Adventure, August 1917 — page 80: what you’re looking at

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

78 hidden savage instinct within them. And now the lights danced on glistening steel in their hands. ‘‘Come on,” screamed Big Jim, and once more they surged to the attack. Joe Donnelly, listening with straining ears for No. 3’s whistle, knew this was the end. Well, he’d get one or two, anyway. He clutched his pick handle and brought it down with all his strength upon the fore- most woolly skull. The fellow dropped like a log between the tracks. Then they were all upon him again. Tongues of steel licked at him, hands clutched and tore at his garments, hands grabbed at his flying flail. A sharp edge scraped across the back of his hand, he felt’ a stabbing pain in his left shoulder, blood trickled down his forehead and he shook his head savagely to keep it out of his eyes. “By sheer weight of numbers they pushed him back a step, and their wild yells re- doubled as they pressed in. He gave way another foot. “God!” he thought. “Will 3 never come?” He put his last ounce of strength into his aching, straining arms. Big Jim’s evilly distorted face danced in front of him. He swung his pick handle squarely into the demoniacal features. Mf A LONG, loud whistle split through on the uproar. Menacing hands vi dropped. The pack listened with startled ears. Again that long whistle blasted through the night, terrific, like the roar of an aveng- ing god. And with it sudden fear and rea- son appeared to return to their primitive brains. With cries of panic and fright the horde dropped their torches, and gathering up their hurt and helpless fellows they fled into the darkness. Joe Donnelly staggered to the edge of the right-of-way. No. 3’s headlight swept around the curve just beyond the trestle, and at sight of those flaming brands upon the tracks her whistle screeched again, and sparks flew from the wheels as the air-brakes gripped. Sliding, protesting at the strain, No. 3 came slipping over the trestle. ‘The engine slid past Joe Donnelly, the express and baggage cars, the smoker, the day-coaches and sleepers. The rear end of the last coach, a private car, stopped right beside him. All along the train, doors banged, lan- Adventure terns appeared, feet came hastening back. The drawn shades of the private coach went up, the door leading to the observation plat- form was opened, and there, before Joe Donnelly’s eyes, appeared Superintendent Barnes, General Manager Treeman and President Banninger. They stared down at the tattered, bruised figure standing beside the track, the lights of the coach shining full upon his face, a battered, crimson-stained pick handle clutched in his bleeding fingers. “Donnelly,” exclaimed Barnes, for there was enough resemblance left to recognize the agent at Maple Creek. ‘‘What’s this? What’s the matter?” Joe Donnelly drew a long, deep breath and moistened his dry lips. ‘“‘The extra-gang negroes decided they’d burn the trestle,” he said. ‘I was afraid No. 3 would fall through it, so I tried to stop ’em.” Some sudden feeling of elation filled him. He’d fought a good fight—he grinned. “IT guess I did,” he finished. They heard him with amazement, speech- less for an instant. President Banninger’s eyes fell upon the still blazing torches, then went back to Donnelly. “Man,” said Banninger, “you’re hurt. Come in here.” Andwith his own handshe opened the shin- ing brass gateand helped the reluctant Don- nelly into the luxurious, deep-cushioned car. ‘I’m all right,” protested Joe as he sank into a chair beside a little table in the center of the compartment. “Nothing but a few scratches here and there.” He examined the back of his hand, felt tenderly of his stinging shoulder and care- fully touched his bruised forehead. The conductor, worried about his schedule and the time they were losing, stuck his head in the doorway. “I’ve stamped out all the burning sticks on the tracks,” he said. ‘“There are several camp cars burning on the spur just ahead of us, but they look to be past all chance of saving. Everything else seems to be O. K.”’ He looked inquiringly at his superiors. “We better be moving?” But Banninger had decided there was something interesting to be learned there first. “No, not yet,” he commanded. “Let your flagman stay out. We'll let you know when we are ready to go.” CoOmiclsoo C© S|