JACK MERRILL'S "SPECIAL."
The landscape swam by, the telegraph poles flashed past, as the flying
locomotive gained headway. The ponderous compound jolted and swung
along over the rough tracks like a ship in a stormy sea. But the
thrill of adventure, the buoyant sense of facing a big enterprise,
rendered the lads oblivious to everything but the track ahead.
From time to time, Buck Bradley stopped his shoveling, and, holding by
a hand-rail, leaned far out from the footplate, scanning the metals
that stretched out in two parallel lines ahead.
"Be like them varmints to hev blown up a bridge, or spiked a track," he
muttered.
All eyes were now on the alert for the first sight of the red-brick
station--the only one on the line--which Bill Whiting had told them
marked the Esmeralda switch. As yet it had not come into view, but
they judged it must be around a curve which lay ahead, the far side of
which was hidden from them by a clump of woods. Suddenly, from this
clump emerged a figure, waving a red flag. He stopped in the middle of
the track, waving his flag frantically.
"Shut down!" yelled Buck. "There's danger ahead!"
"Looks more like a trick, to me," growled the wary Coyote Pete.
"Can't afford to take chances," rejoined Buck. "How do we know what's
the tother side of that curve?"
"That's so," agreed Pete; "them critters might hev planted a ton of
dynamite there, fer all we know."
The brakes ground down, and the panting locomotive came to a stop
within a few feet of the man with the red flag. It could now be seen
that he was a small, dark Mexican, wearing a high-crowned hat.
"Why, I know that fellow, he----" began Ralph. But his recognition of
the fellow, whom he had seen in Madero's camp, came too late.
From the woods ahead of them, a perfect hailstorm of bullets began to
spit about the engine. Fortunately, none of the occupants of her cab
were struck, although the windows were splintered and the woodwork
honeycombed.
"Go ahead!" roared Buck.
"What if they've torn up the track?" gasped Ralph.
"Not likely. If they had, they wouldn't be bothering to shoot at us.
Let her out. Ouch!"
A bullet whizzed past the burly showman's ear, and just nicked the tip
of it.
With a roar of rage, like the bellowings of an angry bull, he leaned
his huge form out of the window and began pumping lead from his
revolver into the woods. It is doubtful if his fire had any effect,
but at that minute Ralph started the engine up again. A yell came from
the Mexicans within the wood, as he did so. A hundred or more poured
out, firing as they came.
"Duck, everybody!" yelled Coyote Pete, as the storm broke.
A tempest of lead rattled about the engine, but, thanks to the
protection of the steel cab, not one of the crouching occupants was
hurt. Almost before they realized it, they had swung around the curve,
and were safe. As Buck Bradley had surmised, no attempt had been made
to wreck the track beyond, the insurrectos having counted, seemingly,
on stopping the dash for the Esmeralda by their ambush in the wood.
[Illustration: A tempest of lead rattled about the engine. Almost
before they realised it, they had swung around the curve.]
"Consarn their yellow hides," grunted Pete, "that shows they kep'
closer tabs on us then we knew. I reckon they was scared to follow us
to Rosario, thinking, like we did, that the regulars was there. Waal,
that was a neat little surprise party, but it didn't work."
Round the curve they tore, at a hair-raising gait, but the engine stuck
to the metals. Ten minutes later a cheer went up, as the red-brick
station, which they knew must mark the Esmeralda switch, came in sight.
"I got the switch key from Whiting," cried Buck, as they reached the
switch, "I'll throw it."
He swung himself down from the cab, and ran rapidly ahead, down the
track, to the switch lever. As he bent over it, from a clump of bushes
near by, there leaped a score or more of men.
"Buck! Buck!" yelled Coyote Pete.
The big fellow looked up just in time. The foremost of his attackers
was upon him as he threw the switch over. Buck picked him up, and
fairly pitched the little Mexican over his head. The man fell in a
heap at one side of the track.
"Come ahead!" bawled Buck, while the others hesitated and held back.
Ralph started the engine up, and it rolled toward the switch points.
This seemed to wake the hesitating Mexicans to life. With a yell, they
made a concerted rush for Buck, but, as they did so, Ralph pulled the
whistlecord, and the locomotive emitted an ear-splitting screech. The
Mexicans hastily jumped aside, to avoid being run down, while Buck made
a leap to exactly the opposite side of the track. As the engine puffed
by, he swung on. As he did so, however, one of the yellow men made a
spring for the switch. It was his evident intention to throw it, while
the engine was passing over it, and ditch them.
But, before he could carry out his intention, Jack, who had seen what
was about to happen, had snatched up a hunk of coal. With all his
force, he aimed it at the fellow, and struck him fair and square on the
head. The would-be train-wrecker toppled backward with a groan, just
escaping the wheels of the engine. Before he gathered himself up and
realized what had hit him, the engine was roaring and puffing its way
up the grade to the Esmeralda.
"That shows us what we may expect at the mine," commented Jack. "I
hope they are still all right."
"Don't worry about that, boy," comforted Buck, noting his troubled
face. "The fact that Madero had his men along the line shows that he
anticipated our game--like the shrewd ruffian he is. It stands to
reason he couldn't have his precious squadron, or column, or whatever
he calls it, in two places at once, so I guess we'll be in time yet."
"I hope so, I'm sure," breathed Jack. "If we failed now, it would be
the bitterest moment of my life."
