Argosy, Vol. 112, No. 2 — page 36: what you’re looking at

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

202 Jim Herring through the confusion. He was helped to the high Tatar saddle. The wounded Czech was delivered over to a more experienced rider. Jim balanced him- self in the outlandish seat as best he could, and the pony started, nearly spilling him. Then they fled the scene, carrying away such small plunder as the wreck, before the flames got under way, had afforded. In a long, motley file they strung out and headed southward. It became a wild, weird dream to Jim Herring. He was one of the world-notorious Bolsheviki, riding with them into the in- terior. He cast a last look at the crumpling train and wondered if he would ever again see a railroad. IV, AT nine-thirty the following morning, in far-away Vladivostok, a big-boned Ameri- can, in a Red Triangle uniform of rank, sat at his desk in a big stone mansion overlook- ing the city. A messenger entered—a young Yankee in civilian clothes. He delivered an envelope with a message that had come through from the American railway engi- neers at Harbin, and had been first to the American consulate. The big-bodied Red Triangle official read the yellow slip, lowered it, leaned back sad- ly in his chair, and gazed out of the tall, wide window before him. Then he arose tragically and strede into the adjoining room. . Another American was in there, an old- young man in civilian clothes who, a year before, had been a college professor in Wis- consin. The latter took the slip proffered without comment. Then he uttered an ex- clamation of dismay: ‘And we needed those cars so badly,” he lamented. “To the devil with the cars!” cried the big Yankee in khaki. ‘‘ We can get new cars, if we have to make them. But we can’t make new men. I was thinking of Herring.” | ‘ There’s the chance that he may not have been killed.” “But if they have broken through the Czech line and seized our train, I wouldn’t THE ARGOSY. give much for Herring’s chances. I’d rather be killed in the capture of a train than fall into our clutches.” The eld-young man in civilian clothes laid down his pen. On his face, too, came the sadness. “It’s too bad,” he agreed finally. “ You know Herring came up here and took this job because he was in love with one of the Red Cross girls. They separated when he went in country. She’s just come back from Kharborosk. The first place she hit for was here. She wanted word of him. Her de- light when I told her that Herring was due Saturday with the empties was pathetic. And now—” “The Bolsheviki have undoubtedly got him. And you know what they did to Harper.” The old-young man nodded silently. He tore a piece of paper into tiny bits absently. The messenger from the consulate had overheard from the doorway: ‘A consignment of Czechs have been ordered westward this afternoon,” he de- clared. “ Gaida can’t stand it to have the Reds in contrel of a foot of railread be- tween. here and Omsk. If the line is cut, the Czechs in there will starve.”’ ‘Or worse,”’ commented the college pro- fessor. ‘‘ We'll hope for the best, anyhow, God pity this unhappy country!” Ls THE clammy, cutting zero-hour of dawn found Jim Herring and the line of out- landish horsemen drawing near to a ragged Siberian village. There was one main street running north and south, beginning and ending on the open steppes. The American had heard the middle of the Pacific given as the loneliest spot on God’s footstool. He knew as they entered the place that the people who sup- ported that theory had never been in a center-Siberian village off the line of the railroad. On the east and west sides of the one wide street, which was furrowed like a long strip of frozen, plowed land,a motley assort- ment of log huts and mud houses had been constructed. They were one-room shanties with small windows, those made of logs Comicbooks.com —