THE FLYERS CATCH THE FLYER
No one would have recognised either of them had it been possible to see
them,--so carefully were their heads swathed in their coverings. She
was veiled and he was goggled, and both of them scrooged down in the
seat apprehensively. Hardy's car, borrowed in reality for the occasion,
was performing nobly. It careened through the muddy streets of the
village with a sturdiness that augured well for the enterprise. Out
into the country road, scudding northward, it sped. Dauntless increased
the speed, not to the limit, on account of the fog and uncertainty of
the road, but enough to add new thrills to the girl who crouched beside
him. Neither spoke until they were far from the town line; the strain
was too intense.
"What will everybody say?" she finally cried in his ear--the most
natural question in the world. "And the newspapers? Oh, dear!"
"You're not weakening, are you?" he cried. "Shall I turn back?"
She was silent for half a mile.
"No," she replied at last, "I couldn't climb UP that ladder. And
besides--" with a gasp as the car shot over the railroad tracks,--"we
never could get as good a start as this again."
"Bully for you!" he shouted.
"How far is it to Fenlock, Joe?" she asked, a quaver in her
high-pitched voice.
"About seven miles. We'll take the short cut through O'Brien's Lane and
strike Cobberly Road again at the crossroads. Then it will be easy
going. We'll catch the flyer all right, Nell. Everything's arranged.
You go into Car 5 and I in Car 7--"
"With a whole car between us? Heavens!"
"It's safest, dear. There might happen to be some one on board who'd
know us and suspect. Keep your veil down until you get into the berth.
There's not much danger of any one being up at this time of night, but
don't take any chances."
"Goodness, isn't it thrilling! And when do we get to Omegon?"
"Little after seven in the morning. My cousin will meet us in a hack
and drive us straight to the church. His wife will go with us as the
extra witness. By eight o'clock we'll be married. Derby will be on the
train with us. He's a full-fledged preacher now, and he'll marry us
without a whimper."
"Oh," she sighed deliciously, in spite of the jarring of the motor,
"isn't it nice to have old college chums who can be depended upon?"
"Poor old Windomshire," he laughed in the buoyancy of conquest.
"I don't think he'll---" She stopped.
"What?"
"Care very much," she concluded. He laughed doubtingly.
Mile after mile the car traversed the misty night, jolting over the
ruts in the lane, taking the hills blindly--driven entirely by the hand
of Good Luck.
Suddenly the "honk, honk!" of an invisible motor struck upon their
tense ears, the sound coming from some point ahead in the black, narrow
lane. Dauntless sat straight and peered ahead, sounding his horn
sharply.
"I hope no one is coming toward us," he groaned, slowing up sharply.
"We never can pass in this confounded lane. If we get off into the soft
ground--Hello! Here he comes--and no lights either! Hey! Look out!" He
brought his car to an abrupt standstill.
"Where are we, Joe?" she cried.
"Near the crossroads, I'm sure. Curse an idiot that runs around without
lights on a night like this," he growled, forgetting that his own lamps
were dark.
Out of the misty blackness loomed another car, directly ahead. It had
come to a sudden stop not ten feet away. Both cars were tooting their
horns viciously.
"Where are your lights?" roared Dauntless.
"Where are yours?" came back angrily through the fog.
"Good Lord!" gasped Joe, panic-stricken.
"It's Mr. Windomshire," whispered Eleanor, in consternation.
Before she realised what was happening her companion lifted her bodily
over the back of the seat and deposited her in the bed of the tonneau.
"Hide, dearest," he whispered. "Get under the storm blankets. He must
not see you! I'll--I'll bluff it out some way."
"Wha--what is he doing out here in a machine?" she was whispering
wildly. "He is pursuing us! He has found out!"
In the other car Windomshire--for it was the tall Englishman--was
hoarsely whispering to some one beside him:
"It's Dauntless! Hang him! What's he doing here?" Then followed a
hurried scuffling and subdued whispers. A long silence, fraught with an
importance which the throbbing of the two engines was powerless to
disturb, followed the mutual discovery. Joe's brain worked the quicker.
