Part 139 (1/2)

”Suppose--I mean I'm a public school man myself. Couldn't I perhaps--take it as a loan y'know and----”

”You're much too good, but on my honour I've as much money as I want.

... I tell you what you could do for me, though, and put me under an everlasting obligation. Let me come into the bogie truck of the train.

There is a fore-truck, isn't there?”

”Yes. How d'you know?”

”I've been in an armoured train before. Only let me see--hear some of the fun I mean, and I'll be grateful. I go at my own risk as a non-combatant.”

The young man thought for a minute. ”All right,” he said. ”We're supposed to be an empty train, and there's no one to blow me up at the other end.”

George and a horde of yelling amateur a.s.sistants had loaded up the mules, and the narrow-gauge armoured train, plated with three-eighths inch boiler-plate till it looked like one long coffin, stood ready to start.

Two bogie trucks running before the locomotive were completely covered in with plating, except that the leading one was pierced in front for the muzzle of a machine-gun, and the second at either side for lateral fire.

The trucks together made one long iron-vaulted chamber in which a score of artillerymen were rioting.

”Whitechapel--last train! Ah, I see yer kissin' in the first cla.s.s there!” somebody shouted, just as d.i.c.k was clamouring into the forward truck.

”Lordy! 'Ere's a real live pa.s.senger for the Kew, Tanai, Acton, and Ealin' train. Echo, sir. Speshul edition! Star, sir.”--”Shall I get you a foot-warmer?” said another.

”Thanks. I'll pay my footing,” said d.i.c.k, and relations of the most amiable were established ere silence came with the arrival of the subaltern, and the train jolted out over the rough track.

”This is an immense improvement on shooting the unimpressionable Fuzzy in the open,” said d.i.c.k, from his place in the corner.

”Oh, but he's still unimpressed. There he goes!” said the subaltern, as a bullet struck the outside of the truck. ”We always have at least one demonstration against the night-train. Generally they attack the rear-truck, where my junior commands. He gets all the fun of the fair.”

”Not tonight though! Listen!” said d.i.c.k. A flight of heavy-handed bullets was succeeded by yelling and shouts. The children of the desert valued their nightly amus.e.m.e.nt, and the train was an excellent mark.

”Is it worth giving them half a hopper full?” the subaltern asked of the engine, which was driven by a Lieutenant of Sappers.

”I should think so! This is my section of the line. They'll be playing old Harry with my permanent way if we don't stop 'em.”

”Right O!”

”Hrrmph!” said the machine gun through all its five noses as the subaltern drew the lever home. The empty cartridges clashed on the floor and the smoke blew back through the truck. There was indiscriminate firing at the rear of the train, and return fire from the darkness without and unlimited howling. d.i.c.k stretched himself on the floor, wild with delight at the sounds and the smells.

”G.o.d is very good--I never thought I'd hear this again. Give 'em h.e.l.l, men. Oh, give 'em h.e.l.l!” he cried.

The train stopped for some obstruction on the line ahead and a party went out to reconnoitre, but came back, cursing, for spades. The children of the desert had piled sand and gravel on the rails, and twenty minutes were lost in clearing it away. Then the slow progress recommenced, to be varied with more shots, more shoutings, the steady clack and kick of the machine guns, and a final difficulty with a half-lifted rail ere the train came under the protection of the roaring camp at Tanai-el-Ha.s.san.

”Now, you see why it takes an hour and a half to fetch her through,”

said the subaltern, uns.h.i.+pping the cartridge-hopper above his pet gun.

”It was a lark, though. I only wish it had lasted twice as long.

How superb it must have looked from outside!” said d.i.c.k, sighing regretfully.

”It palls after the first few nights. By the way, when you've settled about your mules, come and see what we can find to eat in my tent. I'm Bennil of the Gunners--in the artillery lines--and mind you don't fall over my tent-ropes in the dark.”