"OK. Coming." Only pausing to stamp out the fire, the two boys were away
at a run, heading directly for the light, which at intervals Wilson
continued to show, as a guide.
Their open-air experience of a month had put the two boys in the best of
condition, and keeping on at a smart pace, within half an hour the light
showed just ahead, and a few minutes after Wilson ran forward to greet
them.
"I don't know what's in the air, but certainly something," he announced.
"As you fellows are armed too, suppose we go back and get the two men in
the station car, and see if we can't make them tell?" he suggested.
"Lead ahead," agreed the others.
Stealthily they made their way amid the intervening cars, and emerged
opposite the little depot.
In the window was the shadow of a man smoking.
They stole across to the door, and Wilson, leading, cautiously glanced
within. He turned and held up one finger. Revolver in hand, he tiptoed up
the steps, and with a cry sprang inside and toward the man in the chair.
The intruder was so taken by surprise that he tumbled over backward. In a
jiffy the three boys were upon him, and had pinned him to the floor; and
while Alex closely clutched his mouth, to prevent him calling out, the
others speedily bound his hands and feet with some convenient pieces of
wire.
Satisfied that their prisoner was firmly secured, and having removed his
pistol and cartridge-belt, the boys replaced him in the chair, and
Wilson, pointing his revolver at the man's head, demanded, "Where is your
pard? And what are you and he up to?"
There was a look of amusement in the man's face as Alex removed his hand,
and he replied, "Nothin' doin', boys. You'll have to guess."
"I'll give you three, to tell," said Wilson, assuming a fierce expression
and beginning to count.
The prisoner laughed outright. "You gentleman kids wouldn't shoot a fly,"
he declared coolly.
Wilson colored with mortification. For of course he had had no intention
of shooting. Even Alex and Jack were forced to smile at the turn of the
situation. Wilson had his revenge, however. "Gag him, then, Al," he
suggested, "and we will stow him away beneath the car."
The man's mouth opened for a shout. In a flash Alex had slapped a
handkerchief between his teeth, and despite the man's struggles stuffed
it well in. Then, taking from his neck a long colored neckerchief, he
bound it twice about the man's face.
"Now out with him, this side," said Wilson, opening the rear door.
"Wouldn't it be better to take him over under one of the cars on the
sidings?" Jack suggested. "His pard might return, and he kick, or make
some kind of a noise underneath."
"That's so." Dragging their prisoner forth, they glanced up and down to
see that no one was in sight, and with Jack at his feet and Alex and
Wilson at his arms, they hastened across the rails, passed between two
freight-cars, and in the deep shadow beyond placed him on the ground and
bound him firmly to a rail.
"Be sure you don't talk now," said Wilson derisively as they turned away.
"What next?" Jack asked.
"It's pretty sure to be some mischief about the bridge. Let's have a look
around there," suggested Alex.
Approaching the brink of the ravine at a point some distance from the
viaduct, the boys glanced below. From the three broke a simultaneous low
cry of understanding and indignation.
In the light of several lanterns a party of seemingly fifteen or twenty
men were piling brush about the base of one of the central wooden piers.
"The K. & Z. people again, sure as you're born!" exclaimed Alex hotly.
"And after their solemn agreement!"
"If they succeed in burning it, they will hold back our supplies two or
three weeks, and reach the pass ahead of us, dead certain," added Jack
through his teeth. "We've got to stop them, boys!"
"Isn't there a hand-car or a velocipede here, Wilse?" Alex inquired.
"No. Not even a push-car. And it'd take one of us an hour and a half to
reach the construction-train."
"But that's certainly the only thing to be done," Jack pointed out.
"Perhaps two of us, with the rifles, could hold them--"
A flicker of light broke out below which was not a lantern, and
approached the dimly disclosed brush-pile. Quick as a flash Jack's rifle
went to his shoulder, and there was a reverberating crash. The light
disappeared and there came up a chorus of surprised shouts and the
clatter of running feet.
"Now we are in for it. I think we had better stick it out together," said
Alex quietly. "Perhaps the firing will be heard at the train."
The others agreed, and at Wilson's suggestion they made their way a few
feet down the slope to a ledge from which the whole structure of the
bridge could dimly be seen.
"How are you fellows off for ammunition?" whispered Wilson.
"I have four more rounds in the rifle, and thirty in my belt," said Jack.
"Five in the gun and twenty-seven in the belt," Alex announced.
