Part 44 (1/2)

”They may go on tiptoe,” Alex pointed out.

The suggestion was followed by a sharp exclamation from the head of the train. ”The oiler's gone!” cried a voice. Simultaneously there was the sound of someone springing to the ground, and Alex and the oiler scrambled into the velocipede seats, Alex facing the rear, and threw themselves against the handles. The oilless wheel again screeched, and from the pilot-car rose the cry, ”Around at the end! Quick!”

Alex and the oiler wrenched the handles backwards and forwards with all their might, and the little car leaped ahead. Before they had gained full headway, however, one of the machine-wreckers appeared about the end of the train, and with a cry to his companion, dashed after. He ran like a deer, and despite the increasing speed of the velocipede, quickly gained upon 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 of their best endeavors, he drew rapidly nearer. A hand shot out to clutch the oiler's shoulder.

It reached him--and with a rumble they were on and over the bridge, and their pursuer had sprawled forward flat on his face.

He was on his feet again like a wildcat, however, and crossing the bridge three ties at a time, leaped to the flat ground beside the track, and was again after the velocipede like a race-horse.

Try as they would, Alex and the oiler could get no more speed out of the low-geared machine, and with alarm Alex saw the runner once more drawing near. The second man they had outdistanced.

Closer the cowman came. ”Stop!” he shouted. ”Stop! You may as well! I've got you!”

Determinedly they held on, working the handles desperately, Alex watching the grim, clean-shaven face and the fluttering dotted handkerchief about the 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. He daresn'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 extra spurt, rushed slanting up the embankment, and threw himself bodily upon the oiler. They tumbled off backwards in a struggling heap. Throwing his weight against the handles, Alex stopped the velocipede, sprang off, and dashed to the oiler's a.s.sistance.

The cowman's revolver had fallen from his belt. Alex caught it up and pressed it against the back of the man's head. ”Stop it! Let go!” he cried. ”I'll certainly shoot!”

The man half relaxed, and glared up sideways. Alex brought the muzzle to his eyes, and slowly he freed his hold on the oiler. ”Oh, very well,” he muttered with a curse. ”You win.”

”No--don't!” said Alex, as the enraged oiler spun about to strike the half-prostrate man. ”He's down, and has given up.”

At that moment interruption came from another quarter. It was a shrill cry from the direction of the creek-bed, and turning, all three saw a round-shouldered figure on horseback scrambling from the creek-bottom, leading the ponies of the two would-be wreckers, and the second cowman running toward him.

”It's Little Hawk!” Alex exclaimed.

The cowboy reached the Indian, sprang at him, there was a terrific scrimmage, and the white man sprang from the melee with the bridle of one of the ponies, leaped into the saddle, and was off across the prairie in a whirl of dust.

So interested had Alex been in the second conflict that momentarily he had forgotten the man on the ground before him. He was reminded by suddenly finding himself sprawling upon his back, and regaining his feet, found their prisoner also racing off at top speed. The oiler darted after, but quickly gave it up. He was no match for the light-footed cowman.

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,” he said.

”I can!” The oiler darted back and wrested it from Alex's hand. As he whirled about to fire, Alex grasped his arm. ”No! Wait! Look!” he exclaimed. ”The Indian is after him!”