by L. T. Meade
CHAPTER XXIII
DICK MAKES A FLYING LEAP
Too late the boy's firm fingers closed upon the nose of the black horse,and fearing a repetition of the alarm Dick pinched for dear life,meanwhile peering apprehensively through the surrounding mass of greenfoliage. To his mystification the road was clear of any living soul.
Turning anxiously to question the Indian, he caught him in the midst ofchoking back an amused chuckle. Not understanding the situation, andbelieving the guide was suffering from a stroke of apoplexy, Dick beganto pound him vigorously on the back.
"Bastante, bastante![#] I am not choking," exclaimed Tomas as soon ashe was able to stop his fit of laughter. "Pardon me, my friend; Iexpected your horse to send out his challenge, but I knew those in theroad would never hear it. They were too noisy themselves. Inconsequence, I could not refrain from a little enjoyment at yourexpense."
[#] Bastante--Spanish for "enough."
"You mean to say they did not hear at all this blackfog-horn-fourteen-inch-double-barreled-siren-and-brass-band all rolledinto one? Why! It was enough to awaken the dead. Boy! but it suremade me sweat," and Dick wiped the beads of perspiration from hisforehead.
"They heard nothing, Senor, and at the rate they were going they arewell on their way by now."
"Then, Tomas, let us make haste to get that paper," and without furtherwords they turned their horses' heads in the direction of the cone-likehill. On arriving at the point where those before them had left theirhorses Dick, dismounting and leaving Tomas in charge, climbed theremaining distance alone.
At the top of the hill he saw the dying remnants of the scattered fire,and then with a glad cry he sprang forward to pick up a crumpled ball ofpaper lying dangerously close to a glowing ember.
Seating himself he smoothed out the sheets. Upon one was a rude sketchin ink; the other was filled with writing in Spanish. Feverishly hetranslated it aloud.
"Senor: Everything is prepared, and when I see your smoke signals I willknow the exact hour to spring my surprise. The rock is in position toroll on the track at the curve marked X, where the arrow points.Crushed beneath it, as if accidentally by his own carelessness, will bethe body of a Federalista, a close friend of the President. In hispockets will be found the papers proving conclusively that the Federalsplanned to wreck the American train. Even the money paid for the workwill be in the dead man's pocket, untouched. If the train arrives atthe spot in the night, our scheme cannot fail. If by day, and it shouldbe discovered in time to prevent a bad accident, the proof will be thereanyway, and the northern meddlers must then believe Diaz and hisadherents are implicated. Viva el Republic! Viva Mena!
"CANDIDO.
"P.S. My men have driven away those peons who fill the tender with fuelat the wood pile south of Mateare, and that will cause more delay."
Having finished the letter, Dick studied the map, but it was soinaccurate and he was so little acquainted with the country that hegleaned no real information from it. He believed that the curvesdepicted represented the tortuous stretch of rail a few kilometers northof Managua. There the road turned and twisted through a group of hills,and in many places the sides of the cuts were lined with rocks of greatsize and weight. Often these had been loosed in the past, either bynatural causes or otherwise, and, falling into the right of way, causedmany serious accidents. Perhaps Tomas would be able to recognize thespot, and Dick ran down the hill to question the waiting soldier.
"Here, Tomas, read this aloud to me," he demanded, thrusting the letterinto the guide's hands. The reading proved that Dick's opportunities forlearning the Spanish tongue had been used to good advantage.
* * * * * * * * *
Map Showing Position of Rock and Track]
NOTE:--1. This map is very inaccurate, but nevertheless is clear enoughto designate the position of the rock and track.
2. The meaning of the Spanish words is as follows: Lago deManagua=*Lake of Managua*. Ferrocarril=*railroad*. Aqui--_here_.Montes=*mountains*. Camino=*road*.
* * * * * * * * *
"I know the exact place, Senor," said Tomas, and his features reflectedDick's own excitement. "It is one hour's hard riding from here, andSenor, look! There is the train pulling away from the filling stationnow. You may know it to be so because of the trail of black smoke. Wecan never reach the spot before the train. We are too late, and soon itwill be dark and we cannot then ride as fast."
"We must make the trial," said Dick, mounting his restive steed. "Come,lead the way. Do not spare the horses now," and with the Indian inadvance they were soon clattering down the hill at breakneck speed. Onreaching the road the Indian, bending low in the saddle, for the firsttime touched his horse with the spur, and the splendid animal respondedto the unaccustomed punishment as if shot from a catapult.
