Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 164: what you’re looking at

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

350 THE ARGOSY. For a moment Grim thought of a possible escape, but this fellow, Dillon, had a way of taking things as a matter of course; evidently he expected his second to prove equal to the task assigned, and there was scant time for reflection. “ Get your protector on,” Dillon was say- ing. “ Here comes our mail.” A glance back showed a dozen men throwing mail-sacks into the car. “ They’re going through with us,” Dillon explained. ‘ Fine helpers, and department men.”’ “ Reckon they’ve been through before?”’ Grim questioned. “Two of them. We’re about ready now,”’ Dillon said, glancing through his window into the car. “ Just sit quiet for a hundred miles and watch the gages.” The last mail-sack thumped upon the floor. The: men took their seats and the steel door slid shut with a bang. A sharp gong tanged, and the letters stood out clear on the order dial: “ All clear. Go!” Dillon pushed a button and the letters dropped into the record-box. A pull on a lever, and the big magnets swung around, caught the invisible flow, and the car be- gan to move ahead. ‘Burrow, you old shell-backed badger!”’ Dillon growled. “It’s your job! Dig!” Grim gestured his astonishment. There was no jerking motion, scarcely any vibra- tion, just a sliding movement as of a great piston drawn through an endless cylinder. Dillon drew his protector over his head and shook himself into the folds of the gar- ment; locked one lever in its clutch and, with a hand on the other, watched the gages as their speed increased. The solar lights began to flash by with second intervals be- tween, imperceptibly they grew into a flash- ing chain, every link a leaping light; then to a shining white bar, and the car ‘was shooting through a blazing tube that rushed toward them, closed over them, yet kept just beyond their touch. Grim’s first trip promised surprises as to speed. The hand on the speed-dial jerked crazily, swung around to one hundred and twenty to thirty—fifty—seventy—ninety— two hundred and twenty. The steady hum became a whine as the air friction raked her steel skin, and Dillon smiled his ap- proval. Grim could only sit, gape, and wonder. Inside the car they felt no air motion, no consciousness of such terific speed. The mail clerks sat leaning forward, muscles tense, staring with eyes that glanced neither to the right nor left, but rested, fastened on that column of biazing light into which they rushed with the speed of a thunderbolt unloosed. “ Ridin’ to hell on a streak of lightnin’!” Grim muttered, “ Next station ’ll be Brim- stone!” For a time he watched, unable to take — his eyes from the never-changing blaze in front, and Dillon’s touch on his shoulder scarcely aroused him. ‘Don’t get the stare,” Dillon cautioned. “ Look about you, at the gages, back in the car, anything, until you can control your eyes.” The former gong rang, and a slight hiss- ing sound followed. “Catch that message,” Dillon ordered, “and let the record take it.” Grim read the message: “The Blue Dome Company’s racer, Scud, and the White Cloud Liner, Falcon, left on our time. East wind blowing hard in the lower lanes.” Dillon muttered something under his breath. “It’s luck for them,” he said with a frown. “ That wind’s a big push, but they'll catch a westerly this side the Rockies.” ‘“ Where are we now?” ““ Under the Alleghenies.”’ Dillon laughed. “We keep this level to Station 5.” “‘Whar’s Station 5?” ‘“‘Indiana’s basement. ‘That’s about all we know about the small stops: Take air there and chord magnets for Kansas City.” ‘“ When you goin’ to let me have them levers?” Grim coaxed. “I’m no good doin’ nothin’.” “Try her now,” Dillon agreed. “ She handles like a top on a parlor table. Get the feel of her first. Careful of your check now. Let her have her nose a little, steady her on the dips, and you have her. Brakes? ° Yes, but the check controls her mostly. comicbooks.co