Blake chuckled.
"I've got condensed ribs," he said. "But I think Harror will lie still
for a while."
"Golly!" O'Toole sighed in relief. "You sure had a Goliath on your
hands. Wish I could have helped you."
"What became of those two guards," Jeff asked? "Seems to me they had you
on the spot for a while."
"Aw!" O'Toole said. "I got hold of one of them fire guns and there
wasn't anything to it."
Blake had reached the door to the outer cavern. He opened it a couple of
inches and looked out. The Silver Mask gang were still working on Mono
6.
Even as he watched, a man detached himself from the gang at the far end
of the train and came slowly toward the partially opened door. Blake
jumped back and closed it tightly.
"Get two of these guards out of their uniforms," he said. "Make it
quick. We've got more trouble coming."
* * * * *
A quick knock came on the door. Blake said, in a hard voice.
"Yeah! Who is it?"
"Slater," was the reply. "Tell the boss we got the train cleaned out.
We're all ready to set it loose."
In the light of the open door, Blake looked at O'Toole. The Irishman was
already in one of the Silver Mask uniforms. His face was hidden and he
looked like one of the gang.
"Tell him the boss will be all set in a minute," Blake said. "I've got
to get into one of these outfits."
O'Toole flung the door open wider and pushed the bodies of the silent
guards out of sight.
"We'll be out in a minute," he said to Slater. "Get her ready to roll."
"Yes sir," Slater answered him respectfully. "The cab is all fixed, and
the motors are turning. The hidden door has been opened so we better
make it snappy."
O'Toole nodded.
"Okay," he said. "Make sure you don't leave anything on board that's
useful. And Slater...."
The man had turned. Now he hesitated and turned back.
"Yeah?"
"Harror is staying here," O'Toole said quickly. "He ain't feeling so
good. Says I'm to give the orders."
Slater laughed.
"That's a good one," he chuckled. "How long since that gorilla started
giving orders around here."
Still laughing, he turned and went back toward the waiting masked men.
O'Toole closed the door and ripped the mask away.
"This is it," he said quickly. "I knew Wade was mixed up in this
business. Harror isn't the real boss here."
Blake was half way into a uniform of the Silver Masks. He finished his
job before answering. Then he spoke.
"I know you and Ferrell hate Wade's guts," he said slowly, "but...."
"It's not me so much," O'Toole protested. "Ferrell said long ago that
Wade was in this mess. He didn't seem to get any action on the case. Now
with the guy Slater saying Harror isn't the boss, there isn't any other
answer."
* * * * *
"Sorry, O'Toole," Blake said. "I should be willing to admit that Wade's
our man. I don't know why I can't. It's just that blood is pretty thick
stuff, I guess. It's hard to think your own brother would turn on you
like this."
O'Toole lowered his head.
"We've got to do something," he said quietly. "Those guys won't sit out
there waiting forever."
Blake stood up slowly.
"Supposing Wade isn't the chief," he asked. "What then?"
"They'll kill us all, just as they already plan to," O'Toole groaned.
"We might as well take a flying chance."
Blake shook his head.
"I've got a better idea," he said.
"Then spill it. We haven't much time."
"To begin with," Blake said. "If Wade was in this he'd have shown up
here long ago. The paper said he couldn't be located. I'd recognize my
twin even in one of these outfits."
O'Toole protested.
"Then who is the chief? He's here somewhere and Slater sure didn't
intend to take orders from Harror."
"He must be on the train," Blake answered.
"Now you're crazy," O'Toole answered savagely. "The people on Mono 6
have been locked up for hours. If the leader of the Silver Masks was
among them he'd have taken charge hours ago."
"Unless," Blake said thoughtfully, "he didn't want any of us to _know_
he was the leader."
O'Toole pulled the mask down over his eyes.
"Let's get out of here," he said. "You've got something up your sleeve
and I'll play the cards the way you want them."
"One more thing," Blake told him. "These men had to have a track to get
Mono 6 into this cave. When it goes out again we'll be on the same
track, but it will end in a canyon or deep lake."
"Go on."
"Well! We've got to get started on that trip. After we are out you and I
will have to take our chances of stopping the mono."
"And I thought Grudge Harror was a tough baby," O'Toole grinned.
* * * * *
"It isn't a matter of being tough," Blake said. "Can you handle the
engine room alone?"
"Handled it for years," O'Toole said coolly. "But I'd like to know where
that track ends."
"You will." Blake went toward the door. He gripped O'Toole's shoulder.
"You're a good Irishman, O'Toole. Now go out of here and straight to the
cab. I don't think they'll dare send one of the other men. If the
controls are tied into place, leave them alone. When I signal, set all
motors going full speed. Sit tight and keep her flying."
