THE YELLOW STREAK GONE.
All this had happened in a very brief space of time. The many details
which, combined, made the accident possible, stretched over a period of
some duration, but the accident itself passed from beginning to
conclusion in a few ticks of a watch.
Sick and unnerved, Merriwell leaned against the target. The screech of
the ore car’s wheels rasped wildly in his ears. He had a glimpse of the
runaway ore carrier sliding from the loop track to the switch, with Jode
kneeling on the ore and clinging to the brake wheel.
The next instant Merriwell realized that Jode, by his daring work, had
plunged himself into a fresh catastrophe.
The spur track was short and lay on level ground. There was no barrier
at the end of it, but a plunge downward for half a dozen feet right from
the ends of the rails. Lenning, with the car and its load, must take
that plunge!
The events of Lenning’s past life were such as to lead people to believe
that he was a coward, and had a yellow streak. Yet how could that be
when he voluntarily threw himself into terrible danger to save his
uncle?
Under Merriwell’s horrified eyes the ore car sped out to the end of the
spur and dived downward. Not a cry escaped Lenning as, white-faced and
rigid, he tipped off into space with the load of ore.
Colonel Hawtrey was himself a witness of his nephew’s plunge from the
end of the spur track. His senses returned to him quickly and he lifted
himself on one elbow. As it chanced, his eyes were fixed on the spot
where Jode and the car were shooting off into space from the spur.
Burke was another eyewitness. Quickly as he could come, he rushed down
the hill and hurried out to the end of the little siding. There he and
Merriwell stood together, looking down.
The car lay bottom up on the ground below. The ore it had carried was
scattered widely.
“Do you see him?” Burke whispered hoarsely in Merriwell’s ear.
“Yes,” Merriwell answered, and forthwith began descending to the foot of
the slight slope.
Lenning had been thrown quite a little distance from the car, and was
lying face downward in the sand and gravel. He was silent and
motionless.
“Jode!” called Frank, kneeling beside him and touching his shoulder.
There was no answer from the lad who had fought so hard to clear his
record. With a sinking sensation at his heart, Frank lifted Jode in his
arms and turned his face upward. His cheek and temple were gashed and
bleeding, and his eyes were closed.
“Can’t he talk?” asked Burke. “Is he unconscious?”
Frank nodded. “Let’s take him somewhere,” said he; “to the bunk house,
where we can get him on a bed. He must be badly hurt, Burke.”
“I don’t see how he ever came through that alive!” muttered the
superintendent.
A crowd had gathered, racing to the scene from the cyanide works, from
the blacksmith shop, from the mill.
“That was the bravest thing I ever saw!” declared King, the cyanide
expert. “Is he going to live, Burke?”
“Of course he’s going to live!” declared Frank, white-lipped but with a
voice of conviction. “What do you think now,” he added, “you fellows
that thought Jode was a thief and had a yellow streak?”
“If he had ever had a yellow streak,” returned King, “he has wiped it
out for good and all.”
“King,” said Burke quietly, “telephone to town for a doctor. The rest of
you men,” he added, “go back to your work. Everything possible will be
done for Lenning--I don’t need to tell you that. Come on, Merriwell,” he
finished, “and let’s get him to the bunk house.”
As carefully as they could, Frank and the super lifted Lenning between
them and bore him away to the long, low building where the miners and
mill men had their sleeping quarters.
They had hardly laid Lenning down on his cot, before Colonel Hawtrey,
his face ashen, pushed into the bunk house and up to the side of the
unconscious boy. The colonel’s clothing was torn and his hat was gone,
but he was giving no thought to himself.
For a moment he stared into the haggard, bleeding face of his nephew;
then he turned to Frank and the superintendent.
“Tell me about this,” he said, in a queer, dry voice. “I missed some of
the details. The ore car broke loose, I remember that; then I tried to
get out of the way, and one of the front wheels of my carriage became
locked in the track; I struck Blixen with the whip, and the singletree
broke, and I was jerked over the dashboard. When I came to myself, the
ore car, with Jode aboard, was pitching off the end of the spur tracks.
Fill in the gaps for me, please.”
“Jode yelled to me,” said Frank, “to run and throw the switch. At the
same time Jode jumped aboard the car as it rushed past him. If he hadn’t
put on the brakes, the car would have got by the switch before I could
have thrown it. That’s all, colonel. Jode tipped off the end of the spur
with the car and the ore.”
The colonel moistened his dry lips with his tongue.
“Is--is he dead?” he asked, in a low voice.
“No,” replied Burke.
“Send for a doctor and do everything possible to save him.”
“We have sent for a doctor, colonel, and I don’t think there’ll be any
trouble about saving him. He was in splendid physical condition to stand
such a shock. But if the car had fallen on him, or the ore--well,
there’d have been another story to tell.”
Without a word, Colonel Hawtrey drew a chair to the head of the bed and
sat down to wait. And all the while he was waiting he never took his
eyes from Jode’s unconscious face.
In less than twenty minutes the doctor was at the mine. Removing his
coat, he rolled up his sleeves and went to work with professional
briskness.
“What is your verdict, doctor?” inquired Colonel Hawtrey, after the
examination had been finished.
“A fractured leg is about all the damage, colonel,” was the answer, “so
far as I can see. He may be hurt internally, but I don’t think so. We’ll
know more about that later on. Jode has been doing some great work, eh?
He not only recovers the stolen mail bags and sends them to town, but he
caps his exploits by saving your life, colonel. There must be something
pretty fine about a fellow who can do all that.”
“Saved the mail bags?” repeated Hawtrey. “What do you mean by that?”
Just here Frank took the conversation into his own charge, and proceeded
to tell the colonel all that had happened in Mohave Cañon. The colonel’s
face was a little pale as he listened, but his expression did not
undergo a change in any particular. He was an iron man, with an iron
control of his feelings.
The doctor set the broken leg; then, when it was done, he took measures
to revive the injured lad. Under the doctor’s ministrations it was not
long before Jode opened his eyes.
At first his gaze was troubled and bewildered. Finally, realization came
to him and he stretched out his hand to Merriwell.
“Chip,” said he, “we had to do it quick, but we did it well. I--I wonder
how I ever had the nerve!”
“Never mind about that, old man,” answered Frank, with twitching lip and
blurred eyes. “You saved the colonel. It was you, Jode. I had mighty
little to do with it.”
The colonel arose from his chair and stepped to the side of the cot. For
a moment uncle and nephew gazed into each other’s eyes.
“I have wronged you, my lad,” said the colonel. “Are we going to let
bygones be bygones?”
“If you want it that way, colonel,” Jode answered.
And then their hands met in one long, lingering clasp. Merriwell stepped
out of the bunk-house door, and stood in the clear, bright sunshine.
“At last!” he murmured.