Disguising his voice as best he could, he shouted through the fog:
"We can't pass here."
"Is--is this Cobberly Road?" cried Windomshire, striving to obtain what
he considered the American twang.
"No, it's not. It's O'Brien's Lane."
Then, after a long silence, "Can't you back out?"
"It's rather--I mean sorter risky, mister. I don't know how far I'd
have to back, doncherknow--er, ahem!"
"The crossroads can't be more than a hundred yards behind you. Where
are you going?"
"I'm going for--a doctor," called Windomshire, hastily.
"Well, then, we ought not to stand here all night," groaned Joe, his
ears open to catch the sound of the locomotive's whistle. There was no
time to be lost.
"I'll--I'll try to back her out," shouted Windomshire. Eleanor
whispered something shrilly and anxiously from the tonneau, and Joe
called out instantly:
"Who is ill?"
"Mrs.--Mrs. Smith," replied the other, bravely.
"Good!" exclaimed Dauntless, heartily. Windomshire was not in the least
annoyed by the lack of sympathy. He began to drive his car backward by
jerks and jolts, blindly trusting to luck in the effort to reach the
road which he had passed in his haste a few minutes before. Joe was
shouting encouragement and pushing slowly forward in his own machine.
The noise of the engines was deafening.
"Hang it all, man, don't blow your horn like that!" roared Windomshire
at last, harassed and full of dread. Joe, in his abstraction, was
sounding his siren in a most insulting manner.
At last Windomshire's wheels struck a surface that seemed hard and
resisting. He gave a shout of joy.
"Here we are! It's macadam!"
"Cobberly Road," cried Joe. "Back off to the right and let me run in
ahead. I'm--I'm in a devil of a hurry."
"By Gad, sir, so am I. Hi, hold back there! Look out where you're
going, confound you!"
"Now for it," cried Joe to Eleanor. "We've got the lead; I'll bet a bun
he can't catch us." He had deliberately driven across the other's bows,
as it were, scraping the wheel, and was off over Cobberly Road like the
wind. "Turn to your right at the next crossing," he shouted back to
Windomshire. Then to himself hopefully: "If he does that, he'll miss
Fenlock by three miles."
They had covered two rash, terrifying miles before a word was spoken.
Then he heard her voice in his ear--an anxious, troubled voice that
could scarcely be heard above the rushing wind.
"What will we do if the train is late, dear? He'll be--be sure to catch
us."
"She's never late. Besides, what if he does catch us? We don't have to
go back, do we? You're of age. Brace up; be a man!" he called back
encouragingly.
"There are too many men as it is," she wailed, sinking back into the
tonneau.
"Here we are!" he shouted, as the car whizzed into a murky, dimly
lighted street on the edge of Fenlock, the county seat. "There are the
station lights just ahead."
"Is the train in?" she cried, struggling to her feet eagerly.
"I think not." He was slowing down. A moment later the throbbing car
came to a stop beside the railway station platform. The lights blinked
feebly through the mist; far off in the night arose the faint toot of a
locomotive's whistle.
"We're just in time," he cried. "She's coming. Quick!" He lifted her
bodily over the side of the car, jerked two suitcases from beneath the
curtains, and rushed frantically to the shelter of the platform sheds.
"I'll leave you here, dear," he was saying rapidly. "Wait a second;
there is your railroad ticket and your drawing-room ticket, too. I'll
wake Derby when I get on board. I have to run the automobile down to
Henry's garage first. Won't take ten seconds. Don't worry. The train
won't be here for three or four minutes. Get on board and go to sleep.
I'll be two cars ahead."
"Oh, Joe, won't I see you again before we start?" she cried
despairingly.