"And the end of the track?" O'Toole asked. "If I don't get shot in the
back before I'm half way across the cave, how do I know when to stop?"
Blake chuckled dryly.
"Perhaps you won't," he admitted. "But I'll be in the rear lounge with
every male passenger within my sight. One of them is bound to break down
when he knows he's at the end of the trail."
"So?"
"I'll jerk the emergency cord," Blake said. "Set your brakes the minute
you hear it. O'Toole, it's a long chance but we've got to take it."
"One more thing," O'Toole asked. "Blake, who in hell is the leader of
the Silver Masks?"
Blake hesitated, his face darkening. He opened the door and pushed
O'Toole out gently.
"If I'm not mistaken," he whispered evenly, "Walter Ferrell knows more
about this than he's telling."
* * * * *
The gang of Silver Masks were gathered around the front end of Mono 6 as
Holly O'Toole and Jeff Blake emerged from Harror's office. They walked
swiftly toward the cab, and Slater who had evidently been waiting,
stepped from the crowd and came toward them.
"How about it?" He addressed Holly O'Toole, as O'Toole seemed to be
leading Blake. "Everything has been stripped from the baggage cars.
She's ready for her trip into the lake."
"Okay!" O'Toole mumbled. He turned to Blake. "Take two men and get all
the passengers into the lounge car."
Blake's heart was pounding wildly. If O'Toole slipped now, they'd all
pay for it. He turned toward the crowd of waiting masked men.
"Two of you guys step out," he ordered. "Open the doors and herd those
cattle into the last car back."
They obeyed him instantly. In five minutes every man and woman in the
flyer were crowded into the car with Walter Ferrell and Dauna. O'Toole
hesitated, started to climb into the cab of Mono 6, and Slater stopped
him.
Standing a few feet away, Blake heard them mumble something. O'Toole
pointed to Blake.
"I'll see that she gets clear of the cave," he said in a loud voice.
"The boss wants him to be in the car until it's started and on the way
down."
Slater hesitated, nodded and turned away. O'Toole winked and Blake
grinned back at him. The Irishman had done a swell job. This was one
night when his blarney had been a blessing.
When Jeff Blake went into the lounge car, he drew his electro gun. The
car was full of frightened women and angry men. He was afraid they might
turn on him in the Silver Mask, and spoil his plans. Slater had followed
him to the door.
"Don't stick too long," the man cautioned him. "You'll be doing a
hundred miles an hour before you hit the head end of the valley. The
boss is going to jump when he leaves the cave."
The boss? Then O'Toole really had done a good job. Automatically Blake
looked toward Walter Ferrell, and noticed that he was of the same build
and size as O'Toole. Slater couldn't see the occupants of the car, but
he guessed who Blake was staring at.
"Take good care of Ferrell," Slater said in a dry whisper. "He's worth a
lot of money to us."
Blake grinned.
"_Don't worry_," he said. "_I'll take good care of him._"
* * * * *
Mono 6 started to glide smoothly back out of the cave. Somewhere out of
sight behind the flyer, a huge door opened in the side of the mountain
and screeched its way into the concealed slit above. The train gathered
speed swiftly, and the moon suddenly appeared from nowhere. Blake
waited, made sure there were no guards remaining on board. Then he ran
swiftly toward the group around Ferrell. He ripped the mask off as he
moved, and Dauna, her eyes glued to his face, gasped in happy surprise.
"Jeff," she ran toward him, "Oh! Jeff, I'm so glad."
He pressed his lips to hers quickly, turned away without a word and
faced Walter Ferrell. Ferrell's face was expressionless, frightened.
"_Jeff Blake_," he said. "How did you make it?"
"There isn't time to talk now," Blake answered quickly. "O'Toole and I
overcame Harror. We managed to get them to start Mono 6 out of the cave.
O'Toole is in the cab now. In a few minutes we'll be free. Before they
wake up to the trick we played on them we'll be five hundred miles
away."
Ferrell's face relaxed. Although Blake watched him closely, the man
showed no sign of alarm.
"Good work, boy." His hand gripped Blake's shoulder. "I don't know how
you did it, but there'll be a big reward for you when we reach South
Station."
Blake sat down opposite him. His eyes never left Ferrell's face. Yet,
Ferrell held himself remarkably in reserve.
"I did it more for Dauna than anyone else," Blake admitted slowly. "We
wouldn't have anything happen to her would we?"
Ferrell turned toward his daughter.
"I've been pretty hard on my girl," he said. "But if she hadn't got out
safely I'd have torn that place apart with my bare hands."
_He meant every word of it._ Blake's body tensed. The full shock of what
Ferrell's words meant was sinking slowly into his brain. Suddenly he
shot to his feet.
"I've been a fool," he said. "A damned, blind fool!"