But, as they came in sight of the tall stockade and the smokeless
chimneys of the Esmeralda, they saw that their apprehensions were
groundless. No sign of life appeared about the mine buildings. But
presently, in answer to a long blast on the whistle, a strange figure
came toddling out of the gate. It was that of Geisler. As he saw the
engine, with its load of friendly faces, he broke into a cheer, and ran
toward the track side.
"Hoch! Hoch! Hoch!" he yelled, waving his china-bowled pipe about his
head. "Diss iss der bestest thing I've seen since I had idt der
Cherman measles, alretty yet."
As the brakes ground down, and with a mighty exhalation of steam and a
sigh from the air-brakes, the locomotive came to a stop, Jack leaped
from the cab and ran toward the German. To his astonishment, Geisler
almost recoiled as he drew near, and uttered a shout.
"Donner blitzen! I voss righdt den, idt vos a trap dot dose rascals
laid."
"What do you mean, Mr. Geisler? Where is my father?" gasped Jack, all
in one breath.
"Himmel!" sputtered the German. "Oh, diss is an onloocky day, py
chiminy. A young feller rode it to der mine, early to-day, undt told
your fader dot you vos wounded, and----"
"My father went with this fellow?" demanded the boy, his eyes blazing
with eagerness and anxiety.
"Ches. He thought dot idt vos all righdt, und----"
"It's a trick of Madero's to rush the mine!" exclaimed Buck, who, with
the others, came up as the German was ejaculating the last words.
"Dot is vot I dink idt. Listen."
Forthwith the German launched into a detailed report of what had
occurred, not omitting a full description of Harding, which was
instantly recognized by the boys.
"Harding, the scoundrel!" exclaimed Jack.
"I'd like to get my hands on him for just five minutes," breathed Walt
viciously.
Buck and the others, who were, of course, familiar with what had
occurred to the boys with Madero's column, were also incensed.
"Such men should be hanged!" exclaimed the professor, with what was for
him, a remarkable display of emotion.
"Budt come," urged the German, as he concluded his narrative, "vee hadt
better be getting inside der stockade."
He pointed down toward the miners' village, where men could be seen
hastening about, as if preparing to take action of some sort. What
that action was, they guessed too well. Acting in concert with Madero,
they meant to storm the mine, and break open the specie room.
Ralph ran the locomotive upon a switch and locked the throwing lever.
Then he followed the others through the gate of the stockade. As it
closed behind them, Geisler let fall a stout wooden bar into sockets
prepared for it.
"I guess dot holdt dem for a viles," he said, as the bar clattered into
position.
But Jack's thoughts were distracted, and his manner absorbed. His mind
was fixed upon Harding's rascality, and the probable dilemma in which
his father now was. Buck Bradley noticed the boy's despondent air, and
sought to cheer him up.
"Brace up, Jack," he roared in his hearty way, "your pop is all right.
According to my way of thinking, those greasers just lured him away
from here, so that they could have easy access to the specie room.
They knew that if he was on the ground, he'd blow up the whole
shooting-match before he'd let them get at the gold."
"Then you don't think they have harmed him, Mr. Bradley?"
"Not they, my lad," was the reassuring rejoinder, "they wouldn't dare
to injure a prominent American like your dad. Why, our troops are all
massed at San Antone--for manoeuvers, the department says--but as
surely as my name is Buck Bradley, the troops are there to see that the
greasers don't get too fresh. You see, Jack, Uncle Sam don't want to
mix in other folks' troubles. He believes in playing in his own back
yard, but when any one treads on your Uncle's toes, or injures one of
his citizens--then, look out for high voltage shocks."
"You have relieved my mind a whole lot, Mr. Bradley," said Jack
gratefully. "I guess it's as you say. Madero and his crowd wouldn't
want to run the risk of an American invasion."
"You can bet a stack of yaller chips on that, boy. But now, let's
follow this Dutchman around and see what the lay of the ground is. If
we've got to put up a scrap--and I guess we have--it's a long move in
the right direction to have your surroundings sized up accurate. By
the way, is this fellow Geisler all right?"
"My father thinks he is the most faithful and capable mining super in
the country," answered Jack warmly. "I guess he is, too. I only met
him once before on a former visit to the mine, but he sort of inspires
me with confidence."
"Same here, Jack. I tell you the Dutch kin raise some Cain when they
get going, and that fellow looks to me like one of the right brand."
Thus talking, they came up with the others. Geisler was explaining
volubly his plan of defense. Buck Bradley interrupted him.
"What's the matter with boring some holes all around the stockade?" he
asked. "We can fire from behind them if it's necessary, without
exposing ourselves."
"Buck, that's a great idea," declared Pete, whose eyes were shining at
the thought of what he termed "some action." "Got a brace and bit,
Geisler?"
"Sure. Ve-e haf a whole barrel of braces and bitters," was the
response, as the corpulent Teuton hastened off to get the tools.
At the part of the stockade at which they now were standing a ladder,
used in some repairing job, still leaned against the high, wooden
fence. Coyote Pete, struck by a sudden idea, clambered up it, and
gazed over the top of the defensive barricade. As his head topped the
summit, he gave a shout and rapidly ducked. At the same instant a
sound, like the hum of an angry bee, buzzed above their heads.
"A bullet!" gasped Buck Bradley.
"That's wot, pod'ner," rejoined Pete, "and it's the first of a whole
flock of such like. The country off to the southwest is jest alive
with insurrectos!"