Wilson had been examining the revolver and belt they had taken from the
prisoner, and which he had brought with him. "Fourteen in the two pistols
and nearly sixty in the two belts," he said.
"We ought to be able to put up all kinds of a fight," Alex declared
confidently. "That is, unless they--"
He broke off, and all leaned forward, peering down into the gloom, and
listening. From a little to the left rose the clatter of a pebble. Wilson
stretched himself on his face, and bent over, one of his pistols
extended. Barely breathing, they waited, and again came a faint clatter
as of loosened earth, nearer.
"Don't let him get too close," Alex whispered.
There came the sound of something snapping, a smothered exclamation, and
instantly Wilson fired. There was a shrill cry, and the crash of
something rolling downward. At the same moment from below came a crashing
volley of shots, and bullets snarled upward by them like a swarm of bees.
The boys shrank back flat, then leaned over and returned two quick
volleys.
Another cry indicated that one of their bullets had found a mark, and
following a scattering return volley from the darkness there were sounds
of a hurried scuttling for cover.
"Anyone touched?" Jack asked.
"I think I lost a little hair," said Wilson quietly.
"Me too," said Alex. "But a miss is as good as a mile, you know. And we
have the advantage so far."
"Sh!" warned Jack. In the silence came the sound of running footsteps
farther up the gully, followed by a continuous rattle of falling stones.
"They're making a rush up another path. Quick, and stop them!" exclaimed
Wilson, starting to his feet.
"Hold on," Alex interrupted as they reached the crest of the slope.
"Perhaps it's a ruse to get us away, so they can start the fire. You two
run and chase them down, and I'll stay and watch here. If you need help,
shout."
Wilson and Jack sprang away along the brink of the ravine. A hundred
yards distant the sounds of men ascending rose from directly beneath
them. Without pause they fired. Cries of rage followed, and as the boys
dropped to the ground a dozen bullets whined over them. Promptly Wilson
replied with the entire seven shots from one of his pistols, there was a
crash as of someone falling, then a general scrambling as the entire
party apparently tumbled precipitately down the steep slope. Rising to
their feet, the boys fired several more shots, and hastened back toward
Alex.
As they neared him the crash of his rifle told he had guessed rightly
that another attempt would be made to light the fire.
"Quick!" he said, slamming the loading mechanism. "They're sticking to
it!"
Wilson and Jack saw several twinkling flames, and the roar of Alex's next
shot was followed by the crash of their own weapons. A cry of agony
followed, and one of the lights disappeared. Another faltered, and also
went out.
Alex once more brought up his rifle, took careful aim; the jet of flame
leaped from the muzzle, and with a shout the boys saw the last spot of
light describe an arc in the air, and go out.
An angry howl followed, then a continuous volley from several different
points. The spirit of fight had taken full possession of the three lads
on the brink of the ravine, however, and lying close, they gave back shot
for shot, quickly but steadily. Finally a lull came, and Alex rose
exultingly on an elbow and shouted below, "Come on, you cowards! Come--"
From behind one of the bridge pillars leaped a flame, and with a sharp
intake of breath Alex slipped sideways. But as Wilson and Jack sprang to
his side he again rose. "It's nothing," he declared. "Just a graze inside
the arm."
The quiet continuing, the others insisted on removing Alex's coat, and
feeling, found the shirt-sleeve wet. "Tie a handkerchief round it," Alex
directed. "There. That's all right.
"That's what I get for allowing myself to be carried away, isn't it?" he
added as Wilson and Jack helped him into his coat. "I didn't realize
how--"
All three snatched up their weapons and spun about.
A tall stooped figure was standing within a few feet of them.
"Surrender!" cried Wilson. "_Quick, or I'll--_"
"It me, Little Hawk," said a quiet voice. "Why shoot?"
With a common cry of joy the boys sprang forward, and quickly explained
the situation. The Indian grunted. "Not K. & Z. man," he said. "Bad
cowboy, miner, gambler, from Yellow Creek. Makeum big bet K. & Z. win,
come burn bridge, makeum win. Little Hawk hearum talk, come follow,
hearum fight, come quick.
"Thinkum big fight. Only three boy fight, eh?" he added in surprise.
Alex had been considering. "Look here, Little Hawk," he suggested, "you
ride back to the construction-train and give the alarm, will you? I think
we have these fellows scared now, and can hold them till help comes. And
none of us could ride that pony of yours."
