three miles to the junction? or continue onto the track-machine? For undoubtedly the owners of the horses werethere; and the machine, he knew, was in the sole charge of an oiler.
Alex decided on the latter course, and making his way along the bed ofthe stream, passed the hobbled ponies, and on to the new bridge fiftyfeet in rear of the construction-train.
As he there halted, low voices reached Alex's ears. Peering cautiouslyout, and seeing no one, he crept forth, and made his way along the sideof the embankment toward the train. A few feet from the rear car Alexcame upon a three-wheeled track velocipede, used by Elder, thesuperintendent's clerk in running backwards and forwards between therail-head and the junction. Pausing, he debated whether he should not putit on the rails, and make a run for the junction immediately. FinallyAlex concluded first to learn something further of what was going on, andto count on the velocipede as a means of making his escape in case ofemergency. To this end he proceeded cautiously to place the little jiggerin a position from which he could quickly swing it onto the irons. Thencontinuing forward under the edge of the train, he reached the pilot-car.
"Yes; it's a first class machine--the best on the market."
The voice was that of the oiler. Apparently he had been showing thestrangers over the track-machine. For a brief space Alex wondered whetherafter all his suspicions were justified. But at once came the thought,"Why had the strangers hidden their horses in the creek-bottom if theywere genuine visitors?" and he remained quiet.
"Where is the boiler?" inquired a new voice, evidently one of the ownersof the horses.
"There is none. The steam comes from the engine, behind," the oilerresponded. "Here--it comes in here."
"So! And does the machine get out of order very easily?" asked a secondvoice.
There was something in the tone that caused Alex to prick up his ears.
"Almost never. It's all simple. Nothing intricate," the man in chargereplied.
"I suppose it could be put out of order, though--say, you fellows were togo on strike, and wanted to disable things? Eh?"
"Huh! That's rather a funny question. But I suppose it could. Anythingcould, for that matter."
"What do they pay you, as oiler?"
"Say, what are you two fellows driving at?" the oiler demanded sharply.
There was a momentary silence, during which Alex imagined the twostrangers looking questioningly at one another. Then one of them spoke.
"Look here, whatever you get, we will give you a hundred dollars a monthextra to put this machine out of order two or three times a week. Nothingvery bad, but just enough to lose two or three hours' work each time. Weare--well, never mind who we are. The thing stands this way: We have abig bet on that the K. & Z. will win in this building race for YellowCreek, and--well, you see the point, I guess. What do you say?"
During the pause that followed Alex waited breathlessly, and with growingdisappointment. Was the oiler considering the bribe?
"Well," said the oiler at length, "is that your best offer? Couldn't youmake it a thousand?"
"A thousand! Nonsense--"
"Two thousand, then."
"What do you mean--"
"Just this!" cried the oiler, and simultaneously there was a rush of feetand a sound of blows. Exultingly Alex was scrambling forth to go to theoiler's assistance, when just above him was a crash of falling bodies,and a figure bounded over the side of the car and rolled sprawling downthe embankment.
It was the plucky oiler, and Alex shrank back in horror as the man cameto a stop flat on his back, and lay immovable, blood trickling from awound over his eyes.
Overhead was the sound of someone getting to their feet. "He nearly gotyou," said a voice.
"Nearly. But I guess I 'got him' one better."
"Is he safe for awhile, do you think?"
As the two men moved to the edge of the car and apparently gazed down atthe prostrate figure in the ditch, Alex shrank back with apprehension onhis own account.
"Perhaps we'd better make sure of him."
"All right. Here is a bit of rope."
Hurriedly Alex crawled beneath the nearby truck, behind the wheels, and atall figure in the garb of a cowboy dropped to the ground before him andran down to the still unconscious oiler. Binding the prostrate man's feettogether at the ankles, the cowman turned the oiler on his face, andsecured his hands behind his back. Turning him again face up, he studiedhis eyes a moment, and announcing, "Good job. Only stunned," he returnedto the car and drew himself up on it.
"Now what'll we do?" inquired his companion. "That idiot has knocked ourplans to pieces. We can't go back and say we neither made the deal, nordid anything else for our money."
"We'll have to tear things up ourselves," said the first man decisively."Let us see what we can do in the engine-room here."
The footsteps passed into the engine-house, and Alex at once crawledforth, to make his way back to the velocipede.
As he emerged from beneath the car he paused to glance down at theprostrate oiler. Should he leave him lying there? It did not seem right,despite the obvious necessity of heading for the junction without amoment's delay.
As he hesitated, the eyes of the prostrate man flickered, and opened.Alex dodged back, lest the oiler should betray his presence to the men onthe car. As he dropped down there came the recollection that there weretwo seats on the velocipede. Why not take the man with him, if hesufficiently recovered? Good!
Anxiously Alex watched as the stunned man blinked about him. Finallycomprehension, then a hot flush of rage appeared in the oiler's face, andwith a violent kick he twisted about toward the car.
