Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 171: what you’re looking at

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

THE RACE OF THE GIANTS. “ Shows full pressure,” Grim commented. “ Tricked!”’ Dillon howled. ‘“ A plugged gage! Some devil from the air company did that in Salt Lake City, and we’re here with empty tanks. If—if we get through some one— Oh, blazes!” “What Il we do?” “Drive her through or die! Half an hour will tell,” Dillon gritted, dropping the lever to the stop. ‘ The dirty curs!” he snarled. They flashed down the long slide to the danger level, the air tainting stronger every minute. “ We've got to make it!” Dillon fumed. “ Next air comes from Rocklyn—foot of the mountains. Compression from the American River Dams at Folsom. We’ve got.to stand it!” ‘““How much deeper?” Grim asked. “A thousand feet!” Dillon coughed, glancing at the depth-gage. “If—if I should go down, Dungeon, for God’s sake shoot her through!” He stopped speaking and hung coughing over the levers. Grim watched, his breath coming in shortened puffs. “ Tt’s mur-murder!”’ Dillon gasped. “Shut up!” Grim flared, pushing him from the levers. ‘ Talkin’ wastes breath!” Dillon slouched into his seat, gasping like a fish, his form trembling. Grim seized the levers and watched him, while the steel car, unloosed, shot’ ahead into the poisoned tube, shrieking like a demon on its way to a pit infernal. Grim, though he did not know it, was now proving the benefit of a life spent in the open, of sleeping under the stars, and the test showed a lung resistance superior to the man nursed in the work-shops. Dillon was about all in. ‘“ Reck-reckon a few—minutes—more— ll see us through.”” Grim choked, striving to steady -himself on the levers. She’s— liftin’ on the—climb. Wake up, Dillon!” Dillon could only roll his eyes and gasp. ‘“ Smells—better—now,” Grim persisted. ** She’s comin’ fresh.” With an effort, Dillon staggered to his feet, leaned against the wall with legs braced, and breathed the clean air that was percolating through the vents in front. 11 Arcosy 337 Gradually the stinging in his throat ceased, his breathing became more regular, and his eyes stopped smarting, but he re- mained weak and trembling. “Better now?” Grim asked. ‘“ Reckon I'll catch that message,’’ as the informer be- gan to click. “It’s Auburn talkin’,” Grim reported. Fliers in sight six miles east. Driving ‘to beat blazes. Hurry up! Valley Station’s anxious ! ‘“Tha-that’s Ryan,” Dillon said, his voice a stronger whisper. ‘“‘ Bully old Ryan!” “Reckon I'll answer him,” Grim said, touching the sending-lever and speaking into the tube. ‘“ He said they were anxious. Reckon I’d better not talk about air?” Dillon shook his head. ‘“ Not yet,” he said. “Think you c’n handle these levers now?” Grim asked. ‘“ Them fellers back there ”—jerking his thumb toward the mail clerks—‘“‘ might need help.” ‘“They’re all right,” Dillon rasped, stag- gering to the levers. ‘“‘ They didn’t get much of it. The compartment’s tight, and the vents are closed.” ‘ Reckon the speed startled ’em.”’ Dillon’s lip curved in a wry smile. ‘ We did go a bit, but I couldn’t have stood it much longer. You’re a wonder, Dungeon.” Another message came clicking in. ‘“ Sac- ramento,” Grim said. Been trying to locate you. Fliers report- ed at Placerville. Heave up your anchor and come along! “That’s Brison. Used to be captain of a wind-jammer.” Dillon grinned. ‘“ He thinks we’re stuck somewhere.” They shot down the Sacramento valley and under the city, the informer clicking out its pleas, its demands, its cheers. Evi- dently all the private offices on the line were shouting at once. From behind them Sacra- mento caustically advised Dillon to “ Lock her down another notch, and sleep when you get to Frisco. Them fliers are chasing you like hawks after a rabbit!” ‘““Come on!” Benicia pleaded. ‘‘ Come on, No. 66. The world is waiting.” | “Cross lots and climb the fences!”’ Oak- Jand cut in. “Fliers brushing the tree- comic