"I findum nother hoss--cowboy hoss," said the Indian, pointing the way he
had come. "You go, takeum, Little Hawk stay fight."
Alex thought a minute. "No; I'd rather stick, and see the thing through,
now," he declared.
"Me too," said Jack promptly.
"Same here," Wilson agreed.
"It's up to you, then, Little Hawk.
"Say, hold on!" Alex interrupted as the Indian turned away. "Boys, how
about Little Hawk taking our prisoner back with him on the other horse?
The folks at the train might get some information out of him.
"Could you take him, Little Hawk?" he asked.
The redskin grunted assent. "Tieum to saddle," he said.
"I'll go and show him where the rascal is," volunteered Wilson.
A few minutes later, with the boys' prisoner trailing behind, securely
bound to the saddle of the wandering horse he had picked up, the Indian
was off across the plain to the west at the top of his mottled pony's
speed.
When Wilson returned to Alex and Jack he found them busy constructing a
miniature block-house of ties they had thrown from a neighboring car.
"That's the idea," he said, joining them. "We could hold out in that all
night, easily."
"No; leave that opening, Wilse," Jack interposed as Wilson began closing
a gap at one of the corners. "That's to command the bridge. We're going
to fire through, not over."
The boys had just completed their little fort when from the top of the
gully immediately opposite came a spit of flame, followed by the
plaintive hum of a pistol bullet above them. Promptly they dropped below
the ties, and Alex, who had that side, aimed toward the spot at which he
had seen the flash, and as it spat out again, crashed back with his
Winchester. From several points along the opposite level a ragged fire
followed, and continued intermittently.
Then finally, as the boys had half expected, there came a smattering
volley from amid the cars on the sidings behind them. The body of their
assailants had reached the surface on their side.
Now it was that the three began to experience their first real anxiety.
For despite their show of confidence to one another, each secretly knew
that if a determined rush was made from near at hand, there was scarcely
an even chance of their standing it off.
As a provision against this eventuality Wilson did very little firing
during the almost steady exchange of shots that followed, keeping the
chambers of his two revolvers always full. To the same end, Alex and Jack
used their magazine-rifles as single-shots, holding the magazines, fully
charged, in reserve.
"I think I'm getting one of them now and then," Alex was saying about
half an hour after the disappearance of the Indian. "Or else--" He broke
off to fire again. "Unless their ammunition is giving out over there."
Suddenly Jack snapped open his magazine. "Here they come!" he whispered.
Alex scrambled about beside him. Wilson thrust the pistol-barrels through
the loop-hole.
[Illustration: WITH THE BOYS' PRISONER SECURELY BOUND TO THE SADDLE
OF THE WANDERING HORSE, THE INDIAN WAS OFF
ACROSS THE PLAIN.]
From the dark line of the cars rose a shouted command, there came a
ripping volley of a dozen Colts, and a dim group of figures rushed toward
them.
"Now, steady!" warned Alex. "And shoot low!
"_Fire!_"
"_Crash!_" went the Winchesters, "_Crack, crack, crack!_" the pistols.
Two of the leading runners went to their hands and knees. The others
rushed on, shouting and spitting flames.
Keeping well under cover, the boys fired as quickly as they could work
their weapons. Wilson felt a stinging snip at his right ear, and a warm
stream trickling down his neck. He emptied the first pistol, and began
with the second.
"_Crash! Crash!_" roared the Winchesters.
The attackers held on. They had made half the distance. In spite of
themselves, the boys began firing nervously.
Closer the running figures came.
Jack snapped back his reloading mechanism, and pulled the trigger. There
was no report.
His cry of consternation was echoed by Alex.
They had fired their last shots!
With a wild shout of triumph two of their assailants were upon them.
* * * * *
From a clear patch of sky bright moonlight flooded the construction-train
and the gray slope of the hill to the southeast about which the rails had
crept that day. Grouped on the rear steps of the store-car, Superintendent
Finnan and several of his foremen sat and smoked, and listened.
"Yes; it's a horse," said one of the foremen.
"Two horses," declared the superintendent. "And coming as though Old Nick
were after them."
Over the moonlit rise swept a figure on horseback, then another.
On discovering the group at the car, the leader uttered a shrill whoop,
and tore down the slope toward them.
"The first is Little Hawk! The other is a prisoner! What's wrong?" cried
the superintendent, springing to the ground.
