Part 29 (2/2)

Ike gave a stare and a shout. Cohen jumped back with alarm in his face.

The water had extinguished the blaze, but the episode had betrayed Ralph's presence to his enemy.

”Who are you?” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Cohen darkly, grasping, the pitcher and again advancing.

”Needn't ask him--I know!” snapped out Ike. ”Grab him, Cohen! It's Ralph Fairbanks, from the roundhouse, and he's a spy!”

Ralph leaned a hand on the hogshead rim to get purchase for a leap out of his difficulties. Ike made a spring for him and grabbed one arm, preventing the movement.

”If he's a railroader and a spy,” cried Cohen, ”we're in for it!”

”Don't let him go, then--oh!”

Ike went spinning, for Ralph had given him a quick blow, knocking him aside. Cohen swung the pitcher aloft. Down it came with terrific force. Ralph experienced a blow on the side of the head that instantly shut out sense and sight. He fell over the edge of the hogshead, and hung there limp and lifeless.

It was the first blank in his life. Its duration Ralph could only surmise as he opened his eyes. At first he fancied he was blind, for everything was pitchy black about him. He sat up with difficulty, putting a hand to his head where it felt sore and smarted.

Ralph found a bad cut there, which had bled profusely. The blow with the pitcher had been cruelly heavy. He sat up, swaying to and fro, and soon traced out his environment.

He was in a freight car, its doors and windows were closed, and it was rolling along at a good fast rate of speed.

Ralph reasoned out his situation. His enemies had fancied he was seriously hurt, or wanted him out of the way until they could safely remove the stolen plunder. His hopes and plans were effectually balked if he had been long insensible, or was far on the free trip, for which they had booked him. They had carried him from Cohen's rooms by way of the back stairs, had thrown him into the empty car, and had left him to his fate.

Ralph tried the side door of the car. To his satisfaction it shoved open freely. Getting his eyes used to the darkness and his mind clearer, as the moments sped by, he endeavored to guess his location and estimate the time.

He was partly familiar with the road, and knew considerable as to the various pa.s.senger and freight trains and their schedule and route. Ralph concluded that he was on the regular nine o'clock freight, which usually hauled empties, going south. Judging from distant lights in houses scattered on the landscape, he estimated that it was about ten o'clock.

He soon surmised from landmarks he pa.s.sed that the train was not on the main line. As he neared a cattle pen he knew exactly where he was--two miles from Acton and about twenty-two from Stanley Junction.

”They don't stop for ten miles,” quickly reckoned Ralph. ”There's the creek. I've got to get to Acton and back to the Junction before midnight, if I hope to accomplish anything.”

The train slowed somewhat on the up grade. Ralph clung to the door and looked ahead. It was a long train, and he was at about its middle. He had an idea of trying to get to the roof, run back to the caboose, and try and interest the conductor. On second thought, however, he realized that he could not expect them to stop for him. He would only lose time.

A daring idea presented itself to his mind, and his breath came quick.

An opportunity hovered, and he had too much reliance in himself to let it pa.s.s by.

”I've got to get back and stop the removal of that stolen plunder,” he kept telling himself over and over, fixing his eyes on the signals that indicated the bridge over the creek.

Ralph posed for a spring as the locomotive struck the bridge and the gleaming waters came nearer and nearer. The bridge had no railing, and they were on the outer side; Ralph posed himself steady and true, let go the door, and leaped into the darkness as the car he was in reached the middle of the bridge.

Then he dropped down like a shot, struck the cold, deep water, and went under.

CHAPTER XXII--BEHIND TIME

The boy was completely at home in the water, but the present instance was somewhat extraordinary. The shock and chill of his daring jump, added to his naturally weakened condition after Cohen's stunning blow with the pitcher, helped to confuse him. But he never lost his presence of mind, and as he felt himself deprived of his usual buoyancy, he struck out under water for the sh.o.r.e.

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