Part 32 (1/2)

”He'll beat us there by twelve hours,” said I, ”and he can do all he threatens! Jim, we're gone!”

Elkins leaped to the telephone and rang it furiously. There was the ring of command sounding through the clamor of desperate and dubious conflict in his voice.

”Give me the L. & G. W. dispatcher's office, quick!” said he. ”I can't remember the number ... it's 420, four, two, naught. Is this Agnew? This is Elkins talking. Listen! Without a moment's delay, I want you to find out when President Pendleton's special, east-bound on his Pacific Division, pa.s.ses Elkins Junction. I'm at my office, and will wait for the information here.... Don't let me wait long, please, understand?

And, say! Call Solan to the 'phone.... Is this Solan? Mr. Solan, get out the best engine you've got in the yards, couple to it a caboose, and put on a crew to make a run to Elkins Junction, as quick as G.o.d'll let you!

Do you understand? Give me Schwartz and his fireman.... Yes, and Corcoran, too. Andy, this is a case of life and death--of life and death, do you understand? See that the line's clear, and no stops. I've got to connect east at Elkins Junction with a special on that line....

_Got to_, d'ye see? Have the special wait at the State Street crossing until we come aboard!”

CHAPTER XXV.

That Last Weird Battle in the West.

There was still some remnant of daylight left when we stepped from a closed carriage at the State Street crossing and walked to the train prepared for us. The rain had all but ceased, and what there was came out of some northern quarter of the heavens mingled with stinging pellets of sleet, driven by a fierce gale. The turn of the storm had come, and I was wise enough in weather-lore to see that its rearguard was sweeping down upon us in all the bitterness of a winter's tempest.

Beyond the tracks I could see the murky water of Brushy Creek racing toward the river under the State Street bridge.

”I believe,” said I, ”that the surface-water from above is showing the flow from the flume.”

”Yes,” said Jim absently, ”it must be about ready to break up. I hope we can get out of the valley before dark.”

The engine stood ready, the superabundant power popping off in a deafening hiss. The fireman threw open the furnace-door and stoked the fire as we approached. Engineer Schwartz, the same who had pulled us over the road that first trip, was standing by his engine, talking with our old conductor, Corcoran.

”Here's a message for you, Mr. Elkins,” said Corcoran, handing Jim a yellow paper, ”from Agnew.”

We read it by Corcoran's lantern, for it was getting dusky for the reading of telegraph operator's script.

”Water out over bottoms from Hinckley to the Hills,” so went the message. ”Flood coming down valley. Snow and drifting wind reported from Elkins Junction and Josephine. Look out for washouts, and culverts and bridges damaged by running ice and water. Pendleton special fully up to running schedule, at Willow Springs.”

”Who've you got up there, Schwartz? Oh, is that you, Ole?” said Mr.

Elkins. ”Good! Boys, to-night our work has got to be done in time, or we might as well go to bed. It's a case of four aces or a four-flush, and no intermediate stations. Mr. Pendleton's special will pa.s.s the Junction right around nine--not ten minutes either way. Get us there before that.

If you can do it safely, all right; but get us there. And remember that the regular rule in railroading is reversed to-night, and we are ready to take any chance rather than miss--_any_ chances, mind!”

”We're ready and waiting, Mr. Elkins,” said Schwartz, ”but you'll have to get on, you know. Looks like there was time enough if we keep the wheels turning, but this snow and flood business may cut some figure.

_Any_ chances, I believe you said, sir. All right! Ready when you are, Jack.”

”All aboard!” sang out Corcoran, and with a commonplace ding-dong of the bell, and an every-day hiss of steam, which seemed, somehow, out of keeping with the fearful and unprecedented exigency now upon us, we moved out through the yards, jolting over the frogs, out upon the main line; and soon began to feel a cheering acceleration in the recurrent sounds and shocks of our flight, as Schwartz began rolling back the miles under his flying wheels.

We sat in silence on the oil-cloth cus.h.i.+ons of the seats which ran along the sides of the caboose. Corcoran, the only person who shared the car with us, seemed to have some psychical consciousness of the peril which weighed down upon us, and moved quietly about the car, or sat in the cupola, as mute as we.

There was no need for speech between my friend and me. Our minds, strenuously awake, found a common conclusion in the very nature of the case. Both doubtless had considered and rejected the idea of telegraphing Pendleton to wait for us at the Junction. No king upon his throne was more absolute than Avery Pendleton, and to ask him to waste a single quarter-hour of his time might give great offense to him whom we desired to find serene and complaisant. Again, any apparent anxiety for haste, any symptom of an attempt to rush his line of defenses, would surely defeat its object. No, we must quietly and casually board his train, and secure the signing of the contract before we reached Chicago, if possible.

”You brought that paper, Al?” said Jim, as if my thoughts had been audible to him.

”Yes,” said I, ”it's here.”

”I think we'd better be on our way to St. Louis,” said he. ”He can hardly refuse to oblige us by going through the form of signing, so as to let us turn south at the river.”