"A fool?" There was no mistaking Walter Ferrell's bewilderment.
Blake was already at the car door.
"I'm going to take a long chance," he shouted back. "Ferrell, you crowd
the passengers into both halls at the ends of the car. Open the outer
doors. If the train goes into the lake, try to get as many out as you
can."
* * * * *
With the shouts of alarm still ringing in his ears, Blake went swiftly
through the long empty cars toward the cab. The train was backing
through the night now at a terrific speed, and the black forest flashed
past him as he went to his appointment with Holly O'Toole.
Blake reached the head car, tried the door and stepped back in alarm. It
was locked. He looked overhead and found the tiny emergency entrance to
the catwalk above. Back inside, he dragged several chairs out quickly,
climbed them and pushed upward. Luckily the door was open. Head and
shoulders above the train, he stopped. The wind pushed him back,
clutching at his breath. He climbed out on the catwalk slowly, crouching
to the smoothness of the plastic, and wriggled ahead.
The diesel room was below him now. Its top door opened easy. He
listened. All motors were purring smoothly. The hot smell of oil drifted
up. Ahead, the cab was silent.
He pushed his feet down cautiously and dropped. His feet hit the oily
floor and he fell flat. The door to the cab was open. He went toward it,
saw lights over the dash and ran to the main control stick. It was
lashed firmly in place with heavy chain.
The speed indicator was pointing to four hundred miles per hour. Swiftly
he released the chain, and felt the control lever break loose, falling
into neutral. Blake reached for the magnetic brake, and heard a footstep
on the floor behind. He whirled swiftly. O'Toole was standing at the
entrance of the diesel room, electro gun pointing at Blake's chest.
"You're a smart one," O'Toole said. He waved the gun meaningly. "I'm
glad you cut the power. We'll coast from here to the lake."
Blake was silent.
"Thought Walter Ferrell was the chief of this outfit, did you?" O'Toole
was enjoying himself. "Well, I didn't have any idea of jumping the
train. We'll coast within a mile of the cut, shoot the coupling free
between the cab and the coaches, and set our brakes. Walter Ferrell and
his little party are going to taste cold water for the last time."
Blake said nothing. He started to walk deliberately toward the hulking
Irishman. O'Toole snarled.
"Back," he warned. "I've got to kill you anyhow. It might as well be
now." Blake grinned.
"I can't understand why you ever included me in this set-up to begin
with," he said. "Things would have been easier if you hadn't sent for
me."
"Listen Blake, when I sent for you, I figured you'd fit in here. I
didn't know you'd fall for all this kid brother heroic stuff."
* * * * *
"You evidently knew something of my history," Blake said coolly. "Why
did you play that sympathetic game?"
O'Toole seemed anxious to be understood.
"I knew you had been pirating every space craft between here and Mars,"
he said. "I knew that you had a swell reputation and were clever as
hell. I knew that if you'd see things my way, I could get Walter Ferrell
in bankruptcy within a month, and cut you in as a partner."
"Why change your mind?" Blake asked. He sat down in the pilot's chair
and crossed his legs comfortably. "All we have to do is cut that
coupling loose, ride back to the cave and collect all the dough we need
by sitting tight."
O'Toole chuckled.
"Do you take me for a fool? I can handle things my own way, with Ferrell
out of the way. I don't need you." His face softened a bit, and the gun
dropped inches. "Besides, how do I know you won't turn yellow and give
the whole thing away?"
Blake saw his chance to hit at O'Toole's one weakness.
"Wade is out of the way," he said swiftly. "I can return to South
Station and assume control of the line with Ferrell out of the picture.
You'll get half of everything we make."
O'Toole was weakening. He glanced out of the cab, toward the wooded side
of the valley.
"You're just crooked enough to be on the level," he pocketed the electro
gun. "In ten minutes we'll reach Loon Lake. Better get to that
coupling."
Blake followed him back through the power car.
O'Toole turned once, and grinned wickedly.
"We'll have a devil of a time, you and I," he said. "Now, for a nice
swimming party to Ferrell and his gang."
He hunched down over the coupling that separated the power units from
the line of coaches. The simple coupling adjustment was under his
doubled fist. Blake's eyes narrowed as the coupling started to come
loose under the Irishman's grip. He lifted his heavy boot, and silently
brought it down on O'Toole's head.
The blow was executed coolly and without feeling. No quarter had been
asked, and there was no pity in Blake's eyes as Holly O'Toole fell
forward, face down. He lay still, arms outstretched over the slit
between the cars. Blake pushed him forward, and saw the body drop
quickly out of sight to the rail.
* * * * *
He turned toward the cab and with feverish haste jerked down all three
magnetic brake levers. Mono 6 shuddered through its entire length and
seemed to settle backward against the screaming, protesting track. The
flyer halted slowly, skidding sickeningly. Then outside, with the
shrieking brakes silenced, Jeff could hear the soft lapping of water.
