Part 53 (1/2)
From the dark line of the cars rose a shouted command, there came a ripping volley of a dozen Colts, and a dim group of figures rushed toward them.
”Now, steady!” warned Alex. ”And shoot low!
”_Fire!_”
”_Cras.h.!.+_” went the Winchesters, ”_Crack, crack, crack!_” the pistols.
Two of the leading runners went to their hands and knees. The others rushed on, shouting and spitting flames.
Keeping well under cover, the boys fired as quickly as they could work their weapons. Wilson felt a stinging snip at his right ear, and a warm stream trickling down his neck. He emptied the first pistol, and began with the second.
”_Cras.h.!.+ Cras.h.!.+_” roared the Winchesters.
The attackers held on. They had made half the distance. In spite of themselves, the boys began firing nervously.
Closer the running figures came.
Jack snapped back his reloading mechanism, and pulled the trigger. There was no report.
His cry of consternation was echoed by Alex.
They had fired their last shots!
With a wild shout of triumph two of their a.s.sailants were upon them.
From a clear patch of sky bright moonlight flooded the construction-train and the gray slope of the hill to the southeast about which the rails had crept that day. Grouped on the rear steps of the store-car, Superintendent Finnan and several of his foremen sat and smoked, and listened.
”Yes; it's a horse,” said one of the foremen.
”Two horses,” declared the superintendent. ”And coming as though Old Nick were after them.”
Over the moonlit rise swept a figure on horseback, then another.
On discovering the group at the car, the leader uttered a shrill whoop, and tore down the slope toward them.
”The first is Little Hawk! The other is a prisoner! What's wrong?” cried the superintendent, springing to the ground.
The Indian pulled up in a cloud of dust before him, and threw himself from his reeking pony.
”Want burnum bridge,” he said, indicating his prisoner. ”Five, ten, more!
Much more! Three boy--tick-knock boy--fightem!
”Hear? Hear?”
He placed his hand to his ear.