Springing into view, Alex caught the oiler's startled eye, and made awarning gesture. The man stared dully for a moment, then nodded, and onAlex's further urgent signalling, dropped back and again closed his eyes.Alex produced and opened his jack-knife.
The men above were busily
fumbling about in the engine-room. Only pausingto make sure they were entirely occupied, Alex slipped forth, cautiouslycrept down the embankment, reached the bound man, and with a slash of theknife freed his feet and hands.
"Let us slip back to the velocipede--it's ready to throw on therails--and make a dash of it for the junction," Alex whispered. The oilerarose, and with one eye on the engine-room door they crept up under theedge of the car, and on toward the rear of the train.
They reached the little track-car, and cautiously lifted it onto therails.
"Better push it a ways," the oiler advised in a low voice. "They mighthear the rumble, with our weight on it."
Gently they set the velocipede in motion. With the first move one of thewheels gave forth a shrill screech. The two paused as the sounds on thepilot-car immediately ceased.
"If we hear one of them going to the edge to look for me, we'll make arun of it," said the oiler.
"They may go on tiptoe," Alex pointed out.
The suggestion was followed by a sharp exclamation from the head of thetrain. "The oiler's gone!" cried a voice. Simultaneously there was thesound of someone springing to the ground, and Alex and the oilerscrambled into the velocipede seats, Alex facing the rear, and threwthemselves against the handles. The oilless wheel again screeched, andfrom the pilot-car rose the cry, "Around at the end! Quick!"
Alex and the oiler wrenched the handles backwards and forwards with alltheir might, and the little car leaped ahead. Before they had gained fullheadway, however, one of the machine-wreckers appeared about the end ofthe train, and with a cry to his companion, dashed after. He ran like adeer, and despite the increasing speed of the velocipede, quickly gainedupon them.
"He'll get us!" Alex exclaimed.
"The creek bridge is just ahead. That'll stop him," said the oiler.
The second man appeared, and joined in the chase.
The first runner saw the bridge, and redoubled his efforts. In spite oftheir best endeavors, he drew rapidly nearer. A hand shot out to clutchthe oiler's shoulder.
It reached him--and with a rumble they were on and over the bridge, andtheir pursuer had sprawled forward flat on his face.
He was on his feet again like a wildcat, however, and crossing the bridgethree ties at a time, leaped to the flat ground beside the track, and wasagain after the velocipede like a race-horse.
Try as they would, Alex and the oiler could get no more speed out of thelow-geared machine, and with alarm Alex saw the runner once more drawingnear. The second man they had outdistanced.
Closer the cowman came. "Stop!" he shouted. "Stop! You may as well! I'vegot you!"
Determinedly they held on, working the handles desperately, Alex watchingthe grim, clean-shaven face and the fluttering dotted handkerchief aboutthe pursuing man's neck with a curious fascination.
At last he was parallel with them. Still running, he drew his revolver."Stop!" he ordered. "Stop, or I'll put one through you!"
"Keep it up, boy," the oiler directed sharply. "He daresn't fire. Hedaresn't add murder to it. And he'd be heard at the junction."
The runner snapped his gun back into its holster, and putting on an extraspurt, rushed slanting up the embankment, and threw himself bodily uponthe oiler. They tumbled off backwards in a struggling heap. Throwing hisweight against the handles, Alex stopped the velocipede, sprang off, anddashed to the oiler's assistance.
The cowman's revolver had fallen from his belt. Alex caught it up andpressed it against the back of the man's head. "Stop it! Let go!" hecried. "I'll certainly shoot!"
The man half relaxed, and glared up sideways. Alex brought the muzzle tohis eyes, and slowly he freed his hold on the oiler. "Oh, very well," hemuttered with a curse. "You win."
"No--don't!" said Alex, as the enraged oiler spun about to strike thehalf-prostrate man. "He's down, and has given up."
At that moment interruption came from another quarter. It was a shrillcry from the direction of the creek-bed, and turning, all three saw around-shouldered figure on horseback scrambling from the creek-bottom,leading the ponies of the two would-be wreckers, and the second cowmanrunning toward him.
"It's Little Hawk!" Alex exclaimed.
The cowboy reached the Indian, sprang at him, there was a terrificscrimmage, and the white man sprang from the melee with the bridle of oneof the ponies, leaped into the saddle, and was off across the prairie ina whirl of dust.
So interested had Alex been in the second conflict that momentarily hehad forgotten the man on the ground before him. He was reminded bysuddenly finding himself sprawling upon his back, and regaining his feet,found their prisoner also racing off at top speed. The oiler dartedafter, but quickly gave it up. He was no match for the light-footedcowman.
Seeing the pistol still in Alex's hand, he cried, "Shoot! Shoot him!"
Alex raised the revolver, faltered, and lowered it. "No. I can't," hesaid.
"I can!" The oiler darted back and wrested it from Alex's hand. As hewhirled about to fire, Alex grasped his arm. "No! Wait! Look!" heexclaimed. "The Indian is after him!"
Turning, the oiler saw the Indian, with his own and one of the otherponies, storming across the ground in pursuit of the runner. Silentlythey watched.