"I'll be back in a minute. It's only half a block to Henry's. All I
have to do is to leave the car in front of his place. His men will look
after it. It's all understood, dearest; don't worry. I'll be here
before the train, never fear. Stand here in the shadow, dear." He gave
her what might have been a passionate kiss had it not been for the
intervention of veil and goggles. Then he was off to the motor, his
heart thumping frantically. Standing as stiff and motionless as a
statue against the damp brick wall, she heard the automobile leap away
and go pounding down the street. Apparently she was alone on the
platform; the ticking of telegraph instruments came to her anxious
ears, however, and she knew there were living people inside the long,
low building. The experience certainly was new to this tall, carefully
nurtured girl. Never before had she been left alone at such an hour and
place; it goes without saying that the circumstances were unique. Here
she was, standing alone in the most wretched of nights, her heart
throbbing with a dozen emotions, her eyes and ears labouring in a new
and thrilling enterprise, her whole life poised on the social dividing
line. She was running away to marry the man she had loved for years;
slipping away from the knot that ambition was trying to throw over her
rebellious head. If she had any thought of the past or the future,
however, it was lost among the fears and anxieties of the present. Her
soul was crying out for the approach of two objects--Joe Dauntless and
the north-bound flyer.
Her sharp ears caught the sound which told her that the motor had
stopped down the street; it was a welcome sound, for it meant that he
was racing back to the station--and just in time, too; the flyer was
pounding the rails less than half a mile away.
Fenlock was a division point in the railroad. The company's yards and
the train despatcher's office were located there. A huge round-house
stood off to the right; half a dozen big headlights glared out at the
shivering Eleanor like so many spying, accusing eyes. She knew that all
trains stopped in Fenlock. Joe had told her that the flyer's pause was
the briefest of any during the day or night; still she wondered if it
would go thundering through and spoil everything.
Miss Thursdale, watching the approaching headlight, her ears filled
with the din of the wheels, did not see or hear a second motor car rush
up to the extreme south end of the platform. She was not thinking of
Windomshire or his machine. That is why she failed to witness an
extraordinary incident.
As the driver leaped from the car a second man disconnected himself
from the shadows, paused for a moment to take orders from the new
arrival, and then jumped into the seat just vacated. Whereupon the
one-time driver performed precisely the same feat that Dauntless had
performed three minutes before him. He jerked forth a couple of bags
and then proceeded to lift from the tonneau of the car a vague but
animate something, which, an instant later, resolved itself into the
form of a woman at his side.
"I've settled with the company, Meaders," hurriedly announced
Windomshire to the man on the seat. "The car is in your hands now."
"Yes, sir; I understand. Your week is up to-night. Hope it was
satisfactory, sir." The car shot off in the night, almost running down
a man who scudded across the street in its path.
"Just in time, Anne," said Windomshire to the tall, hooded figure
beside him. "Thank God, we didn't miss it."
"Hasn't it been good sport, Harry?" cried the young woman, with an
unmistakably English inflection. "It's just like a book."
"Only more so," he observed. "This has really happened, you know.
Things never really happen in books, don't you know. You've not lost
your tickets, dear?"
"No; they do that only in books. Really, I'm trembling like a leaf. I
can't realise that it is all taking place as we planned, and that I am
to be your wife after all. Ah, Harry! isn't it splendid?"
"'Gad, little woman, I am the one who hasn't the right to realise. By
Jove, I didn't give myself credit for the cleverness to fool every one
so neatly. Really, don't you know, however, I feel a bit sorry for Miss
Thursdale. She's a ripping good sort, and I'm sorry on that account."
Miss Courtenay--erstwhile governess--took hold of the lapels of his
raincoat and looked seriously up into his face. "Are you sure you'll
never regret giving her up for me--with all her money?"
"Oh, I say, Anne dear, it's I who am running away, not you. I've always
wanted you--all my life. I've been something of a cad---"
"It wasn't your fault. Mrs. Thursdale was bound to have you. It's her
way."
"It hurts my pride to say it, but hanged if I think--er--Eleanor was
very strong for the match. I've a notion she was bullied into it."
"I'm quite sure of it."
"You're doing her a good turn, my dear. You see, I couldn't love her,
and I'd probably have beaten her and all that. It wasn't as if I had to
marry her for her money. Deuce take it, I've got a few pounds of my
own."
"I'm only Anne Courtenay, the governess."
