Part 26 (1/2)
”They see us! They see us!” she shouted, and laughed exultantly all the while waving the lantern madly. The whistle of the oncoming engine blew a frenzied warning. Greyson turned his wheel way over. The flivver literally jumped the rails and ran along a siding which joined the main track. The girl slid into her seat limp with exhaustion. With groaning and grinding of brakes and clanking of wheels the long train trembled to a stop. Which one of the cars carried the treasure, Jerry wondered, just as a rough Irish voice thundered in her ear:
”For the love of Mike! What we got here? Escaped lunatics, or I miss my guess.” The light of a lantern was flashed in the faces of the occupants of the car. The man who held it swore with an ease and facility which took Jerry's breath. ”It's a man and a woman, crazy as coots,” he called to someone behind him. Then in a magisterial tone, ”It's a hunch we got the new division superintendent aboard this trip. He can see for himself what held us up; he'd never believe it if I told him. Now what'd you flag this train for?” demanded the violator of the second Commandment, truculently. A group of men had gathered round him.
Greyson stepped from the flivver and drew Jerry after him. What would he say, she wondered anxiously. Their errand must not be suspected. They must get aboard the train and interview the division superintendent. A sudden mad thought suggested itself. Without an instant's hesitation Jerry slipped her arm under Greyson's, rested her head against his sleeve and smiled audaciously into the broad, weather-beaten face glowering at her.
”Don't scold, Mr. Brakeman. It was reckless, but--but--you see, we just had to flag this train. We--we want to get to the coast.
We're--we're--eloping.”
”Good G.o.d!”
Greyson's inarticulate protest was submerged in the hoa.r.s.e e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.
Jerry wheeled. Behind her stood Stephen Courtlandt.
CHAPTER XVIII
It seemed to Steve as he looked at the girl, with her hair, which wind and rain had lashed into clinging tendrils of glinting bronze, pressed close against Greyson's arm, that his universe tore itself from its...o...b..t and hurtled into fathomless s.p.a.ce. For thirty throbbing seconds the blue eyes challenged the brown, then he turned away.
”Courtlandt!” called Greyson dominantly, but Steve was speaking to the division superintendent who, white with anxiety, had hurried up.
”Sure they'll have to go along with us, Steve,” rea.s.sured the autocrat of the train. He turned to Greyson. ”We'll take you to the coast, all right, but you won't get off the train till you've paid a good fat fine for stopping it. You and the lady get aboard, p.r.o.nto. Steve, lock her up in one of the compartments. I'll look after the man. Mac, if anything else tries to hold us up you shoot and shoot quick, no matter if there are skirts mixed up in it.” He rushed off in company with the burly brakeman. Greyson caught Courtlandt's arm.
”Look here, Steve, you must listen. Jerry----”
”You needn't apologize for my--my wife, Greyson. She's coming with me.”
He put his hands none too gently on the girl's shoulder.
”But, Steve, you don't understand,” Jerry protested. ”I----”
”All aboard there!” yelled the brakeman angrily. Steve fairly lifted the girl to the platform of the Pullman. He hurried her along the corridor to a compartment.
”Come in here, Jerry, and no matter what you hear don't come out. I'll send the maid to help you get your clothing dry.” He turned to go, but she laid her hand on his arm.
”Steve, you must listen to me. I want to tell you----”
”What can you tell me except that you love Greyson and ran away with him? I can't hear that now--I won't. You're mine and I keep what is my own. And remember this, if you try to communicate with him while you are on this train--I'll shoot him.” His eyes were black; there was a white line about his nostrils.
”Steve, you're all wrong,--but if you won't trust me----” she shrugged the remainder of the sentence. Then her voice was pleading. ”Did Bruce--Mr. Greyson,--get a chance to speak to the division superintendent?”
”Did he? I'll say he did. What Nelson isn't saying to your--your gallant friend at this minute, isn't worth saying.” He looked at her suspiciously as she laughed. He took a step nearer.
”No, I shan't have hysterics, Stevie. Now that I know that my gallant friend, as you call him, is explaining our late plan to the division superintendent, I haven't a care in the world,--in fact,” with a dainty, politely repressed yawn, ”if I could have this place and the maid to myself, I might take a nap. I shall have plenty of time. It is a long way to the coast,” with another irrepressible ripple of laughter. Then as he lingered, ”You needn't stand guard. I shan't run away again. An encore lacks the snap of a first performance,” audaciously.
Courtlandt opened his lips to reply, thought better of it, closed the door smartly behind him and went in search of the maid. Back in the compartment which the division superintendent used as an office he lighted his pipe, and paced the floor back and forth, back and forth as he tried to marshall order from the chaos of his thoughts. Why didn't the fool train start, he wondered, as he listened to what seemed an endless amount of backing and starting and grinding of brakes.
His mind went back to the moment in Lower Field when Johnny Simms had handed him a letter and bolted. He could see every word on the tear-blotted page now:
”Ranlett doesn't want the cattle. He cut the fences so that the Double O outfit would follow the Shorthorns into the mountains.