THE CHASE CONTINUED
After going a half a mile further, the leader in the race made another
sharp turn, and a short distance ahead his goal was in sight, or it
would have been had not the heavy fog prevailed. Of this, Jim was of
course in nowise aware. Suddenly the hack ahead whirled and came to a
stop. Two figures leaped out into the fog and started on the run.
Jim thrust a coin into the willing grasp of "Bill," and leaped to the
ground closely followed from the cab by John Berwick, leaving the two
drivers to themselves, and only a few yards apart. These worthies taking
no further interest in the performance of their recent fares, engaged in
a wordy altercation as to the rival merits of their steeds, and each had
a different answer to the problem of "who won the race?" The outcome of
this led to blows; as to the result, that belongs to another chronicle
than mine. We are at present concerned with the race between Jim and the
Mexican, with the chief and "Bushy Whiskers" as runners up.
Jim bounded after the fleeing Mexican and his comrade, with all the
speed of his pent-up energy, and was overtaking him rapidly, when what
looked like a high dark rampart showed indistinct through the fog a few
rods ahead. Then the Mexican bent low and darted out of sight, and his
sturdy companion bounding high in the air disappeared.
Jim was thrown suddenly backward; as in mad pursuit, he dashed into an
almost invisible fence of wire, steel colored,--which luckily was not
barbed. The engineer who was a few paces behind, stopped in the nick of
time, his outstretched hand easily breaking the force of his collision.
"Hurt, Jim?" he queried.
"Naw!" replied James. "Come on, John, let's see if you can jump like his
whiskers."
"I'm no rat like that greaser," replied Berwick; "I can't crawl through,
I've got to jump."
He showed himself something of an acrobat by the grace and agility with
which he vaulted the six foot fence, and Jim went over with more power
if less grace. Now they were in a quandary for directly before them was
a wood of the tall and ghostly eucalyptus, into which the two fugitives
had fled.
"We ought to have told our carriage to wait, Jim," said the chief
engineer, with nonchalant humor. "This reminds me of two needles and a
haystack."
"I've got their trail, Chief, come on before it gets too dark," ordered
Jim, who had been casting around like a hound for a scent.
"You are the 'Boy Scout, or the Young Kit Carson,' for fair, James,"
cried Berwick, giving him a hearty slap of admiration between his broad
shoulders.
Jim grinned but made no reply as he followed the trail into the depth of
the wood, which was made weird by the slender forms of the trees whose
high tops were hidden by the low hanging mists that were as the breath
of the huge ocean. The waters of the ocean not far away were slowly
surging through the narrow pass of "The Golden Gate."
Then the hanging white strips of bark from the tall eucalyptus trees,
added to the ghostly effect of the interior of the wood. James noticed
none of these things for his attention was fixed on following the trail
of his enemies. Here his long training in wood and plain craft stood him
in good stead. It was his friend, Captain Graves, way back in Colorado,
who had given him his first lessons in this difficult art and he could
have had no better tutor than the captain, who had himself qualified in
many a hard contest with the crafty Indian.
Now the Mexican was subtle, if not crafty, and the ordinary observer,
even if he were as intelligent and quick as John Berwick, undoubtedly
would have been entirely at sea in following the trail. Jim's keen
senses, however, trained for such work, were not to be so easily
baffled. The Mexican alone would have been exceedingly hard to have
tracked, but his heavier footed comrade disturbed the fallen leaves or
left a print in the red soil that betrayed the trail.
However, the pursuers were of necessity slowed down to a certain degree
so that their chance of overtaking the two rascals grew slimmer every
second. At that moment, however, their chase was given a new impetus. It
came with a suddenness that was startling. From some distance ahead, it
was difficult to tell how far, there came a furious chorus of yelps,
barks and howls.
"Dogs!" cried Jim; "they have got our quarry treed!"
