Adventure, August 1917 — page 79: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

With His Record Clear smoldering anger of injustice, he had wan- dered morosely about town for a couple of hours, and finally had gone to the house, about five minutes’ walk north of the station, where he roomed and boarded with a private family, and then to bed. Shortly before twelve o’clock there was a heavy footstep upon the front porch just below Donnelly’s open window, and there followed a loud banging on the door. Donnelly awoke. He put his head out of the window. ‘“What is it?” he called. “The coons are burning their camp cars and raising Cain generally,” informed the man below, a belated citizen. “I was just on my way home and happened to notice the fire. You better go see about it.” Joe looked toward the tracks. the glow in the sky. “T guess I better,” heagreed. ‘Thanks.’ He ducked his head inside and jumped for his clothes. He heard the belated citizen depart down the walk, and as he dropped his pistol into his coat pocket he heard a clock downstairs strike twelve. Six minutes later Joe Donnelly reached what was left of the burning camp car. The flames were licking about the adjacent camp cars on either end, but to his surprise he could not see a soul around them. Then wild shouts came floating to him up from the tracks, and looking that way he beheld the bobbing lights. He heard a groan, and there, to his further amazement, he saw Tom Fagan stretched upon the ground. ‘‘Tom,”’ exclaimed Joe, bending over the foreman. ‘‘What’s happened?” Tom Fagan looked up, a sudden hope showing in his pain-racked eyes. ‘Twas that coward JJ did it,” he said. “My leg’s broke. But never mind me. Joe, bhoy, them two drunken blackguards, JJ and Big Jim, was boastin’ which was the most bad, and to prove he was, Big Jim boasted he’d set the trestle on fire. Go stop ’em if you can, for the love of God!” ‘‘The trestle,”’ cried Joe. He looked up the track again to where the lights were flickering in the darkness. A flashing, horrible thought came to him and he examined his watch. “Tom,” he breathed, hoarsely. ‘No. 3 is due in eight minutes!”’ ““Yes,”’ said Tom, writhing with pain and the horror of it. “Go bhoy—go! That old trestle’ll burn like matchwood. You’re He saw 77 only the one against many, but if you can hold them off till 3 goes, your full duty will be done.” Young Joe Donnelly leaped erect. “T’ll do it,” he cried. “So help me— they’ll not burn it for 3 to run into!” His eyes .'ell upon the pick handle where JJ had dropped it. He snatched it up, and with flying feet sped after the waving lights. He caught up with the gang just before they reached their destination. He sprang past them, and, whirling about ten feet from the edge of the trestle, faced them, his pick handle in his left hand, his drawn pistol in his right. The light of their flaming brands flickered upon his set, grim face. “Stand back,’ he shouted into their amazed faces. “The first man that comes one step nearer gets this.” He waved his gun, threateningly. They halted, unconsciously milling into two parts—the Maryland crowd and JJ on Donnelly’s left, the Kentucky gang and Big Jim on his right. For a moment fear seemed to seep into their fevered brains. And then Big Jim saw a taunting smile upon JJ’s face. He knew what JJ meant by that smile—JJ was waiting for Big Jim to carry out his boast, it was up to Big Jim to deliver or his power would be forever gone; and JJ thought his rival would not dare. Big Jim lurched forward. “Git away, white man,” shouted Big Jim. ‘‘She’s goin’ to burn!” And to cover his advance he threw his flaming torch straight at Joe Donnelly’s head. Joe ducked, firing two wild, uncertain shots as he did so. And then Big Jim and his followers were upon him. The pistol was knocked flying from his fingers. He grasped his pick handle with both hands and laid about him. Negro skulls and skins are hard and thick _ but a good pick handle is harder and thicker, and Joe Donnelly was no small man. There were howls of anguish as the big stick played upon them, and for a moment Joe held them, then drove them back a step. JJ and his neutral gang shrieked with glee as their rivals recoiled, and they yelled scathing taunts at them. And Big Jim screamed horrible curses at his pack, the while he nursed a handful of broken, shat- tered fingers. His abuse and their own hurts and shame combined to arouse every Oo COmiclboo S © 5}