The Indian pulled up in a cloud of dust before him, and threw himself
from his reeking pony.
"Want burnum bridge," he said, indicating his prisoner. "Five, ten, more!
Much more! Three boy--tick-knock boy--fightem!
"Hear? Hear?"
He placed his hand to his ear.
The incredulous group turned to the east and listened.
As from infinitely far away, half heard, half felt, came a low, deadened
"Plugk!... Plugk, plugk!... Plugk!"
A moment the startled railroadmen stared at one another. Then quickly the
superintendent spoke.
"Ryan, rout out the engineer and firemen! The rest of you run for your
guns, and a dozen good men from your gangs! Don't lose a minute!"
[Illustration: THE INDIAN PULLED UP IN A CLOUD OF DUST.]
The group scattered with a rush. Fifteen minutes later, with men filling
her cab and clustered on the tender, the engine was under way, rushing
eastward.
As rapidly the speed was increased, the locomotive rocked and leaped over
the new roadbed, but with the superintendent at his elbow, the engineer
drove her up to the last notch, and the prairie streamed by them like a
blanket.
Half the distance was made, and above the noise of the engine came a
sharp "Tap, tap! Tap, tap, tap!"
On the engine rushed, and the distant shapes of cars appeared.
Simultaneously there came a crashing volley of shots, and a chorus of
shouting. The men on the engine gripped their guns, and stared ahead into
the space lit up by the headlight.
With reducing speed they struck a curve, and the stream of light swung
about toward the bridge. The next moment into the glare broke a group of
madly struggling figures.
On the flash of the light the fighting ceased. There were cries of alarm,
and the renegades began to break and flee. A small party stood, and fired
toward the engine. But with a roar the railroadmen leaped and tumbled to
the ground, and rushed at them, and they too broke and fled.
And the great fight was over, and won.
The superintendent was first to reach the little barricade. Jack, he
found unconscious from a blow on the head. Wilson had fainted, and Alex
drooped limply on the wall of ties, exhausted past speaking. The faces,
hands and clothes of all bore mute witness to the desperate struggle they
had put up during those last terrible minutes.
Within a short time, however, all three boys had somewhat recovered, and
were able to take their places in the engine cab; and a half hour later
the party headed back for the construction-train, coupled behind them a
box-car containing eighteen prisoners. Ten of the captured men were found
to have been wounded, several seriously; but to the relief of the boys
none had been killed outright.
When rescued, rescuers and prisoners arrived at the construction-train
they found an excited crowd of over three hundred men awaiting them. And
on the details of the affair quickly spreading, the three boys were
literally swept from their feet by the enthusiastic foreigners, hoisted
into the air, and carried to the telegraph-car to a continuous roar of
"hurrahs" and "bravos."
* * * * *
The following Wednesday a special train, to which was attached Division
Superintendent Cameron's private car, drew up at the rear of the
boarding-train. Proceeding thither in response to a message, Alex and
Jack found Wilson, who had been picked up at the viaduct station,
Construction Superintendent Finnan and several other Middle Western
officials.
Having greeted them warmly, the division superintendent took a small
package from his desk, and opened it. "I know you don't like speeches,
boys," he began; "and in any case, I'm not sure I could do justice to the
occasion. But, here! These three gold watches--the very finest the
company's money could buy, I may say--will show you what we think of the
loyalty to the company, and the splendid courage you three lads displayed
last Saturday night in defense of the Antelope viaduct.
"I might just read one of the inscriptions," he said, opening Alex's
watch.
"'To Alex Ward, from the Middle Western Railroad, in recognition of the
heroic part he played in the defense of the Antelope viaduct, November
2nd, 18--, and in thus ensuring the victory of the Middle Western in its
memorable race with the K. & Z. for the Yellow Creek Pass.'
"For that is precisely what it meant," declared the superintendent. "The
pass is ours now, beyond any chance.
"And finally," he concluded, as Alex, Jack and Wilson, scarcely knowing
what to say, took the three beautiful watches, "I would just like to
remark that if you three boys do not some day stand where I stand, or
higher, I'll be both greatly surprised and disappointed."
* * * * *
That this prediction was justified, you can to-day learn from any
directory of railroad officials--for there, in the pages devoted to the
Middle Western, you will find the name of Alexander Ward, Superintendent,
Western Division; John Orr, Superintendent, Central Division; and, as
General Superintendent of Telegraphs, Wilson A. Jennings.