Side by side the two sped along the roadway towards their distant goal.Again the rails and track ran parallel and Tomas, taking advantage ofhis knowledge of short cuts, turned from the highway and led the chasealong the narrow trail beside the tracks, never once stopping thefearful speed of his mount.
Suddenly from behind them came the long wailing whistle of a locomotive.Glancing over his shoulder Dick saw a few hundred yards behind a fastapproaching train. This could not be the troop train, he was sure.Once more he heard the whistle warning him to get clear of the track.
"Tomas," he called, but the Indian gave no sign of having heard his cry.
Another look behind showed the train rushing on with no slackening ofspeed. Still Tomas continued in his mad flight. Dick tried to swervehis horse from the trail beside the track, fearing that when the trainovertook them the animal might become frightened and dash against theside of the train; but now the black horse was infected with thefighting spirit, and so long as the bay horse in the lead was ahead justso long would he keep up the heart-breaking run. Dick could feel thepowerful muscles beneath him working with the smoothness of well-oiledmachinery, and in spite of the enormous strides with which they coveredthe ground, he hardly rose from his saddle, so perfect was the action.
Then to Dick came a new thought. Unless the train ahead was delayed henever could hope to reach the danger point in time to warn the troops.He knew his attempt was futile, so why continue! This train nowthundering along so close behind might catch up with and stop theartillery train. But how could he let those on board know of the danger?To attempt to flag the train was useless now. Had he thought of itbefore it might have been possible, but it was not very likely, underthe most favorable conditions, that they would stop on the signal of twolone and unrecognized horsemen alongside the track. Should he attemptto interfere with its progress, the chances were that the trainguard--men from his own corps, possibly his own company, would shoot himas a suspiciously acting native: "shoot first and inquire after," was afundamental principle in these treacherous revolutionists.
His mind, naturally active in summing up situations in their true lightin times of stress, and quick to formulate his plans, saw only one wayleft open to him. He must board the moving train. He must make theleap from his saddle in some way, grasp hand-guard, brake, door, windowor sash, and hang there until those on the train could pull him tosafety.
Even as he made his resolve the engine, foot by foot, was gliding aheadof him. From the cab window the engineer, a sailor from one of theships of the Navy, watched with deepest interest what he believed was avain race between two "loco Spigs"[#] and the train, and turning to hisgrimy fireman he ordered him to keep up the steam pressure at all costsand "Durn the expense."
[#] Loco--Spanish for "foolish."
That the horses could keep up their terrific speed for any length oftime was out of the question. The Indian's horse appeared to have takenmatters in his own hands and was running away, though Tomas was nowdoing his best to hold in the excited brute.
Now the tender and the first car had passed Dick. Another quick glancefrom the corner of his eye and he saw there were but three more cars inthe train, and when his eye returned to the narrow trail he saw itgradually drawing away from the rails. Unless it returned beside thetrack within the next few rods his last opportunity would be gone.
On the train every window was filled with excited faces watching thisuneven race between God-made and man-made power, but they tried toencourage the riders with shouts and yells and much waving of hats andhands. Dick heard and saw the "rooters," but beneath his cap there wasno change of expression; his face was white and stern with a bulldogtenacity of purpose.
Now the second car had drawn past him, and the middle of the third cardrew opposite the straining horse. Would the trail never get nearer?Must he in a last desperate endeavor pull with all his might on the leftrein and cross the rough ground in order to bring the laboring animalagainst the side of the cars? If he did it meant almost certaindestruction.
Now the fourth car appeared, nosing forward on his flank, yet he darednot take his eye from the trail. Must he leave it and make the dashacross the rough uneven space? He would wait just a few strides more.Then once again he found the narrow path converging towards the tracks.Already Tomas was racing beside the car, ten feet in advance. Would theblack horse be equal to the effort? With a wild yell the boy dug thespurs into the flanks of the steed, and with a gasp of surprise thehorse bounded forward as never before. For a second the painted side ofthe clattering coach was like a dull smear on Dick's blurredvision--then he leaned far out in his saddle to his left, his clutchingfingers slid along the beveled edges of the car's wooden frame, theygripped the iron hand-rail at the rear end of the platform, the nextmoment he was pulled from his saddle, his feet struck the steps and witha last, final effort he fell breathless on the floor, held in safety bythe strong hands of two astonished train guards.
"Well, I'll be jiggered, if it ain't Dick Comstock," exclaimed PrivateJones, late of the _Denver's_ guard. "I ain't seen you since weseparated at Colon. Say, Dick, what in the dickens are you doing here,and where did you come from? I sure am some glad to see you."
