Part 21 (1/2)

”Quick! quick, man!” said Will.

Hesitating no longer, Ruggles did what was required of him. The hydroplane flew on. In half-a-minute it had gained a furlong on the train. Fearing that their prey was escaping them, the men on the trucks fired a volley, some resting their rifles on the sides, others even venturing to mount, being held up on the jolting vehicles by their comrades. More bullets struck the windscreen; Will did not notice that Azito's right arm dropped by his side. The Indian did not utter a sound.

With every second the hydroplane increased its lead. At last it came to the bend, which made its course longer by over a mile than the straight track of the railway. This was the critical part of the race. Will knew that, if the train maintained its speed, he could not expect to reach the farther end of the curve before his pursuers. It was impossible to increase the pressure by an ounce. His only hope was that the train would not have time to pull up, so that the men could steady themselves for firing, before he shot past.

As he rounded the bend into the straight again, he saw that the train was leading by about two hundred yards. It did not appear to be slackening speed. And here he recognized with a throb of delight that there was a point in his favour that had not occurred to him. For nearly a mile the bank of the river was lined with a thin fringe of trees. This explained the fact that the train had not pulled up. Even if the men could alight in time, the trees must completely spoil their chance of pouring in an effective volley. The hydroplane was skimming along at such an enormous speed that they could no more have taken good aim at it through the trees than if they had been park palings. In half-a-minute the hydroplane was once more forging ahead. A scattered volley flashed from the trucks; Will paid no heed to it; he did not even notice that a bullet had flown up from the wind-screen and struck his cheek. All that he knew was that the hydroplane was drawing away, and that in another mile or so the train would arrive at a dangerous curve.

”They're putting on more steam,” cried Ruggles, ”and coaling like the very d.i.c.kens.”

”Shall we do it? I can't keep this up for more than another minute.”

”In another minute they'll come to the curve in the cutting,” said Ruggles, ”and then nothing can save them if they don't slacken.”

A few seconds later a loud grinding shriek came from the right.

”They've clapped on the brakes,” said Will. ”'Twas time. Reduce the pressure, Ruggles, or the whole concern will burst up. There's no hurry now.”

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE RACE TO THE SWIFT]

Ruggles screwed back the valve. Will gradually closed the throttle until the speed was reduced to twenty miles an hour. The bridge was in sight. Just as they reached it there came a crash from the line. Will reduced the speed still further, and looked round. The driver had put on his brakes too late. Rounding the curve, the engine had left the rails and the wagons were overturned.

”Not much harm done,” said Ruggles. ”Lucky she slowed down when she did, or there'd have been a horrible mess.”

”Thank goodness we've got through in time,” said Will, mopping his steaming brow. ”We can take it easy now, and get to Bolivar before it's dark.”

CHAPTER XVI--THE END OF A REVOLUTION

The hydroplane was now on the broad bosom of the Orinoco, floating down with the tide. Will thought it time to stop for a meal.

”We'll run into the bank, and Azito can cook us some yuca,” he said.

”A gla.s.s of beer, just one, would satisfy me,” said Ruggles. ”But, bless us! you've got blood on your cheek.”

”So I have!” cried Will, brus.h.i.+ng his hand over it. ”Any one else hurt?”

There was no answer, but looking round, he noticed that Azito's right arm hung limp at his side. As soon as the vessel was beached, he examined the wound.

”You're a plucky fellow,” he said. ”Do you know that your arm's broken?”

”It's nothing, senor,” replied the Indian simply.

”Isn't it? We'll see what the surgeon says when we get to Bolivar.

Ruggles, you can do most things: can you make a bandage?”

”I've washed and dressed a week-old baby,” said Ruggles, ”and there's a bit of bandaging in that.”

”Well, see what you can do for Azito. Jose must bake our bread, and I think we might release our prisoners now, don't you?”