"Wild dogs, too!" said the engineer. "I've run across packs of them
traveling in Mongolia. Ugly customers they are, too, unless you are
good and ready for them."
At that instant there came the sharp report of half-a-dozen pistol
shots, and the yelps were turned to howls of pain.
"Why didn't our friends in front ambush us and load us up with some of
those lead pellets," remarked John Berwick thoughtfully.
"Perhaps they hadn't got to the place that suited them," said Jim, "or
maybe they have orders from old Captain Broome to take us alive rather
than dead. You know he is a man who likes to settle his own grudges,
rather than by proxy."
"You must be something of a mind reader, James," remarked Berwick.
"I'm not that," declared Jim, "but I have had some dealing with Captain
Bill Broome so I can judge."
Meanwhile the two friends were making straight for the noise of the
fracas, and when they had gone about two hundred yards they were
surprised by the dash of a big, gaunt, snarling yellow hound, who made a
leap for Jim with teeth wide spread. Now James was unarmed, not his
usual practice, but he was not in the habit of taking lunch at a
restaurant armed to the teeth so that when this chase started he was not
armed, else the venture would have come to an end long ago.
However, he did have his long, sharp-edged poniard with him. This he
could carry inconspicuously in a belt around his waist. He slipped it
from its sheath and met the charge of the hound squarely on his bent
knee. He was bent back by the fury of the hound's rush, but he got in a
thrust with a deadly precision that left the dog done for on the ground.
The engineer was not so lucky as Jim, he had no weapon of any kind and a
small limb of a tree that he had hurriedly picked up proved no defense
against the attack of a huge black brute, true of mongrel breed, but
none the less ugly. He had knocked prostrate the engineer, who was not a
large man, and was raving for his throat with cruel jaws, being held off
for the moment only, by Berwick's clever use of the stick he had
retained in his clutch when felled.
Jim was quick to see his friend's need. He dared not waste one single
second, but with a low rush, he grappled with the brute, and by a sudden
surge of his really great strength he thrust the beast to one side and
for a moment they struggled fiercely on even terms, Jim's hand gripping
the animal's throat, while the red, dripping jaws were striving to close
on Jim's shoulder.
Exerting all his strength he managed to twist the beast off his balance
and before it could recover had sent the death thrust home. The rest of
the pack of smaller dogs evidently did not dare to come on and for a
moment Jim rested panting, covered with sweat and blood.
"You certainly saved my neck that time, Jim," acknowledged John Berwick.
"I guess it is hanging I'm reserved for."
"If you are ready we will move on; I'm afraid that trail will get cold,"
said Jim.
"I'm with you," declared the engineer, "but I rather hope that we will
soon be out of these woods."
"Here's a little stream," remarked Jim, after they had gone a few yards,
"guess I had better remove the signs of the late murder."
"You can see where those fellows crossed," remarked Berwick; "here is
the mark of the big fellow's shoes."
"You have the making of a detective in you, John," said Jim with a
perfectly sober face.
"Oh! I can detect all right, if it is thrust directly under my nose,"
agreed the engineer, with a smile.
"I don't see for the life of me how you keep so neat, Chief," remarked
Jim, as he wrung out his stained handkerchief; "you look ready to enter
into the best society, at a moment's notice." The engineer had taken off
his brown hat and was smoothing his hair with a gentle stroke that Jim
recognized was characteristic of him and this had provoked his remark
about his friend's neatness.
"Hardly as bad as that, James," returned Berwick with a smile, "but I
must admit that for some reason I never get very badly mussed in
appearance no matter what the occasion may be."
Jim regarded his friend thoughtfully, carefully drying his hands
meanwhile.
"I should like to wager a reasonable amount, Berwick, that you always
don a dress suit for dinner," said Jim finally.
"Why, yes, I do," agreed the engineer, "whenever there is a chance. It
makes you feel like a human being after the grease and grime of the
engine room."
"Something in that," admitted Jim. "Well, let's hike."