He rushed to the open window and looked down. They were on a long wharf,
extending out over dark water. He looked back along the line of cars,
shining faintly in the moonlight. A sigh of relief escaped his lips.
Mono 6 was still on the rail. A scant three hundred feet beyond the last
car was open water.
A shout of alarm came from somewhere back in the corridor of the car.
Blake turned away from the window and went toward the coaches. At the
door to the power room he stopped. Dauna Ferrell, her face flushed with
relief came to him. He took her in his arms and held her close. He
kissed her roughly, trying to make up for the loneliness and heartbreak
he had caused.
Walter Ferrell was behind them.
"I hate to intrude," his face was bathed in a happy smile, "but wherever
Wade is, I'm sure he wouldn't approve of his brother making love to my
daughter, even if Jeff is somewhat of a hero right now."
Dauna released her hold on Blake's neck, and turned to her father.
Blake's arms went around her waist and drew her close to him. She leaned
her soft, curly head against his neck.
"Dad," she said, "brace yourself for an awful shock."
Ferrell laughed aloud.
"I know," he said. "You've given up Wade and are going to marry Jeff
Blake instead."
Dauna half turned, and nuzzled her chin in Blake's brown neck.
"No," she said. "I'm going to marry Wade anyhow."
Ferrell was bewildered.
"But I don't see...." he stuttered.
"It's going to be confusing," Dauna told him. "But, try to understand.
Jeff Blake, the _real_ Jeff I mean, was killed a month ago, while
holding up a space ship near Mars."
Ferrell acted for a moment as though he were going to faint. Then he got
control over himself. He stared at Blake with unbelieving eyes.
"_Then--you're--Wade...!_"
* * * * *
Blake nodded.
"I couldn't seem to get a line on this Silver Mask gang," he admitted
hesitantly. "When O'Toole wired Jeff to return I couldn't figure out
why. O'Toole and I have both known that Jeff was a tramp and a space
pirate. I knew one thing that O'Toole didn't. The space authorities
informed me a month ago that Jeff was dead. I was suspicious of O'Toole
from the first. I caught a local rocket and boarded the moon liner in
space. With some artificial tan, a space uniform and a lot of bluff I
managed to play the part. It fooled everyone but Dauna. She knew almost
from the first, but she kept my secret."
Walter Ferrell backed into the lounge car. He sat down abruptly.
"I know you've done something I never thought possible," he admitted.
"And to prove my gratitude I'll apologize for everything I've ever said
against Wade Blake. From now on you're half owner of the 'Hope to
Horn'."
Wade Blake grinned broadly.
"Thank you sir," he said. "But I can't accept your offer. If Dauna
marries me she's destined to get star dust in her eyes."
Dauna looked at him worshipingly.
"In fact she already has flakes of it there now," Wade added. "Space
officials have asked me to track down the gang who worked with my
brother Jeff. If Dauna will say the word, I'd like to spend our
honeymoon on Luna, and then get started on the new job."
Ferrell sighed deeply.
"I think Dauna has given her answer already," he said softly. "As for
me, I'll have to make a public statement, taking back every word about
Wade Blake and his love for flowers and the violin."
"That man Harror said we had a one way ticket to nowhere," Dauna said
dreamily. "I wonder if we'll ever get there?"
"If we do," Wade told her, "I'm sure with you there, it's going to be a
wonderful place."
* * * * *
[Footnote A: "Hope to Horn" was the nickname lovingly applied by its
loyal employees to the mono railroad developed and owned by Walter
Ferrell. These mono, or single-tracked trains were brought into service
in 2100. The Hope to Horn line itself consisted of a north- and
south-bound rail of heavy plastic extending from Hope, Alaska to Cape
Horn, South America.
They were powered by standard sixteen engine diesels, capable of five
hundred miles per hour. Built almost in the shape of long graceful fish,
the trains were of highly colored plastic. They ran on a single rail of
plastic-steel.
In a few short hours men and women tired of business could follow the
entire Pacific coast line from one end to the other, the entire trip
consuming twenty-two running hours between Hope and Cape Horn.
The plastic rail kept upkeep at a minimum and allowed the use of a
simplified signal system in place of earlier complicated switches and
signal signs. The track was divided into five-hundred-mile sections.
Every two hours a train left one of these sections, or "blocks." In
leaving, they allowed the plastic to turn green or "open," signaling the
next train to depart. As long as the pilot could see green track ahead
and red behind, he was safe to travel "on time."
Gyroscopic balancers, huge head and tail fins, and constantly maintained
speeds allowed a mono to travel safely on a single row of centered
wheels.--ED.]