As he heard the pounding hoofs behind him, the fleeing cowboy glancedabout, and set on at greater speed than ever. Quickly, however, thehorses cut down the distance between them.
The Indian leaned toward the second pony, took something from thesaddle-horn, and began to adjust it on his arm.
"He's going to lassoo him!" said Alex breathlessly.
Nearer drew the Indian to the fleeing man, and hand and lassoo went intothe air and began to weave circles. Tensely the two on the embankmentwatched.
Closer the horses drew. Wider the circle of the lassoo extended.
Suddenly it leaped through the air like a great snake. The runner saw theshadow of it, and with a cry that they heard, half turned and threw outhis arms to ward it off. The loop was too large, the cowman missed it,and as the Indian pulled up in a cloud of dust, he whipped in the slack,and the noose tightened fairly about the renegade's waist. An instantafter, however, the second pony, plunging ahead of the Indian's, threwthe rider forward, slackening the lariat. In a twinkle the cowman hadloosened the noose, and was wriggling out of it. He had freed one footbefore the Indian had recovered himself. Then with a terrific yank thehorseman snapped in the slack, the cowman's feet flew from under him, andwith one foot taut in the air, caught at the ankle, he lay cursing andshaking an impotent fist.
As Alex and the oiler ran forward the Indian sat on his horse like astatue, holding the lariat taut.
The oiler reached the prisoner first, revolver in hand.
"Get up, you!" he ordered. Sullenly the man obeyed. Removing ahandkerchief from about his neck, the oiler gave it to Alex, who securelybound the man's hands behind him. Throwing off the lassoo, they turnedtoward the Indian. With some wonder, they saw he was carefully examiningthe hoofs of the pony he was leading. Concluding the inspection with agrunt, he came forward, winding up the rope, and halted before them.
"You hoss?" he asked of the prisoner, pointing over his shoulder.
The cowboy looked at him contemptuously, and responded, "Well, what if itis, Old Ugly-Mug?"
The oiler brought up the pistol. "I don't know why he wants to know, butyou go ahead and tell him!" he ordered threateningly. "He's twice the manyou are. Is it your horse?"
"Yes."
Little Hawk turned away with a grunt of satisfaction, and mounting hispony, rode off towards the junction.
What the Indian meant Alex learned when, with their prisoner betweenthem, he and the oiler approached the boarding-train, and met Little Hawkreturning with Superintendent Finnan.
"That him!" said the Indian briefly as they drew near. "Him burn cars!"
From the prisoner came a hissing gasp. As Alex turned upon him with asharp ejaculation of understanding, however, the man assumed anindifferent air, and strode on nonchalant
ly.
"What do you want?" he demanded insolently of the superintendent. "Can'ta man pull off a--a little joke without these idiots of yours going outof their heads? It was nothing more than a bit of fun me and my mate washaving," he affirmed boldly.
Superintendent Finnan smiled sardonically. "That is what the K. & Z. callit, eh?"
Alex, still with a hand on the prisoner's arm, felt him start. Butbrazenly the man replied, "K. & Z.? What's the K. & Z.? A ranch brand? Inever heard of it."
On a thought Alex stepped forward and whispered a word in the official'sear.
"Go ahead," said the superintendent.
"I'm going to search your pockets," Alex announced, stepping back to theside of the renegade cowman. "No objection, I suppose, since you don'tknow what K. & Z. means?"
"Search ahead," agreed the prisoner, half smiling. "And good luck to youif you find anything to connect me--if you find anything," he correctedquickly.
From a trouser pocket Alex drew out a large jack-knife. With a suspicionof trembling he opened one of the blades and examined it, while the ownerregarded him curiously. With a shake of the head the young operatoropened the second blade. A quick smile of triumph lit up his face, anddelving into a vest pocket, he brought forth a scrap of paper, unfoldedit, and took out a fragment of charred pine shaving.
Turning his back on the now anxiously watching, though still puzzled,owner of the knife, he held the shaving against the edge of the blade.The superintendent bent over it, and uttered a delighted "Exactly!"
Triumphantly Alex turned toward the prisoner, and held the hand with theknife and shaving before him. "Does this help you to recall what K. & Z.means?" he asked.
"Recall? I don't--"
"See these two little ridges on the shaving? See these two little nicksin the blade?"
With a hoarse cry the man flung himself backward, and bound as he was,began struggling like a madman. Alex, the superintendent and theIndian were to the oiler's assistance in a twinkle, however, and afew minutes later saw the renegade in their midst on the way to theboarding train--and, as it finally proved, to the jail at Exeter.
"I don't know who to thank most," said Superintendent Finnan later--"you,Ward, or the oiler, or Little Hawk. Nor what appreciation to suggesthigher up."
"You might make it a blanket and Winchester for the Indian, and a pursefor the oiler, for the knocks he got and the bribe he refused," Alexsuggested.
"And yourself?"
"Oh, just let me keep the rascal's knife, as a memento," responded Alexmodestly.
"Very well; we'll agree on that--for the present," said the superintendent.