"Wait a minute; let him get his breath before you take it all away againby making him answer your questions," said the other marine, assistingDick to his feet, and looking at this sudden arrival with unfeignedadmiration. "My word, Bo, but you beat any movie picture hero I everseen. By the way, your friend back there doesn't seem to know what'sbecome of you."
"I'm thinking he must believe the Angel Gabriel come along and took youup in his chariot," said Jones, whose knowledge of Biblical charactersand their history was fragmentary.
Far down the track Tomas could be seen halted in the middle of the railsscratching his head while he gazed after the train in evidentperplexity.
"I guess he'll figure it out. He's a wise old Indian," said Dick; thenthe reason for his being on the train struck him with its fullsignificance, and, "Who's in charge of the train?" he asked.
"Why, Dick, our old friend, Sergeant Bruckner. He's up forward on theengine. Why? What's up?"
But Dick did not stop to answer. Roughly pushing his way through thecrowd of natives gathered at the end of the car to see what manner ofman it was who rode hair-breadth races with railroad trains, he ranthrough the remaining coaches to the front end of the train, climbedover the tender, now nearly empty of wood, and finding the sergeant, hetold him what he had done and what there was still to do.
"You say the artillery train left the vood station about tventy minutesago?" asked Bruckner, reverting to his v-habit in his excitement.
"Yes, and they will necessarily have to go slowly. It is getting dark,and I believe we can catch them before too late."
"But ve also have to stop and refill with vood, and as ve von't find anymen there to do the vork for us, it's going to be a very slow business."
"Slow? Why, if necessary, we'll make every passenger on this train lenda hand, willingly or otherwise," said Dick.
"Well, here we are," called the engineer who, though keeping his eye onthe rails ahead, was an eager listener. "Come, all hands, get everyoneon the job, and I'll lend a hand myself."
Never was wood hustled into a tender of the Ferrocarril de Nicaragua sofast as it was that October evening, and when the fireman finallyannounced that he had sufficient, the ear-splitting whistle had barelydied away before the old wood burner was surging on into the gatheringdarkness, her headlight streaming on the lines of shining rails ahead,making them appear like two bars of yellow gold stretching on intoinfinity.
"If there are any ties out, fishplates gone or spikes driven between therails this night we're goners," said the fireman to Dick as the twoworked, throwing log after log into the capacious maw of the engine,where the draft seemed quickly to turn them into a mass of dark redcinders which streamed out of the great stack and left a glowing trailas of a comet's tail following them through the night.
"I've been with old man Strong, the engineer, every trip he's made, andI never seen him light out like this. I almost believe we're makingforty-five miles, and mebbe more than that, especially on the downgrades. Wow! Man dear, but he took that curve on two wheels, and it'sa wonder we stayed on the track when he struck the reverse. What's hisidea of pullin' the whistle every two seconds, anyhow?"
"He's started sounding the 'S.O.S.' calls," said Dick, "hoping the trainahead will hear us and wait to see what's up."
"How many miles have we got left to catch 'em?"
"I don't know," answered Dick, as for a moment he ceased his labors, andholding to the rail at the side of the cab peered ahead along theparallel lines of light; "it can't be much more, for we are in the hillsnow, and on the down grade. If we are to do any good at all it must besoon."
The next moment there was a long weird shriek of the whistle, then thegrinding of brake-shoes on the wheels as the signal for the train guardsto man the wheel brakes followed in staccato blasts. Groaning,straining, shaking, screeching, bumping and thumping, the trainslackened its speed, crawled for a few yards, and then with one lastresounding rattle it stopped, and there, but a few short yards ahead,waiting to discover the reason for the wild signals for help they hadpicked up, stood the officers and men of the artillery train, safe andunharmed.
Owing to a "hot-box" they had been forced to stop and repair at astation called Brasiles. While there they discovered that the lines ofwire either side of the station had been cut and later, hearing the wildwhistling of the engine in their rear as they proceeded cautiously ontheir way, and believing rightly that the signal was meant for them, itwas decided best to await the arrival of the news before going further.
It was Richard Comstock who, a little later from the seat above thecow-catcher of the leading train, gave a shout of satisfaction.Rounding the last abrupt curve in the hills before descending to thestraight road-bed of the plain, he espied a great mass of rock throwndirectly across the rails. Had the train been other than creeping alongthrough the cuts and defiles a serious accident would have followedundoubtedly.
Slowly the train drew up to the dangerous obstacle, and then, true tothe contents of the letter which Dick had delivered into the hands ofthe Marine Officer in charge, they found crushed beneath the mass ofrock the body of a man in whose pockets was the letter and the money,which, if the truth had not been known, might have changed the pages ofNicaragua's history.