"You'll be Lady Windomshire some day, my word for it--if the other
chaps manage to die, God bless 'em. I say, here's the train.
Good-night, dear, up you go! I'll go up ahead. Don't forget! The
wedding's at noon to-morrow."
The long, shadowy train came to a stop. He elbowed the porter aside and
helped her up the steps. Neither of them noticed the vague figure which
rushed across the platform and into the second car below.
"Where's the luggage car?" shouted Windomshire to the porter.
"The what?"
"I mean the baggage van."
"Way up front, sir. Where they're puttin' on the trunks, sir."
Swinging his travelling bag almost at arm's length, the long Englishman
raced forward. His own and Miss Courtenay's pieces had come over during
the afternoon, skilfully smuggled out of the Thursdale house. Just as
he reached the baggage truck a panting, mud-covered individual dashed
up from the opposite direction, madly rushing for the train. They tried
to avoid a collision, but failed. A second later the two men were
staring into each other's eyes, open-mouthed and dismayed.
"Hello!" gasped Dauntless, staggered.
"What the devil, sir, do--My word! It's Dauntless!" sputtered
Windomshire.
"Where is she?" shouted Joe, convinced that his rival had captured his
runaway fiancee and was now confronting him for explanation.
"Confound you, sir, it's none of your business," roared Windomshire,
confident that Dauntless had been sent by Mrs. Thursdale to intercept
him in his flight with the governess. "Damn your impudence!"
"Stand aside, Windomshire," exclaimed Joe, white with anger and dread.
"I'm going to find her. What have you done with her?"
"You sha'n't interfere, Dauntless," cried Windomshire, squaring
himself. "She's going to be my wife, and---"
"I guess NOT! Get out of my way, or---"
"She's on that train, confound you, and I'm going away with her whether
you like it or not--or anybody else, for that matter," said
Windomshire, refusing to budge an inch.
"Well, you'll have a damned hard time getting rid of me," roared Joe,
trying to break past his rival. A baggage-man leaped between them in
time to prevent blows. He held the angry, mistaken rivals
apart,--rivals no longer, if they only knew. "Let go of me! Hold this
fellow and I'll give you a hundred dollars--hold him till the train
goes!"
"Hold me, will you? My word! What is this? A highway robbery!"
Both men broke away from the baggage-man and rushed frantically down
the line of cars, each trying to hold the other back. Joe succeeded in
grasping the handrail of the first sleeping-car, but his adversary
pulled him away. An instant later they were struggling across the
station platform, clasped in savage and hysterical combat. The station
employees were rushing up to separate them when the train began to move
slowly away.
[Illustration: Eleanor was still sitting ... stiff and silent]
They came to their senses a moment later to find themselves held firmly
by brawny peacemakers, the black cars rushing swiftly by without them.
Forgetting the battle so inopportunely begun, they started off madly in
pursuit, shouting, yelling, commanding. But the flyer was deaf to their
cries, callous against their tears. It whistled off into the north,
carrying two trusting, nervous young women, who were secure in the
belief that their liege lords to be were aboard, utterly unconscious of
the true state of affairs. In the drawing-room of Car 5 Eleanor was
still sitting, with her veil down, her raincoat saturating the couch on
which she sat stiff and silent. Anne Courtenay in Car 7 was
philosophically preparing for bed, absolutely confident that the
Englishman she had loved for years was not going to fail her.
Windomshire, alas, came to grief in his useless pursuit. He fell off
the end of the platform and rolled in the mud, half stunned. When he
painfully picked himself up, he saw Dauntless sitting on the edge of
the walk, his haggard, staring face lighted by the glare of a
sympathetic lantern. The station agent was offering vain but
well-intended commiseration.
"Good God!" he heard Joe groan, but he did not catch the words, "she's
gone without me!"
The next instant the distracted eloper was on his feet demanding a
special engine.
"I've got to have it!" he shouted.
Windomshire's wits returned. Why not have a special too? It was the
only way.
"You can order one for me, too," he exclaimed. "At once. It's
imperative."