Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 170: what you’re looking at

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

B36 “They did. Fooled us on that relay, but we can make time from here to Station 28—that’s Carson. It’s a good run. After that it’s different, so we must shoot her along now.” “ Didn’t they strike any caves or nuthin’ a diggin’ this hole through?” Grim asked, his manner thoughtful. “Dozens of them. Some day this will be advertised as the ‘ Underground Scenic Route,’ and picnickers, hiking parties, min- eral-hunters, wedding-trampers, and the whole grist of sightseers will do their stunts by solar light five thousand feet below the peaks. It will be something to see, Dun- geon.”’ “Hope we take ’em through,” Grim said. “Td like to hear the ‘ Oh’s!’” “And the squeals,” Dillon added. On they flashed, the air whine and the roar the only sounds. Back in the mail-car the men were staring ahead, straight and stiff, without speech or action. Dillon watched them, muttering to him- self. Grim slouched into his seat and tried to imagine how the world looked studded with mountains. He had never seen real moun- tains, and now he was shooting through them. It seemed so much like a dream—a dream in which those mail-men were dead folks that roared and whistled in derision, while one big fat fellow held the levers and guided them into a fiery lane that led somewhere, some place, and yet seemed to have no end. With his eyes closed other pictures flashed before him, pictures of the old vagrant life in the South, of cotton-planta- tions, of tobacco-fields, of chilly nights under the stars, of nights when he huddled in disused tobacco-sheds, of mornings when his stomach cramped with hunger, of months aboard the coast trade tramp schooners, of revels on shore, of dirty police- courts where sarcastic judges with accumu- lative bumps pocketed his fine and sent him to jail for thirty days. Then the power-house in Baltimore, and Clark. It seemed months since he was there. Yes, months. Time seemed to have blurred, and become mixed with the monot- onous roar and hum. THE ARGOSY. “Wake up, Dungeon!” Dillon called. ““You’ve been asleep an hour. That in- former’s chattering.” With a leap Grim staggered to the box and listened. “It’s from Tahoe!” he said, astonished. Fliers relayed at Truckee. Mad Eagle, with Tempest trailing, leaving here now, Drivers unknown. Northerly light winds. ‘Say, Dillon, was I sleepin’?”’ “Like a bear! We’ve come a long way while you was snoring. Passed Station 28, passed Truckee, and are now deep under the mountains.” ‘Then we’re ahead of the fliers?” ‘“‘ Think we are just now, but theyll have a clear, straight sweep when they reach the summit.” “Say! Let me have them levers un you take a snooze.” Dillon shook his head. ‘ You can take the levers, but there’ll be no sleeping from now on. ‘The excitement’s just begun. We'll hear from every village on the line now. There’s another thing, Dungeon. We get bad air on this lap, not power enough on the fans or something; get compression from the Tahoe Dams, and it’s not reliable.” “Bad air? What’s the thing to do, then?” 3 “‘ Drive her through and use the reserve- tanks. Maybe we won’t have to. There’s another message!” “From Summit,” Grim reported. ‘‘ Go it, you old red-skinned badger! Theggre overhead, and driving like fiends. Lock her down another notch!” Dillon grinned as Grim read the message. “Tt’s Mike,” he said. ‘‘ He’s whooping for us.” ‘““They’re hangin’ to our wheel,” Grim said. ‘‘ Mebbe that other notch.” “Not yet,’ Dillon replied. “If I was sure about the air now.” Grim went over and tested the valves. ‘“ Dillon!” he yelled. ‘“ The pressure’s gone from the tanks!” ‘““What’s that? Pressure gone?” “Not a pound! And valves tight.” With a leap Dillon reached the tank and shook the gage. bled and held its place. The hand scarcely trem-° Eom Eboo S com